Finally he wrote something at the top of the paper and pushed it back to me.
I stared at the blue circled number. “Ninety-four percent? Really?”
He grinned. “Really. See what you’re capable of? You just have to believe you can do it.”
He pushed his chair back and stood, then reached out to run his hand over the length of my hair. It didn’t feel weird or remotely sexual—more like an approving, fatherly pat on the head.
“Nice job,” he said. “We’ll get started on precalc tomorrow.”
He ambled out the door toward the campfire. I looked up and saw my mother standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at me. My heart hitched. I swore she was looking at me with hate.
“What did you do with him?” My mother’s question was low, simmering with anger. It was late, the campfire long died out, everyone in their bedrooms.
“Do with him?” I still didn’t get it. As far as I’d always known, my mother’s relationships with men were sexual, and there’d been no evidence that she had anything physical going on with North.
Her eyes narrowed. Her face had that hard look again, the one she hadn’t worn in the months we’d been at Twelve Oaks.
“Don’t play innocent with me, Liv. You think men haven’t noticed you’re filling out? Why else would you walk around in shorts and T-shirts so tight your tits are visible?”
I stared at her in shock. My shorts came almost to my knees, and my T-shirts were baggy old things we’d gotten from Goodwill. And while I knew I was developing, I made a conscious effort not to draw attention to that fact.
“I… North’s just teaching me algebra,” I stammered.
“For now.”
“He’s not a creep,” I said.
“I know that,” my mother snapped. “But throw yourself at him, and what’s the man going to do?”
“You’re wrong. I—”
“Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around.”
I had no idea what she was doing. I turned around. I heard her opening a drawer, then felt her grab my ponytail and yank my head back. I gasped. Pain spread across my skull.
“Crystal, what…”
“Shut up, Liv.” She yanked harder, then I heard the sawing of scissors, the clipping as my hair fell away from my head.
“No!” I tried to pull away, but her fist tightened. Tears sprang to my eyes.
“Be still,” she ordered.
I stilled. Felt myself cower, unable to resist the command. My heart shriveled.
She sawed fast, and the next thing I knew, the pressure released and she let me go. I spun to face her. She held the long coil of my hair in her fist, her expression still cold.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I put my hand to the back of my head, felt the shorn, tattered ends of hair close to my scalp.
“Now you’ll learn something about vanity.” She threw the ponytail at my feet and stalked out of the room.
I sank onto the bed and cried until my throat hurt. I didn’t realize until then how much a part of me my hair was—how it both connected me to my mother and set me apart from her. Like her hair, mine was long, straight, and thick, but it was dark while hers was blond. For some reason, that distinction was very important.
When I finally dried my tears, I picked up the scissors and tried to even out the ragged mess my mother had left, but I only succeeded in making it worse.
Finally I threw all the cut hair into the trash and cried myself to sleep.
Everyone was shocked when they saw me the next morning. I mumbled something about my hair having been too much trouble, so I cut it off. After breakfast, I ducked outside to the garden. My mother was nowhere to be seen.
I was picking tomatoes when a baseball cap landed on the dirt in front of me. I looked up at North. He gestured to my hair.
“Thought your head might be cold.”
My throat tightened. “Have you seen my mother?”
His expression closed off. He shook his head. I put the cap on and stood, brushing off my knees. I started back to the house when his voice stopped me.
“Hey, Liv.”
I turned. He stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his torn jeans, his bare feet dusted with dirt.
“You know where to find me, yeah?” he said. “If you need anything.”
Dread curled in my chest. I blinked back tears.
“Yeah.” I took a step away. “Thanks, North.”
I hurried back to the house. The bedroom I shared with my mother was empty, all our stuff packed away. My dread intensified when I saw our car parked near the barn, my mother standing beside it.
She jerked her head toward the passenger seat. “Get in. We’re done here.”
“Wait.”
We both turned at the sound of North’s voice. He stopped in front of us.
“Goodbye, Crystal.” He spoke in a distant tone to my mother.
She didn’t respond. North looked at me, reaching out to hand me the picture of me and my mother beside the campfire.
“You take care, Liv.”