"Does my hair look okay?" Heidi asked this morning before we left for school. She had it in a fun, sloppy ponytail, a look she usually reserves for weekends.
"It's cute!" I told her, "totally fine for school."
I forgot about our conversation until this afternoon when the sound of running feet drew my attention immediately and I looked up from my computer and craned my neck to see if I needed to get out to the hallway. There was no need. Heidi was standing right outside my window, between her new room and mine, and the feet skidded to a halt when their owner noticed her. "That's right," she said sternly, "you better walk in this school."
I watched the student approaching her, the expression on his face a combination of darn it and damn it, but then his eyes widened and he knit his brow. "You look new!" he said, scanning her suspiciously for a moment. "Don’t tell me— you got a haircut," he concluded and then continued past her into her room.
"At least he didn't say I looked old," Heidi said and followed him inside.
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