Smooth: Entry One.

Sooooooo. I'm attempting to write a new story called "Smooth." I'm not entirely sure what's gonna happen in this one yet, but it's set in a regular old high school and focuses on this girl, Moira (either nicknamed Mo or Rara, I haven't decided yet) and her trying to figure herself out. It's probably going to be written in a diary format, since that's kinda how I started it, and this is the first entry. Feel free to leave any comments. c:

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September 29th

I was five years old when I first thought of shaving my head.

Usually, that might not be so weird, I guess. Some kids like no hair at all, right? You see little boys with buzz cuts all the time. But, of course, I wasn't a little boy, so it was understandable when my mom had looked at me strangely and laughed it off nervously.

I didn't like my desire being laughed at, though, and started to throw a fit like most five year olds do when they don't get their way.

"Why can't I get my head shaved?" I had screamed. "I wanna be like Mr. Clean!"

"Moira, honey," my mother had said, trying to calm me down, "girls don't do that. They don't shave their heads. That's what boys do."

I frowned, but hadn't pursue the subject further. Even at five years old, I knew when to quit. And I left the whole thing alone for a long, long time...ten whole years. But I've decided to bring it up again because, well, it feels right. Why? I have no idea, little diary of mine. It just does. Just like locating an old notebook and scribbling down my thoughts did. I'm very spontaneous that way; I like to do things without much thought and because they're different. Most of my life has reflected this, from marker tattoos to bright clothes and hair dye. I've stood out from the crowd as much as I ever could. The only thing I've really wanted to do that I couldn't though was shave my head. And it really bothered me. So what'd I do?

I went out and got my head shaved, dammit.

I had just enough for a haircut saved up from various odd jobs around the neighborhood. There was a hair salon perfectly on my way home from school today, so I popped in and got it done. When I stood up, my head about a pound lighter, I gawked at all my sandy blond hair on the floor. Surely it was not all mine! It amazed me that my short bob had actually been made up of so much hair.

The stylist, coincidentally named Shirley, laughed at my expression.

"Didn't realize there was that much hair on your head, did you?" she asked.

I shook my head vigorously, shocked that there was no swish of hair. This would take some getting used to for sure. I was grinning widely, though. Finally, all that stupid hair was gone. With the lightness of my head, I also felt a lightness of soul. I 'd finally done what I had wanted to do for ten years. I was bald. I ran a hand over my head, savoring the smoothness. It felt beautiful.

I went home and went about business as usual. I did my homework and started a load of laundry like I was supposed to. The only difference was the mix of eager anticipation and worry. I was curious to see how my mother would react, but also deathly afraid. What if she took away my iPod? I wouldn't be able to survive without McCoy. He was the only thing that kept me sane most days.

But, that's the risk with these sorts of things, isn't it? You do them as haphazardly as I had, then you were met with the consequences. And I would just have to deal with them.

My mom eventually did make it home from the pharmacy, where she worked. I met her in the kitchen, which was always her first stop after a long day of work.

"Hi, Mom," I said, watching her carefully for a reaction.

"Hello, Moira," she replied, distracted and not noticing my hairlessness. "How was school?"

"Fine," I told her, still watching, "got a B- on my math test."

"Oh, good," she said absentmindedly.

I frowned, ready to just tell her I literally cut all my hair off (well, not literally, really, because Shirley did it, not I). She finally looked at me, though, and her jaw dropped. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from giggling.

"Moira...what did you do?!"

"Oh, this?" I asked casually, touching my smooth cranium. "Just decided to get a haircut is all. You like?"

At first, her expression said she most definitely did not like. Then Mom's face changed to one of complete concern. She rushed off and I heard her go up to her room.

I'm still confused now. Why was she all worried looking? I swear, I'll never understand her.