I had Marisol drive me to the shop Dr. Stone recommended.
"Hello," the sales lady said. "How can I help you?"
I loosened my head scarf enough that she could see my situation. "I need a wig," I said, "and false eyebrows."
"Let's see if we can help you," she replied. "What was your color, before?"
"Platinum blonde," I replied.
Then, I heard Marisol's voice say, "It says 'Plutonium' on the bottle."
I turned back at her. "Excuse me?"
"I didn't say anything," she said.
"Miss," the saleslady said, "nobody said anything."
I turned back to the saleslady, and something truly weird happened. Without moving her lips at all, she said, *Hoo boy, this girl's off her meds.*
She checked on her computer, and said, "You're in luck. We have a set in stock. Wait here, and I'll bring it out."
*Hopefully,* she thought, *before the Styrofoam heads start giving her orders.*
As she left, I turned my attention to Marisol. I guess I've always thought of her as a second mother, since she's done most of the work raising me.
So it was a surprise when I caught her thinking, *That girl's been spoiled rotten since she was five. It's about time something took her down a peg.*
That was when I realized... I was reading her thoughts. Not just hers, but those of anyone around me. And it was painting a picture of me that I didn't recognize.
I tried on the wig, and it looked good, almost my usual style. I bought the gear with Mom's credit card, and we went home.
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