Every muscle in her chest suddenly clenched. “I… I’m not sure what you mean.”

 

Miss Sahida gave her a stare that could pierce plate armor. “I think you know exactly what I mean. You’re terribly bright. But you’re holding back. You come in, sit in the back, only participate when I force you to, and talk to no one except your four friends. But all your written work is fantastic. I have to ask… how is everything at home?”

 

All Gwendolyn’s other muscles tensed as well. “Fine… it’s fine. Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, it’s just that I’ve never seen your parents around here. They’ve never dropped you off, never checked up on you, and they didn’t attend my parent night. Most of the other students’ parents were thrilled at the idea, but I never heard back from yours.”

 

Gwendolyn tried to keep a calm expression while her carefully tended world crashed down around her. “They… they’re very busy. Deadlines and all.”

 

“Yes, I suppose it must be terribly embarrassing to have such famous parents at your age.” Of course, saying so out loud didn’t make it any less embarrassing, and Gwendolyn suspected that Miss Sahida knew it. “They are quite prolific. They must spend a great deal of time writing. I take it that’s the real reason you were late today? Parents getting swept up in their imagination?”

 

“Yes!” Gwendolyn blurted, anxious to seize on this line of thought. “They can be ever so forgetful. Constantly losing track of time.”

 

But Miss Sahida’s expression grew no less concerned. “And… are they able to make time for you?”

 

None at all, she thought, the comment springing unbidden from the darker parts of her heart. She felt an all-too-real swell of emotion. She used it to her full advantage, looking dejectedly away, twisting her foot nervously. And she had another idea. A little sympathy went a long way, so she may as well go all-in. “Can I be honest with you, Miss Sahida?”

 

Her teacher raised an eyebrow. “Have you been dishonest so far?” she teased.

 

Gwendolyn forced a laugh. “Funny. No, nothing like that. But it’s rather personal, I’m afraid. Not something I’m comfortable talking about much.” She trailed off, pausing for just the right amount of time. Then she took off her hat, exposing her bare, freckled scalp. “It is a bit embarrassing. The others haven’t always been the nicest to me. I just… I’d rather stay out of the way. So if I act a bit shy, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

 

Miss Sahida looked suddenly and exquisitely uncomfortable, as Gwendolyn had hoped she would. “Oh. That’s right, I’m sorry, I hadn’t considered—”

 

“As I said, it’s fine.” Gwendolyn put her cloche back on. “Is that all? I’ve got to go, my mother’s waiting for me.” She’d told such lies so often, they hardly hurt anymore.

 

“Might I ask what happened? You’ve never said.”

 

I sacrificed it to a faerie queen in exchange for her army, to defeat the evil ruler of our world. And magical sacrifices don’t grow back.

 

Not that she could say any of that, even if she wanted to. “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

 

“Yes, yes, right. I don’t mean to pry. Go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow. Only…” Miss Sahida leaned in conspiratorially. “Do try to speak out once in a while. You’re a lovely girl, and don’t let anyone tell you different. I’d hate to think that everyone would miss out on the wonderful thoughts going through that head, just because there isn’t any hair on it.”

 

“I… I’ll think about it. Thank you, Miss Sahida.”

 

“Thank you, Gwendolyn.” The teacher began straightening papers on her desk, and Gwendolyn turned to go.

 

“Oh, and have your parents give me a call, won’t you?”

 

Gwendolyn froze in mid-step, just for a moment. “Umm, yes. I’ll do that.” And she hurried to the back of the room.

 

That was one disaster avoided. For now. Somehow she’d have to fake a phone call from her parents. A surge of anxiety tightened her stomach. So she pictured a door marked Things To Worry About Later, and shoved that anxiety inside with all her other worries like cramming laundry into an overstuffed closet. She exhaled slowly, and struggled to close the door on her emotions again.

 

She took another slow breath and began packing up her things, hoping Miss Sahida hadn’t noticed her trembling hands. But she had handled it. That’s what she did now—she handled things. And lied. Lying was what she did now, too.

 

She hated lying. Using her lack of hair as an excuse felt dirty, but necessary. Gwendolyn had no problems with standing out or being different. There had been enough teasing when she’d had hair. The bushy red mane had made her a target all her life. If anything, it was easier not to have it, though not at all what she’d prefer.

 

Miss Sahida’s words ran through her head as she packed up her satchel, grabbed her notebook, and headed for the door. It would be nice to let herself be herself, rather than holding back all the time. Quiet and control were hard-learned skills, and could be quite exhausting. But her grown-up voice reminded her what was at stake.

 

Then it reminded her that she had bills to pay, and deadlines to meet, and laundry to do, and she still didn’t know what she was going to make for dinner tonight, and…

 

She was so wrapped up in those thoughts that she failed to notice the foot that shot into the aisle. She tripped, hard, and went sprawling on the floor. Gwendolyn whirled, furious, and saw Cecilia Forthright, her mouth open in feigned shock. Cecilia threw a glance to her right. “Vivian did it.”

 

“Save your breath.” Gwendolyn got to her feet and into Cecilia’s face. “Why don’t you grow up sometime? You might accidentally become a decent human being.” She picked up her satchel, and stormed out of the classroom.

 

Normally, we don’t stray too far from Gwendolyn and her story, and we shall catch up to her in a moment, but it is important for you to see what happened next. For after Gwendolyn left the room, Cecilia rose from her chair, and picked up a book from the floor. A blue notebook, with little white flowers on the outside, and all the secret thoughts of Gwendolyn Gray on the inside.

 

Cecilia flipped through the pages, and a mean little smile crept across her face.

 

###

 

Some time later, Gwendolyn arrived home, a soggy bag of groceries in each arm. There had been the usual odd looks from the clerks at the store, but Gwendolyn assured them she was only running errands for her sick mother. Nonetheless, she was careful not to visit the same store too many times in a row. It meant a lot of extra travel, but that was what it took.

 

She pressed the grocery bags against the door to keep them from falling while she got the keys out of her satchel and unlocked the door. It swung open, and she tumbled inside, but one of the bags split open, its contents crashing to the floor. She groaned in frustration, bent down to gather them, but stopped mid-reach.

 

The apartment had been destroyed.

 

Not literally, of course. And it wasn’t as if the apartment had been all that clean to begin with. Living alone meant she could leave the apartment however she pleased with no one to nag her about it. When she had left that morning, there had been discarded clothes on the floor, plates of half-eaten food everywhere, and I dare not even mention the state of the bathroom.

 

Now, however, those plates had been thrown to the floor and the stale food batted about. Picture frames had been knocked off the wall. A roll of toilet paper had been dragged from the bathroom, shredded, and scattered like confetti at some wild party. The black leather furniture had been mauled and their innards leaked out through dozens of rips and tears.

 

And sitting amongst a pile of stuffing, licking its paw as cool as you please, was the little black cat.

 

“ARGH!” Gwendolyn shouted in wordless fury. Groceries forgotten, she lunged at the cat, which leapt gracefully away. She ran after it, chasing it around the apartment. It ran into the kitchen, leaping across the tops of the kitchen chairs with playful ease, knocking over each chair as it did so. Gwendolyn climbed over the table to get at it. The cat leapt again, but Gwendolyn managed to grab its tail in mid-air. The cat yowled in surprise, and Gwendolyn got it by the scruff of the neck.

 

She held it up to eye level. “You horrid thing! What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

The cat cocked its head, scrunched up its nose, and yawned.

 

Gwendolyn glared at it. “There’s not enough cute in the world to make up for the mess you’ve made. I should take you out to the street and leave you there.”

 

Which, of course, she didn’t. Instead she shut it in the bathroom. She gathered the groceries and put them away. Then she sorted the mail that had come through the postal tube and spilled onto the counter. A bill from City Power stood out by dint of the large red stamp on the front that said PAST DUE. Gwendolyn had brought color back into the City, but that didn’t make the red block letters any less menacing.

 

She groaned and slumped against the wall, sliding to the ground. She’d known she had missed something. If you have ever forgotten an important homework assignment, you may have some inkling of the mixture of shame and frustration Gwendolyn felt, though the consequences here would be much more severe.

 

Why? Why couldn’t everything go back to the way it as before? She shouldn’t have to deal with this. She shouldn’t have to worry about anything but her drawings and her stories and her friends. Why couldn’t she just be herself for a change?

 

Gwendolyn took several deep breaths to calm herself, remembering the lessons that Tree had taught her during her time in Faeoria. Though the woodland realm of the fairies seemed impossibly dreamlike in the face of such mundane problems as paying bills.

 

She tossed her sopping wet cloche on the couch and scratched her head, which always itched after wearing a hat so long. Still, she felt an unusual bit of gratitude. It would have taken hours for her hair to dry.

 

She went to the desk and pulled out her parents’ old checkbook, tearing out the last one. Somehow she’d have to trick the bank into sending her more. Then she wrote out the payment and sent it whooshing off through the postal tube.

 

Paying the bill reminded her that she needed to get something written soon, or she wouldn’t have much left to pay them with. She sat at the typewriter, but all the frustrations of the afternoon made her mind such a mess that it was impossible to wrangle anything like an idea. It was the same feeling as staring down at a blank page of homework that simply must be filled, but without the faintest clue as to how.

 

That reminded her. She also had homework.

 

So, rather than deal with any of that, she went upstairs and changed out of her school uniform and into a simple, comfortable purple dress. Then she went back downstairs, into her parents’ room, and flopped down on the large bed.

 

“I’m home,” she said to the empty air. She lay on her back and stretched out her arms and legs, taking up as much space as she could.

 

“How was your day?” said Father, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently moving a lock of red hair away from her face.

 

“I got a cat,” she told him. “It… hasn’t gone well.”

 

He chuckled, his mustache quivering. “For as much as you love animals, you’ve had precious little experience with them. Remember the time you tried to feed the pigeons outside the store? They kept flying away from you, wouldn’t touch a bite. You got so flustered that we found you running at them and screaming. I’d swear you were flapping your own arms as if you thought you could chase after them.”

 

Gwendolyn piled her hair over her face, hiding behind the bushy curls. “It wasn’t my fault. I tried to give them some of Mother’s biscuits.”

 

He laughed again, the sound warm and familiar. “Well, they were quite smart to fly away, then, weren’t they?”

 

That made her chuckle as well, but it was forced, and unconvincing. She put her hands behind her head, feeling the bare skin there. There was no hair. There was no Father. And not even her imagination couldn’t keep up the illusion for long. The mundane world was too strong, too heavy and real. It seemed hard to believe that she had once had the power to bring things to life with the merest thought, even without meaning too. And it got harder to believe with each passing day. Childlike wonder was hard to maintain in the face of all-too-adult responsibilities.

 

With plenty to do and no motivation to any of it, she picked her parents’ Lambent up off the bedside table. She was exhausted. Not from the physical exertions of the day, but by the endless stream of thoughts that looped in her head, all of the tasks she had to remember if she was to keep her life running smoothly enough that no one would notice the fifteen-year-old girl living on her own.

 

The Lambents had once been tools of Mister Zero, the Collector who drained the thoughts and ideas of the Cityzens until they were peaceful and compliant. Now they did quite the opposite, sharing pictures and stories and information with everyone all over the City. Gwendolyn browsed through postings for lost cats, then articles on cat ownership, before eventually finding herself watching a nearly endless stream of cats doing amusing things, the Lambents flickering colors creating the images right before her eyes.

 

She supposed she should get up and make dinner for herself at some point. But that would require getting out of the bed, and washing enough dishes to cook with, and she didn’t have the brainpower to think of anything to make anyway. Some days it was enough that she almost wished she would be sent to the Home for Unclaimed Children.

 

No, she thought, slamming the door on such thoughts before they could let out all the feelings in her anxiety closet. She didn’t need the Home. She had been doing just fine on her own the past two years. Hadn’t she taught herself to cook? And clean? Well, occasionally.

 

There had been a few bumps along the way, of course. There was the laundry debacle, the fiasco with the self-cleaning oven, a mortifying first trip to the pharmacy on the corner, and many more incidents besides. But two years of experience, and all the parenting books she could get her hands on, had taught her quite a lot.

 

Like being on time for school? said the unhelpful but ever-present voice inside her.

 

This isn’t right, she thought back. Wallowing in her inadequacies wasn’t going to help her. This was her depression rearing its dark head. She needed something to shake herself out of the gloom, and zoning out in front of the Lambent was just as bad as if they were still draining everyone’s minds. She needed to get out. She needed to have some fun.

 

She needed to go to the Revels.

 

It was stupid. It was reckless. The Revels were questionable at best, and she knew there was talk of the City Council shutting them down. There were plenty of grown-ups who did not like the changes Gwendolyn had caused, restoring life and color and imagination to the City. Many of them liked things just the way they were, thank you very much, and wanted things to go back to the “good old days,” whatever those were. A RETURN TO VALUES floated through her mind in white block letters. Putting herself on display at a gathering of delinquents was the best way of getting sent to the Home for Unclaimed Children she could think of. And from what she had heard, the new Childkeeper was not a woman to be trifled with.

 

But she didn’t care. She couldn’t be a grown-up all the time.

 

Yes—the Revels were what she needed. She would go up to her room, find something that wasn’t a school uniform and was at least somewhat clean. She could put on a dark wig, and call herself Wendy, she had always liked that name. She would read one of her stories to a room full of attentive listeners, and everyone would know that it was her story, they would drink in her words like no one ever had before Gwendolyn saved the City, she had saved the City, didn’t she have the right to at least enjoy it once in a while, and—

 

The phone rang, and she squealed in surprise. She sprang out of bed and dashed into the ruined living room, but she tripped over something dark and furry, and fell flat on her face.

 

The black cat rubbed itself against her cheek, purring softly.

 

“What?” Gwendolyn shoved it away and got to her feet. “How did you get out of the bathroom?”

 

The cat bounded away and started toward the phone in the kitchen, but at that moment, there was a knock at the door.

 

She froze, torn between the competing sounds of ringing and knocking. But it wasn’t a hard choice—the phone would have to wait. An unexpected knock was almost certainly a sign of trouble, the kind that made scratched up furniture seem tiny in comparison.

 

Oh, how right she was.

 

For Gwendolyn opened the door to see a man in a grey suit and black bowler hat.