“I… I… This is just hobby. A little job on the side,” I say. A side job I started because I don’t have friends like Dini Harris

IN a perfect world, Zeidy would still be alive and Bubby would never have gotten sick. I would still be living in Lakewood with my old group of friends, the perfect social circle where I could talk and laugh and be my perfect old self.

I pull a strand of hair and drag it at the ends. At least having silent conversations with Styrofoam heads doesn’t give me the anxiety I get when I have to talk to my new classmates.

“You’re a natural,” Mrs. Lady-In-The-Chair says.

I smile hesitantly. Natural. Sure. When it comes to wigs, maybe. Not when it comes to forming new friendships. There’s a Biology midterm scheduled to tomorrow. While my classmates are partying and joking and studying, I’m here doing the most atypical thing a high schooler would do: cutting a wig.

I flip the bangs and snip a piece of hair on the left side.

“Wow,” she breathes. “I’m so glad I got your number.” She turns her head to the side. “So, you’ve taken a course on hair and decided to pursue sheitels instead?” She gestures toward my tower of clips, scissors, brushes, and bobby pins. “You must really enjoy doing this.”

“Yeah.” I smile at the reflection in the mirror. “I like what I do.” I’d also like to make some new friends.

The lady in the chair looks good. Great, in fact. The front bangs frame her face nicely, and it’s only the third time I’m cutting a wig.

“So,” she prods, “what school do you go to?”

“Bnos Emunah.”

“Nice. Then you probably know my daughter.”

“Your daughter?”

“Dini. Dini Harris.”

“Oh.” I pause mid-cut, nearly killing the sheitel. “I… yes. Yes, sure. Dini.” Snip. Snip. Snip. Bits of hair are flying to the floor. Dini Harris. “Of course, I know her! She’s actually in my grade.”

Mrs. Lady-In-The-Chair Harris beams.