The hustle and bustle does not alarm me. Just the opposite, I am grateful for it. In the mass stampede to get to class, I blend in. And so, for the time being, I try to forget the fact that I don’t quite fit in. It can’t be ignored for forever, though.
My uneven shoulder length bob is the consequence of my mother trying to also be my hairdresser. In a futile attempt to offset this haircut, I always don a Sherlock Holmes esquire hat. It’s graying, but after a couple of rounds in the washing machine, it’s as good as new. I content myself with the fact that it was fashionable in the 1930s.
“Hi”, someone says. She screams to be heard above the din in near the school lockers. It’s a very high-pitched scream.
I hastily respond, fearing that she will cease to talk to me. I form the most creative response I can think of; realizing that responding with “Hi” would be stereotypical.
“Hello.”
“I like your hat.” she says.
I cannot contain the smile that is spreading across my face. I remind myself that I have braces, that it is unseemly to smile, and that I have forgotten to floss today, but the smile grows and grows, like a rushing river threating to overtake its banks.
I realize, again rather hastily, that it is my turn to respond with a compliment in kind, and I fumble to think of one of her accessories that I can sincerely compliment. There is most certainly no lack of accessories. Shiny shoulder-length earrings glisten in the light. Necklaces and bracelets, all equally shiny, dangle, heaped over each other. I look around and see that she is not alone. I begin to wonder if shine is the school color.
I begin to open my mouth when I realize that something is wrong. She is giggling. I look around, and nothing seems particularly funny, but to blend in I laugh uproariously also, having never mastered the art of giggling. Then I realize: she is giggling at my hat. Spots of pink begin to appear on my cheeks, slowly progressing to red. I fight to keep them down, give up, and walk away. I orient the campus map, trying to find the bathroom in this unfamiliar school. Being new is tough. I end up in the cafeteria, and I realize that I might as well eat. It is lunchtime, after all. I sit down and tuck into some Campbell’s noodle soup and Twinkies, both introduced in the 1930s. The Great Depression also happened in the 1930s, though. I console myself that although I am sitting alone, and the necklace girl is surrounded by clones, she probably does not know about the eventful 1930s.
I am not as alone as I thought, a clone approaches me. “Hi”, she says. I frown. If they are going to bother me, the least they can do is change it up a bit. Predictably, the girl says “I like your hat”. I tune out, until I hear the name Sherlock Holmes. “I love Sherlock Holmes, and I have a hat just like yours.” “Why don’t you wear it?” I asked, curiously. “I don’t have the courage.” she said. Courage. Huh. It made me feel proud. It made me feel like I’d rather be myself than the necklace girl with lots of friends. I’d always thought that courage was a Superman kind of thing, but I guess anyone who stays true to themselves could have courage. The girl was still standing there. I think about what Sherlock Holmes would do. Even he had a friend: Watson. “Do you want to sit?” I ask. I hold my breath. I am pleasantly surprised when she accepts, and even more pleasantly surprised when she calls us “friends”. The raging river has overtaken its banks.


The next day, I anxiously wait in front of the lockers for my new friend. The lockers, unsurprisingly, are shiny to match the owners. I do not feel subdued by the giggling girls, for my friend and I will laugh uproariously together about the time Irene Adler actually duped Sherlock Holmes. The subdued feeling creeps up again when I hear the conversation coming from the girl’s bathroom.
“Why did you sit with her yesterday? She’s so weird. Have you seen her hat?” It was the necklace girl, and it wasn’t a Sherlock Holmes mystery to figure out who she was talking about.
“I like her, and her hat. I also think it’s mean to judge people based on their hats.” It was my friend.
“I’m not the only one with courage”, I told her at lunch. “You were brave today morning.”
“You heard that?” she said
“Holmes hears all.”
“It’s easy to be courageous when someone else is first. It’s a chain reaction.” she says.
We both start to laugh uproariously, because the necklace girl is glaring at us, and after we’re done laughing, I don’t try to stop the smile that spreads across my face, because I have a friend.