The Pearl Inside of Anything

Still Wednesday, 9:52 p.m., home

"Um, where do you want me to start?"

Mum and Dad are sitting on one end of the sofa, I'm on the other. Mum is not clipping coupons or folding laundry. She and Dad are holding hands and staring at me.

"How about with the thing on your head," says Mum tightly. "Maybe you can work backwards from there."

Okay then. I tell them about the hair show and how Tommy did a great job of compacting my hairstyle inside a tight turban scarf. Oh, and that I have to sleep in it tonight like a Japanese geisha.

"Why? Who's Tommy? Is this costing money? And what exactly is under that scarf?"

Mum leans forward and tries to grab it but I pull back out of her reach.

"You can't touch it! I have to keep it in because it took three hours to put up, Tommy is my stylist, I'm his model, this is not costing any money, and this is what is under the scarf!"

I unwind the turban.

Mum stares at me like I'm E.T. "I still don't know what that is. Wendy, what is that?"

"A tornado?" I say weakly.

"Oh," says Dad this time, "I thought it was a haystack. But I see it now, sure I do! Don't you see it, Lorna?"

"It's pink! Why is it pink? Are tornadoes pink?" Mum is wringing a floppy hunk of the Calvin and Hobbs sweatshirt she is wearing. "And what's this about being a geisha? Wendy can't be a geisha! She's not even Japanese. It's disrespectful."

I want to tell Mum she should not worry too much about the racial barrier, but maybe more the career choice. But Yammy was right, Mum is heading for the ceiling at break-neck speed. I think I'd better not accelerate her trip.

"I don't think she means to be a geisha, Lorna," says Dad, trying to be helpful.

"Then what is she, Gord?"

Maybe I could just slip into my room while they work this out between themselves.

"Wendy?" Dad turns to me.

"Well, this is Tommy's vision of a girl at a country fair, serving up cotton candy. She gets caught up in a twister and..."

"Girl at a country fair? I thought you were a geisha!" Mum throws up her hands. "Somebody needs to start making sense around here! Although..." Mum peers at me carefully, "I must say, it really does look like cotton candy. I love cotton candy, I haven't been to a fair in ages..."

Mum isn't looking cranky anymore. Just curious.

"That is very interesting, actually," she says, still studying my hair. "Now all this washes out in a day or two? Yes?"

"It all depends on what happens tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

Uh oh, Mum's voice is getting pitchy. She's heading for the ceiling again.

I tell them about the finals, and maybe winning an all-expenses paid trip to Texas.

"Well, we always did want you to see the world," says Dad. "If it's free," he looks carefully at Mum, "Then maybe..."

"Oh! Thank you! Thank you, Mummy! Thank you, Daddy!" I jump up and grab them both in a clunky hug.

"Careful, your hair!" says Mum, laughing.

Thursday, 7:30 a.m.

Wake up. Pad to bathroom. Look in mirror. Haystack hair. See what Dad means.

Dial Yammy. Please pick up, please pick up, please...

"Hello?"

"It's me! I'm not coming to school today."