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boredest voice ever and Tracy takes the water jug and starts walking toward the door, which is a long way away. On the way there my heart weirdly slows down and I realize Tracy’s never messed up since I’ve known her. Maybe she just knows some stuff I don’t, I think, and all of a sudden that weird blurry nervous feeling goes away and it’s like I just leaned back in a big soft chair except I’m still moving. My breathing sinks down into my stomach as the automatic doors slide open and Tracy and I walk right through.
    As soon as we’re away from the Rite Aid, the laughing starts. It all comes out in an explosive burst and then keeps itself going in my head and mouth and it feels so good I don’t want it to stop. Tracy kind of smirks at me. “Not bad,” she goes and then she reaches into my pocket and pulls out what she put in there. She holds up a blue plastic box with no pictures on it that says Lightening Power ; in the other hand she has a box of Afro Sheen hair dye on it with a black lady’s picture that looks like it’s really old, like from the ’80s. Her bangs are kind of sculpted into curves and her hair is magenta. “I thought this color would look good on you,” Tracy says, and I start laughing again.
    We run around the corner to a Laundromat that’s about from 1950; nobody’s in it except for an old guy sleeping in one of the yellow plastic chairs. We both sit down on the sidewalk in front of it and Tracy starts ripping open the Lightening Power package. There’s a piece of paper inside with teeny tiny directions. Tracy turns the box over and pulls two plastic gloves off the back and puts them on, and then she opens the blue box and mixes a powder into a little bottle that came inside. She says “Close your eyes” and squirts the bottle all over my head. It smells like floor chemicals and my scalp feels cold and then starts stinging but I stay there with my eyes closed while Tracy covers my head with the bleach. She says “Sit there for a while” and the sting turns to burning and my eyes feel hot, but then I remember how I felt on the way out of Rite Aid and it almost makes me laugh again.
    After about forever Tracy goes “Okay” and tells me to bend over forward and keep my eyes shut tight. She rinses the bleach out with the water jug she bought, running her fingers through my hair; her plastic gloves on my scalp come in where the burn was. When she’s done she dries me off with the bottom of her T-shirt and says “Open your eyes and stand up.” In the reflection of the Laundromat window my hair is yellow just like hers.
    I feel like a kid in a Halloween wig, but then I touch my hair and it’s mine. Tracy starts opening the Afro Sheen package with the magenta dye and I almost stop her. I kind of want to stay blond. But the reason why is so we’ll have the same color hair and I know how dumb that is so I don’t say anything, I just keep looking at myself in the window for as long as I can.
    After that I have purple hair. I look awesome. It makes me feel like one of the JV guys walking down the street, or even bigger, and I stick out my chest and sway my shoulders like a football player when I walk and this time Tracy doesn’t say I look stupid. Every time we pass a window I stare at myself: my eyes lock on my reflection like they locked on Jenny Kirchner that day she looked so perfect and I can’t stop watching the girl I see, except now she’s me.
    Tracy and I spend a bunch more nights outside by Whole Foods; it gets easier and easier to sleep through rush hour and the third or fourth morning I realize I sleep better out here than at home because there’s no door for Brian to open halfway through the night. There’s only Tracy, and as long as I’m next to her I’m safe.
    After about a week my allowance runs out. I get twenty-five a week for cleaning my room and we’ve made it last pretty good: Tracy taught me how to Dumpster-dive plus she’s really good at that trick with the