Chapter 2

The next day at school, I became the laughingstock of the entire class.

Mom didn't care at all that I had to face people with this dog-chewed haircut. In her eyes, it was merely a "tool" and "achievement" for educating her son.

My desk mate, Jake, was a boy with a sharp tongue. The moment he saw me, he let out an exaggerated yell. "Holy crap! Emma, did a dog chew on you or did you get struck by lightning? That's so ugly!"

The entire class's attention immediately focused on me.

Uproarious laughter erupted.

Some pointed and whispered. Others covered their mouths, giggling.

I buried my head deep against my chest, wishing I could find a crack in the floor to crawl into.

During class, Jake would occasionally pull at the short tufts sticking out by my ears from behind, then let out a sneaky laugh.

I gritted my teeth, tears swirling in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

Because Mom had said that if I cried, it meant I was weak, and Ethan wouldn't be afraid anymore.

I wore that awful haircut for a full six months.

In winter, I could at least wear a wool hat to cover it. When spring came and I took the hat off, that sense of humiliation would crawl all over me again.

But I didn't say anything.

I thought as long as Ethan behaved, this would all be over. Hair would grow back eventually.

I was too naive.

Two years later, I was nine. Ethan was seven.

That afternoon after school, Ethan stole a twenty-dollar superhero toy from the convenience store at our apartment complex entrance.

The owner checked the security footage, walked straight to our door with the toy in hand.

Mom was mopping the floor at the time.

After hearing what the owner said, she didn't say a word. She pulled out twenty dollars, handed it over, apologized repeatedly, and sent the owner away.

The moment the door closed, the pressure in the house dropped to freezing.

Ethan immediately dropped to his knees in the middle of the living room.

"Mom, I was wrong... I'll never take other people's things again..." He frantically kowtowed, his forehead banging against the tiles with loud thuds.

Mom watched him coldly.

Then she turned her head and looked at me.

"Emma. Come here."

All the blood in my body instantly reversed course.

Those sewing scissors appeared in her hand once more.

"Mom..." I took a step back, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "Don't... please..."

"Come here!" She suddenly raised her voice, grabbed my arm, and forced me down into a chair.

This time, she didn't use the scissors to cut manually.

She pulled out Dad's electric hair clippers that he'd left at home.

Buzzzzz---

The sound of the machine starting up was like a death sentence.

Ethan screamed frantically from the side. "Mom! Hit me instead! Beat me to death! Just don't touch Emma's hair!"

Mom ignored him completely.

The clippers pressed against my scalp and ran across.

The cold metal sensation sent goosebumps across my entire body.

Huge clumps of hair fell onto my shoulders, my thighs, the floor.

I closed my eyes and bit down hard on my lip.

Ten minutes later.

The buzzing stopped.

Mom brushed the loose hairs off my shoulders, her tone flat. "Go wash up."

I walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

Buzz cut.

A buzz cut shaved right down to the scalp.

For a nine-year-old girl, this was more painful than death.

The person in the mirror looked like a convict, like a monster.

When I came out of the bathroom, Ethan had already collapsed on the floor sobbing. When he looked at my head, his eyes filled with extreme terror and guilt.

"Emma..." He scrambled over on all fours, clutching my legs and wailing.

Mom stood to the side, looking down at him from above.

"Remember this. You can't take other people's things. Every time you steal, your sister has to lose face because of you."

From that point on, Ethan became completely obedient.

He didn't dare act up or cause trouble. He didn't even dare speak loudly. Every day he carefully observed Mom's mood, like a frightened quail.

And I put on a hat.

My homeroom teacher, Ms. Wilson, called me into her office. Looking at the blue scalp visible beneath the edge of my hat, her eyes filled with shock and heartache.

"Emma, did... did something happen at home? Are you sick?"

I kept my head down, my fingers digging into the hem of my clothes.

"No, ma'am. It was hot, so I wanted to cut it short."

Ms. Wilson sighed and didn't press further. She pulled a pink baseball cap from her drawer and handed it to me.

"Wear this one. It's prettier."

I wore that cap for a full year.

Dad didn't come home that year for the holidays. He just called.

When the video call connected, I was wearing my hat.

"Sweetie, why are you wearing a hat indoors? Take it off and let Dad see if you've grown taller." Dad smiled from the screen.

I held the hat down firmly, refusing to remove it.

Mom let out a cold laugh from the side and yanked the hat off my head.

Dad's smile froze instantly on the screen.

"Mia! Are you crazy?! What did you do to our daughter's hair!" Dad roared from the other end.

Mom shouted right back. "I'm crazy? Your son stole from the convenience store! If I don't discipline him like this, next he'll rob a bank! You're out there every day earning your measly paycheck. Do you manage anything at home? What right do you have to criticize me!"

"That doesn't mean you take it out on our daughter! She's a person, not a tool for you to educate our son!"

"I educated a good son! Look how well-behaved Ethan is now! What do you know!"

Mom hung up the call viciously.

That night, I hid under my blanket, touching my prickly scalp, and for the first time had thoughts of dying.