“You’ve been trying to put yourself out your whole life, haven’t you?” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was a recognition.
The truth, which she had never told a soul, was that her hair changed with her mood. Not metaphorically. Actually.
She didn't just feel happy. She felt incandescent . carrie emberlyn
He didn’t ask if it was natural. He didn’t call it fire hair. He just reached out, very slowly, and touched the tip of the strand that had formed the glowing question mark. It was cool to his fingers.
When she was a child and furious, a strand would smoke. When she was heartbroken, the copper would fade to a dull, rusted brown. When she was truly, devastatingly happy—a state she had only experienced twice—the tips would glow like the last second of a match. “You’ve been trying to put yourself out your
They didn't.
Carrie Emberlyn knew the exact moment her life became a museum exhibit. It was a Tuesday, 3:14 PM, in the fluorescent glare of a grocery store aisle. She was comparing the sodium content of two bean soups when a toddler in a cart pointed a sticky finger at her and whispered, “Mommy, that lady has fire hair.” The truth, which she had never told a
Then, one winter, she met Leo.