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Jen really needed to pick up the pace. She was supposed to be in the psychology building right this instant, but it was still two minutes away. Crossing the University quadrangle, she repositioned her umbrella in an effort to keep her clothes dry. She had no idea how to dress for the occasion. She thought she would play it safe and wear the standard college blue jeans with a fancy oxford top. The stiff blue and white striped shirt had moderately large collars, that when allowed to spread wide, added a subtle formality to the outfit. She had also worn a single banded gold necklace under the shirt, which was barely visible on her chest. "It sure is hard to present a formal appearance at college," she thought. The weather had been genuinely rotten all day. It did not stop raining, and the temperature was beginning to drop. She repositioned the umbrella again, and trod through the mat of soggy dead leaves that covered the ancient stone walkways. Crossing the quad and slipping between two buildings, she approached the front of Roberts Hall. No one was around - the campus was essentially deserted at this time in the evening. She paused under the overhang to close the umbrella. Roberts Hall was one of those buildings constructed during the early 1980s. A futile attempt to look obscenely modern, the entire structure appeared tacky against the older gothic halls of learning. A line of trees in front of the building still had their leaves though, and they proudly held their orange yellow canopies up against the pale gray sky. Jen shoved the umbrella in the red faded navy backpack she had brought along. Pulling a piece of white paper out of her rear pocket, she unfolded it and read the instructions again. She then pulled open the black doors and entered the lobby. Searching the directory, she soon found Roberts G88, the room she was supposed to be in four minutes ago.

"I have never been in a Psychology experiment before. This is strangely exciting.", she thought to herself. Mary read the paper over again as she headed down the corridor painted in blocks of primary colors.

The building was as hideous on the outside as it was on the inside. The chief scientist, Dr. Lewis, had placed an unusual list of items on the list for subjects to bring along. Jen read them aloud to herself as she hastened down the hall: "Hat, scarf, pen, change of clothes(optional).This is really peculiar. It must be cold in there or something." But the experiment was about ESP, and they were going to pay her $450 for a painless three hours of her time. Jen had already come for a previous interview. They did not talk about ESP at all. Instead, she just talked with Dr. Lewis in his office. He asked simple questions about her life here at College. Then he had her look at a picture book of what he said were models. He asked her to rate their appearance on a scale of one to ten. Some were way too heavy or unattractive to be models, she thought at the time, but nonetheless cooperated with a smile on her face. A week later, she received the slip of white paper in the mail. Much to her surprise, at the bottom of the note, it indicated a payment of $50 for simply showing up at the experiment, and an additional $400 modeling fee. Jen thought in panic that she would have to take her clothes off or something, but after calling Dr. Lewis, he assured her that the experiment was about ESP, and she would remain fully clothed at all times. The confirmed the appointment for 5:00PM that Thursday.

Jen found G88 after brief wandering, and slowly opened the solid green door. Inside was a small office with a door to the side. Seated at the desk was Dr. Lewis, and in one of two chairs was a rather short girl, with evenly cut reddish brown hair that spilled in straight sections half over her ears, and tapered down the back of the neck to the nape. She wore a pair of delicate wire frame glasses and was rather pale. Dressed in a white polo shirt and a pair of jeans, Jen suddenly felt overdressed.

"I hope you did not get lost coming here.", Dr. Lewis greeted her. "It is rather hard to find this place. Let me introduce you to Mary, your co- subject.", he continued.

"Nice to meet you Mary. Do you go here?"

"Yes, and you are...?"

"Jennifer, although people call me Jen..., or Niffer"

That was supposed to be an ice-breaker. It usually worked well. Jen had thought she was going through this alone, but was relieved that a fellow student would be there with her. In addition, she saw that Mary had also carried along a heavy backpack laden with the necessary items.

"Have a seat please", Dr. Lewis continued.

Jen put her bag down and sat facing the desk to Mary's left.

"This is an experiment involving ESP, all I need you to do is relax and follow instructions. I am going to have you sign the standard University psychological student study release form, and once we are done with that, the experiment will begin. all right?"

Jen shook her head in a nod of approval, and placed her hand on the top of her head, curling her fingers in, she almost unnoticeably began to slowly run them down through her perfectly straight brunette hair. It was so straight, her friends in high school referred to it as Asian straight, but Jen did not believe she had any Asian in her at all, after all, her eyes were hazel. It was a nervous habit to run her fingers through her hair. Dr. Lewis handed them both the forms. The form stated the obvious, and both reached into their backpacks and signed with their own pens. Handing them back to Dr. Lewis, he pulled a shoe box out from under the desk.

"I need you two to draw numbers to determine subject number and position" He handed it first to Jen, and then to Mary. Jen drew a two, Mary quietly said:

"I guess I go first."

"Okay subjects, come with me to the next room to fit you to the apparatus, it will be used to monitor your brain waves during the ESP trial. Don't worry, it is totally harmless. All you have to do is sit there, and we will show you pictures and stuff... But I will go into that later. Oh, and by the way, I will be forced to refer to you as Subject 1 and Subject 2 until the termination of this experiment."

Dr. Lewis opened the door to the adjacent room, it looked like an examining room, without a table.

"A colleague will be right in. Sit down and relax, and don't forget your bags."

After picking up their belongings, both stood up, slowly shuffled into the adjacent room, and took their respective seats. Dr. Lewis exited to the front office, and closed the door behind himself.

"I hope this is not too trying", Jen said to Mary in a soft voice indicative of nervousness.

"It won't be. They just want to see if we have ESP while we look at computer screens or something. They will take electronic pictures of brainwaves and so on."

A man in a lab coat entered the room, smiled, and quickly closed the door behind him. He had a notepad tucked under his arm. Both girls greeted him with a nervous smile, and then quickly broke eye contact.

"Okay, number one, could I have you come stand in the center of the room. Right here."

"I will need you to extend your arms. Like that. Yes."

He reached into one of the drawers, pulled out a measuring tape, and began to measure her wrists, ankles, and waist. He told her she could lower her arms. He examined her eyes and ears with the technique of a physician, and then told her she could be seated.

"Subject number two, I basically need you to do the same thing. Extend your arms. Yes..."

He proceeded to perform the same examination on Jen. She felt really funny standing there in the middle of the room like that. He told her he could be seated. All the while, he had been furiously taking notes on the notepad. He slid open the drawer on the far end, and pulled out a large pair of callipers. He approached Mary, and said look down to the floor. She did, and he proceeded to measure the diameter of her head.

"Okay, number two."

Jen thought this was very odd, but the whole notion of a psychology brain experiment had her in the move. Piercing the soft brown sheets of hair on both sides, he closed the diameter until the soft metal pins touched both sides of her temples. He then went back to the drawers, slid the callipers away.

"Okay, you are both done. Dr. Lewis will be back in a minute to escort you to the laboratory."

As quickly as he had entered, the tall, thin, dark hared man with a cheap tie and white lab coat had vanished. The both shifted position nervously in their seats.

"This is getting exciting.", Mary started

"Yeah. I wonder if we have ESP?"

"Probably not."

"I guess we'll see."

Dr. Lewis opened the door. He was now wearing a lab coat as well. He seemed like the most genuinely friendly man to Jen. Rather short, at 5'8" he was only two inches taller than Jen. He was heavyset with thinning gray hair. He wore a heavy pair of glasses, and essentially personified the friendly professor.

"Subjects, take a seat at my desk in the laboratory for briefing."

He now sounded so serious. Mary lead the way into the room, which was much darker than the examining room. She could not believe her eyes once they adjusted. There was a huge machine, the size of a minivan. It was entirely black, and had tall chairs facing each other at both ends. The chairs looked like execution seats, but much more modern. In front of each chair was a computer screen with a test pattern. Two computer work stations were located on the left side wall, and on the right was another door. Immediately to their left was a desk with a small lamp on it, a large chair, and two smaller chairs, similar to the front office. Dr. Lewis kindly escorted them to each chair, and he took his seat behind the chair. Track lighting hung from the painted black ceiling and barely cast any light on the black floor and walls.

"Okay subjects, lets discuss the terms of the experiment.", Dr. Lewis began

"Remember, you have received your payment simply for showing up, and are free to stop the experiment at any time. This is an experiment involving ESP. You will see a shape on the screen in front of you, and there will be four options on the console below. Select the shape that you believe fits the pattern of the shape on the screen. Both of you have your bags with you and agree to continue?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Good. There are two preparation phases for you. You both drew numbers, and we will alternate in preparing you for the experiment. Let me discuss phase number one, which subject number one will perform first. In order for the electrodes to pick up electromagnetic images in the brain, a specialized cap must be worn. As we speak, the man who previously assisted you is making final adjustments on the size, hence the calipers from before. The electrodes must make good contact for the experiment to work and your safety. Therefore, during phase one, the subject will head to the restroom over on the opposing wall and shave their scalp for the cap to fit properly."

Jen shuddered. She could not believe what she just heard. She must have misunderstood.

"Unfortunately, we are short on staff, so you will have to perform the operation yourself. You will find adequate equipment in the restroom, along with explicit instructions to save time."

Jen had heard correctly, and she grew hot. A heavy, sickening feeling developed in her stomach. She wanted to quit the experiment. She looked at Mary, who just sat there and stared at Dr. Lewis.

"And now for phase two.", he interjected, looking right at Jen, almost as if he could sense her sudden refusal to continue with the experiment.

"I will personally take the subject to the machine and adjust the wrist straps and ankle straps. In addition, I will calibrate the equipment to get a baseline reading. I hope this is clear to all of you, and subject one can head straight to the restroom this instant."

Dr. Lewis stood and politely pointed to the black door on the opposite side of the small room. To Jen's utter horror, Mary stood, picked up her black backpack, swung it over her right shoulder, turned, and headed straight towards the restroom without even looking at Jen. With a fast pace, she reached the door, swung it open, thus drowning the room temporarily in fluorescent light, and allowed it to pneumatically shut behind her. Jen was in shock for the first time in her life. She had never, ever been so frightened before. This was worse than the feeling of getting back a failed midterm. This was worse than the moment right before the roller coaster heads over the top of the hill. She was sweating, and her neck and forehead felt moist. She also felt little beads of perspiration on the exposed part of her chest the wonderful shirt elegantly exposed. She nervously reached for her hair with her right hand. Curling her fingers in, she dragged them down the silken strands, leaving no trace of disturbance. "Okay, that's it, the experiment is over.", she thought to herself.

"Subject, I am going to need your jewelry.", Dr. Lewis stated suddenly. He was holding out the same shoe box.

"Sir, I can not go on with this.", Jen stated as he gently lead her over to the awesome machine.

A researcher once tried to determine if a total stranger would believe he was fatally shocking an innocent subject in the name of a learning experiment. One subject would play the role of teacher and ask the learner questions. If the answer was incorrect, he or she would shock the learner. The other subject, actually a conspirator and trained actor, would play the role of learner. The learner would be connected to a fake high voltage machine with thirty switches on it in 15 Volt increments, all the way up to 450 Volts. Underneath the voltage was a description of how painful it was. Readings near 15 Volts started with phrases such as no feeling. Readings near 400 Volts read phrases like fatal shock. The last three voltages had nothing but the letter `X' underneath them. Now it is important to note that the teacher never knew the learner was a colleague. Psychologists of the day believed that less than 0.1% of the sample population would deliver a 450 Volt shock to a total stranger. They were very wrong. In the experiment, 62% of the people in question delivered what they believed was a fatal shock to an innocent man - simply because the researcher standing next to them told them to. If the teacher asked to leave the experiment, phrases would prod them back in. These phrases were to the effect of: "Please continue.", "The experiment must continue", "In the name of science, the experiment must continue.", and finally, if the previous three failed: "You have no other choice but to continue." Well, of course nobody would stop the subject if they wished to leave, in fact, they received their $15 upon showing up. Dr. Lewis wanted to see if, instead of would a subject shock him or herself, would a subject perform a masochistic act on him or herself.

"The experiment requires that you must continue.", Dr. Lewis prodded - right out of the experiment. He jumped straight to prod number two, sensing her extreme nervousness.

"Sir, I can not shave my head for this experiment. You are asking too much."

No sooner than Jen was done talking, she heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

Mary had set her bag up on the counter and made a brief survey of the equipment. There was a black Formica ledge with two white porcelain sinks in it. A large mirror covered the front of the room, and was well illuminated from a fluorescent strip that ran along the ceiling. In front of each sink was a large and comfortable stool, and located on the counter were two sets of electric clippers, one set by each sink. There was a large brown one with a rake on the front, set for the quarter inch setting, and a much smaller one with no rake, just teeth and a steel plate. They were already plugged in, and they rested on top of a piece of paper with the words: "Preparation Stage 1 Instructions:" In big letters on the top. Mary shut the water off, and the terrified Jen heard this outside in the lab. Mary pulled a small electric timer from her backpack, set it to ten minutes, and pushed start. Mary then reached for the large electric clippers, and snapped them to life with no emotion on her face.

Jen was just beginning to sit at the console when the angry buzz of electric shears filled the laboratory. "Oh my God, she's shaving her head.", she thought to herself.

"Sir, I can't do this!"

"You must continue, you have no other choice.", Dr. Lewis stated firmly yet politely. That was the fourth and final prod. After that, and the experiment was all over if Jen continued to protest.

After setting the clippers down on the counter again, Mary reached into her backpack and pulled out a plastic bag, opening the knot and pulled out a random handful of four to six inch strands of reddish brown hair. She fed them to the clippers, and the clippers changed tone as they devoured the lifeless pieces.

Jen took her seat, now so sick with the sound she thought she was going to throw up again. She had no idea how Mary could march in there. The grinding of hair was so loud that the researchers at the two computer consoles temporarily stopped typing to turn and look at the sealed bathroom door.

The strands fell shattered on the floor. She started to empty the rest of the bag contents in a circle around the stool. She was sure to place some in the sink.

When Dr. Lewis said that Jen had no other choice, he was not telling the truth. All Jen had to do is say the experiment was over or walk out, and nobody would stop her. What Dr. Lewis was doing, was making a situation psychologically that Jen could not easily back out of. Dr. Lewis was also not telling the truth when he said the experiment was about ESP. Of course they would hook both up to the machine, but the machine was fake. So were all the computers. The true nature of the experiment was to determine if social pressure could influence one to conform to an absurd norm that violated all reason. Just as the researcher at Yale had tested the hypothesis on sadistic acts decades earlier, now Dr. Lewis was testing masochistic acts.

Mary looked at the mess she had created, and found it satisfactory. She checked the timer. Mary took a glance at herself in the mirror, and reached for the crown of her head while the clippers ran idly on the table counter. She wondered how the subject was doing in the other room. Nine girls had preceded Jen, each of them left the experiment, often without collecting their $450. Mary gazed at the clock. It was down to nine minutes. She then reached in her pocket and pulled out the slip of paper, also with a number two on it. The drawing was rigged from the start. Mary glanced up at the mirror again and gave a slight wave to Cynthia through the mirror.

Cynthia waved back with a smile on her face through the fake mirror, but there was no way Mary could see her. Cynthia's room, or Cynth as Mary called her, was totally dark. She sat in a chair before a computer console with the brightness turned way down. On each side of her was a high resolution video camera, voyeuristically aimed out towards the bathroom. Each had a red LED that flashed intermittently. Other than that, Cynthia sat in total silence and total darkness. Cynthia, like Mary, was a conspirator. Both were senior psychology majors who had worked extremely hard to be a part of Dr. Lewis's research.

It was very comfortable in there. She had a nice chair that had grown warm from her body. The air conditioning was turned down low for quiet, and Cynthia had to dress lightly, even on the coldest, rainiest day of the fall. She had a blue terrycloth shirt that she wore as a jacket over a pink tank top. The tank top exposed most of the upper portion of her chest, but not her midriff - she didn't like that style. Like every other University student, she had the standard pair of jeans on them. "They need to be washed", she thought. She reached underneath the chair and pulled out a large soft drink with a chewed straw inserted in it. She placed the straw to her lips and drank slowly. She had to watch the time. There was nothing for her to do now while Mary waited with the clippers idling on the table. Cynthia reached behind her head and pulled the long sheet of hair that extended down her back, nine inches shy of her jeans in the rear. It was a wonderful chestnut color, and ran perfectly straight and smooth. She thought about braiding it, but it was too dark and she might knock a camera in the process. She collapsed the sheet into a column, and with her delicate feet up on the console, ran it under her leg and up the other side. She released it, leaned forward, and set it back behind her head. Her hair was a trademark feature, and she adored it. With her two dark brown eyes, she looked up from the console and through the mirror. Mary was just sitting in the stool, daydreaming.

Mary tried not to notice the cold as she stepped off the curb and into the street almost two weeks ago. She did not feel the need to get dressed up for the occasion, so she donned only a pair of washed blue jeans and a well worn flannel shirt. She thought of how that flannel had been with her on so many experiences of midnight studying in the basement of the University library. However, the weather had recently changed, and the chill of the morning hit her only after she was outside her apartment. Turning back for heavier clothes was not an option, she had to keep walking. "In the name of science," she told herself again. A gust of wind caught her off guard, and to compensate for the sudden cold on her neck, she buttoned her flannel up tighter. As she left the campus and headed down the residential street lined with old brown apartments, she took a glance up at the featureless gray sky. She put her hands in her jeans pockets. Piles of dead leaves lined the curb. The old trees near the road were still a brilliant orange, but in a week or so, they would be nothing more than dead sticks mounted upright in the soil. It was still early, ten minutes to nine by her best guess. The salon did not open until nine, so she slowed down to kill ten minutes before she got there. She stopped and looked in the window of a closed restaurant. Through her delicate, wire frame glasses, she watched herself take a strand of her ear length hair in her hand and twirl and twist it. The reflection made her orange brown hair even browner. She tried to imagine herself again, but any further thought would interfere with her goal. "In the name of science," she mumbled out loud this time. She had called the Friday night before, while everyone was out partying, to get the earliest appointment. Mary was now a senior, so she picked one of those small hair cutting places that she had never been to. She could not look at herself any more in the window, so she went on her way again, and arrived four minutes early. The windows were steamed up. "Was it really that cold out?" she thought to herself. Trying not to be noticed, she opened the door. The stylist, a short woman with died, permed, and bobbed blonde hair looked up from the desk and said "You must be Mary. Have a seat".

"I'll be with you in a minute. Would you like to look through some magazines."

"That will not be necessary, Ma'am."

Mary could not understand why the woman made her wait. Nobody was here. She had never even noticed this place before, it had only a small frontage to it. On the inside, however, it was much larger. Mary was getting nervous now. Her heart pounded, and she began to feel moist with perspiration. She should have worn a T-shirt underneath the flannel so she could take it off. She began to unbutton it as far as decency allowed. She rolled up her sleeves and looked up at the stylist. She seemed to have too many earrings, Mary thought. Mary was only five feet and three inches, so her feet hung over the floor. She swung her legs back and forth from the waiting chair in a nervous frenzy. Come to think of it, her tennis shoes were in bad shape, she thought to herself.

"I can take you over here now. Mary, right?"

Mary gave her a smile. She became terrified. Her heart raced, and she could feel it pound and pound against her chest. She tried very hard not to be nervous. Three years of being a Psychology major helped her rationalize. "In the name of science, sacrifices must be made," she thought to herself again.

"You have such an unusual color of hair, there is so much red in it. It looks like it was just cut... By the way, I can take your glasses for you." Mary reached to her ears. The backs of her finger felt the strands of hair that mostly covered them. She slipped the glasses off and handed them to the stylist, who deposited them on the black marble ledge in front of the illuminated mirror. Mary noticed that the college town had begun to wake, and a few people were passing by.

"So what is it you would like me to do today."

Mary's jaw was tremoring. To hide this she made the largest smile possible. And with a mildly shaky voice, Mary said the seven words she had been practising all week:

"I want you to shave my head."

The stylist smiled.

"Come over to the sink, and let's shampoo your hair."

That was odd. "Well, maybe it is just part of the procedure", Mary thought to herself. She got up out of the chair and headed back towards the sink. The stylist guided the caped figure around, thinking her eyesight was much worse than it actually was. This was unplanned. Mary was hoping to be in and out of the place in under fifteen minutes. Observation told her that the job could be done in under ten. She had a seat in the wash chair and leaned back. The place was rather modern on the inside. Black and white tiled floors, potted palms in bronze pots, a black receptionist desk and white walls. It was much nicer than her usual place. The stylist began to run the water and manipulated her head back. Mary could not help but to close her eyes as she ran the water over her straight hair, plastering it to her skull in wet sheets.

"Is this warm enough?"

"Yes"

The stylist methodically lathered up and shampooed her hair, rinsed it off, and gently indicated to Mary that she could open her eyes. Before she could stand up, the stylist wrapped a towel around her head turban style. Again, she escorted Mary back as if she were blind. Mary took her seat in the black chair. In one blink of an eye, the stylist wrapped the small white towel around Mary's neck, tucked the red and green faded plaid color in, and swung the cape around her buttoning it tight in the back.

"You are all ready to go."

Mary gave a smile. With her right hand, the stylist gently lifted the towel off of Mary's head, allowing the damp strands to fall over her ears. Her hair looked much longer wet.

"It looks like you just had your hair cut recently.", the stylist repeated.

She fingered through Mary's hair that was pretty much even in length, extending down over her ears. The stylist combed her hair out, walked over to the ledge, and grabbed a pair of scissors out of the sterilization solution.

"So what is it you would like me to do for you."

The stylist must have thought that Mary was kidding. This time, without a smile, and in a stern voice, Mary stated:

"I need,... I want you to shave my head - bald."

The stylist sighed, and told her to wait a minute. She walked over to the phone and pressed a speed dial button.

"Tom?", the stylist said loudly. "Sorry to bother you. Yeah, I know it's early. Listen, we have another in here who wants to have her head shaved."

There was a pause.

" In the desk drawer, blue form, got it."

She pushed the hang-up button and began to rummage through the desk drawer.

"Mary, are you sure this is the right thing for you?", the stylist asked with great tact. "I am going to need you to sign a release form. Usually we make clients come back a day later when they want large changes made."

"I need to do this now", Mary said softly.

"Well I can't make you come back. Are you sure you don't want to think about this?"

"It really does not need any thought." Mary rapidly began on her rehearsed directions: "Please try to get it a short as possible, and try to make it look a little uneven, like somebody unprofessional did it, but be sure to get all of it. No guard..."

"Here, I am going to need you to sign this. Please read it over carefully."

The form basically released the salon from liability in instances where drastic, changes are to be made to appearance. Clients could come in on a whim and leave shocked when their expectations were not met. Mary glanced it over, pretending to read it. She signed it, and began to shudder at first. But as the stylist walked the form slowly back to the desk, she began to calm. Returning, the stylist placed her palm on Mary's crown and began to manipulate her head back and forth, and then side to side. She reached under the black marble ledge and pulled out a pair of large brown clippers, she checked the guard, and snapped them to life. The buzz echoed through the salon. She positioned them in front of Mary's forehead.

"Just tell me when you are ready.", the stylist said politely.

Every subconscious motive inside of her wanted her to bolt out of the place, but her conscious new better. "It was just hair, and this was for science," she convinced herself again. "If I had a boyfriend, it would be different. If it would never grow back, it would be different. Hey, who knows what I will look like," Mary tried to rationalize to herself.

"Go ahead," Mary said firmly, surprising even herself.

The stylist moved the clippers under her overhanging bangs, and inserted them into the partially wet hairline. The buzz changed tone, and Mary instantly felt a cool spot on top of her left eyebrow. She could feel the vibration move back to her crown. She tried to get a look in the mirror without moving, but her glasses were on the table. She could barely make out the shorn streak. The stylist picked the clippers up and out of her hair, and inserted them again, slightly to the right of where they had been before. Mary tried not to smile at the tickling, and the cool breeze on the exposed scalp was wonderful. Mary didn't notice the four to six inch locks falling from her head until one fell right in her lap. She glanced down.

"You do have the head for this. Shaving the head has become quite a trend. Many people who come in here have square heads. Yours will be nice and round."

Mary watched herself being transformed in the mirror. The stylist raced the clippers up the back of her neck on the quarter inch setting. Mary began to notice how light her head was feeling. Although the image was fuzzy, she looked ridiculous with hair on the sides. She looked like a man with male pattern baldness. The stylist made short work of the sides. When she moved away, Mary, looked in the mirror. Without glasses, she couldn't see too much, but all of a sudden, she looked so round. She blinked. She could not believe it was her. "What have I done," she thought to herself.

"Do you want me to continue?"

"Of course."

The stylist silenced the clippers and hung them back up under the ledge. She exchanged them for a small red and white pair. Without missing a beat, the stylist turned them on. They made a much higher pitched tone.

"Close your eyes."

Mary shut her eyes. "I guess this is for the surprise," she thought. The stylist started to work on the quarter inch crew cut. The minute the clippers hit the hair, small little shavings flew all over the place. Mary felt them on her face. She peeked. She watched in the Mirror as her round, brown head was undergoing the required metamorphosis into a round, white head. She could see her scalp line. "Was I really that tanned? I always thought I was pale," she contemplated. She closed her eyes. "How light and cool my head feels. Hair really must be heavy," she thought. The stylist made a few last touch up passes with the cold steel rake: over her crown and down the back, from side to side, in a circle, and finally silence.

"All done. You can open your eyes."

There was the cape, there was her lap covered with hair, there was the chair, there was the stylist behind her, but the knob on the cape was unfamiliar. Her face was there, but her hair had been stripped away.

"May I get my glasses to look."

"Certainly, dear."

Mary began to feel nervous again. She was so caught up with the feeling of the clippers on her head, the coolness and the vibrating, that she forgot about the end product. She was totally bald, bald as a cue ball. She began to feel regret, but curiosity soon won regret over, and she began to move forward, slowly bringing her face into focus. She took her hand out from under the cape. She was almost standing now. As if it were delicate ceramic, she slowly raised her right hand, first to where her hair had once been, and then closer. She felt the moist scalp, and smiled. It felt kind of like smooth sand paper. She reached for her glasses and put them on. There she was, a short, little, gleaming bald girl with glasses in a cape. She had neglected to realize that she might have freckles on her scalp. It was actually covered with quite a few soft brown ones - little circles showing through the massacred roots of her once full head of hair.

"Let me brush you off, dear."

Mary stood up, never taking her eyes off of her new self. She realized, with actual joy, how ugly she had deliberately made herself. Shorn and butchered, yet oddly unique. "Scientists shouldn't be concerned about looks", she thought to herself. The stylist removed the cape and towel, and brushed her off. She cracked a smile when she used the talc brush on her scalp.

"Let me get my wallet."

She walked over to the waiting chairs, feeling the air flow over her head. It had never occurred to Mary that she had never had really short hair before. Four years earlier, she arrived at college with shoulder length hair. Practicality had taken it down to the previous length, but this was obscene - she had to touch it again. This time, she took her index finger and ran it up the back of her neck, crossing the nape, onto the scalp. "There was really nothing left," she thought. Turning over her shoulder, she caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror. "My word, I look like a man," she realized, looking at the hunched over figure with glasses hanging on exposed ears. She reached in her decrepit black back pack, and pulled out her wallet and a plastic bag. She paid the stylist, who really seemed to care less about the whole ordeal. She tipped her heavily. Mary looked toward the chair. Mounds of hair littered the floor.

"My word, I have... I had that much hair," she said softly. "Ma'am, I am going to need to ask one last favor of you. I need to keep the hair."

The stylist looked perplexed, but when Mary held up the plastic bag, she understood.

"I can get it for you dear."

The stylist took the plastic bag and bent over to brush the hair into it.

Mary noticed that she had been sweating so much, tiny shavings had stuck to her neck and chest. With the collar still tucked in, her shirt was spread wide. Mary hastened to fix it.

"Take care now, and thank you."

Mary turned away from the desk with her bag, and hustled over to her black backpack. She reached inside, and pulled out a navy bandanna. After a few tries, she got it wrapped around her scalp. She then took out a tacky blue denim sun hat with a flower on it. She careful pulled that down over the bandanna. Shoving the plastic bag in the backpack, she turned around and bolted out the door. As soon as the cold hit her, she felt the first panic. People were on the street now, and she just walked out of a salon with her head wrapped up. She thought she had covered her entire head, but upon glancing in another window briefly, she could see the slightly paler patches where her sideburns and nape had been. She touched them and felt the stubble. And now everyone seemed to be looking.

"Looking good," some man blurted out while passing by.

"In the name...of science," Mary thought.

She double timed it back up the street, trying not to touch her exposed surface. She was so used to hiding behind the wispy bangs, that she began to tip the brim of the hat down over her eyes. This only caused the bandanna to slide up the back of her head. She felt exposed for the whole world to see. She marched up the street with her backpack, feeling proud and humiliated, wonderfully unique and hideously ugly at the same time.

Mary glanced over at the timer, it was now down to five minutes. She reached for the crown of her hair, and with a gentle assistance from her other hand, the wig slid off, revealing two millimeters of stubble. Cynthia winced each time Mary did that. There was the same freckled bald girl that she had come to know so well. I have to get to work she thought. She ran the palm of her hand over her fuzzy head, realizing how much social comfort the wig had provided. She was used to living bald now - the wig provided a public shelter. Since it closely resembled her previous head of hair, few people noticed anything at all. She carefully hid the wig in her backpack, along with the other items. Mary switched the large clippers off and placed them behind the sink, out of the way.

Jen heard the sudden silence, and once again struggled to say something, but Dr. Lewis kept adjusting the straps and giving commands. She felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes. Then a different tone of buzzing started. Inside the bathroom, Mary powered up the true nasty clippers, the one to finish off the job. She brushed her palm over her head again, and noticed how her hair had grown in the two days since the last experiment. "I'll have to get to work on this. Time is running out," Mary thought. She proceeded to hack away at the stubble, sending tiny shavings flying everywhere. She deliberately made uneven passes over her scalp. This was to give an unprofessional look. Ten days ago, she had asked the stylist to do the same thing, but she had forgotten, leaving her with a smoother bald head than previously anticipated. Mary left tiny rows of uncut stubble, decided it was satisfactory, and switched the clippers off.

Jen heard the silence. "Oh my word, that girl just shaved her head for $450 and a Psychology experiment." But then it hit her. Even though the money was hers the minute she signed onto the experiment with no obligation to complete it, the modeling clause hit her. That must be compensation for the loss of hair. Jen became nervous. Instead of being determined to flee the premises the minute she was out of the chair, not caring about Mary in the least, she would ask Dr. Lewis to keep the $400 and leave. "That would do it, sure. They can not make me," Jen thought.

In the meantime, the water had been running in the bathroom. Inside, the timer silently hit zero. Mary reached underneath, took a towel, and wiped the shavings from her white scalp. There was the gleaming little bald girl again, she thought as she put her glasses on. She saw the shavings on her neck and chest, and hastened to brush them off. She left the towel, full of hair, on the counter, and with backpack in tow, she headed for the door.

Dr. Lewis suddenly released Jen from the straps. The door burst open, and in the glaring light that burned Jen's eyes, she saw the silhouette of the girl in the jeans and polo shirt, with the backpack over one shoulder, and the perfectly round, smooth head.

"She didn't do it," Jen said to herself in disbelief.

Dr. Lewis helped Jen up, all the while talking to her.

"Okay, subject number one, we can take you over here, and subject number two, please complete the first preparation stage for us in the bathroom. When you return, we will be all ready to go."

Jen wanted to say something, but as her eyes adjusted, she could hardly recognize Mary. From the side, she could see the bald head walk towards the machine. The doctor figure entered the room with a skull cap with electrode plates in it. As Jen passed Mary, she could see the mild unevenness of the stubble. Jen wanted to fall towards the floor, but the experiment was working. Instead of leaving the facility, she thought she would catch her breath and collect her thoughts in the bathroom. Poor Mary had voluntarily shaved her head for $450. Maybe there is more to this than there appears, Jen thought. With backpack in tow, she pulled the door to the bathroom open. The light temporarily blinded her. The door closed and the sight sickened her.

Cynthia came to attention. In the next few minutes, she would have to take notes on and record Jen's actions. If she believed that Jen was undergoing a nervous breakdown, she would cut the power to the shears from her control station and hit a panic button. Dr. Lewis, along with the two other researcher would enter the room and comfort her, stopping the experiment. The two eyes and two lenses watched intently.

By station number one, there were mounds of hair. "How lifeless it looks, once it is severed from the scalp," Jen contemplated. She set her backpack down, grabbed the white instruction sheet, and sat in the chair. She read it aloud: Step 1. Using the large clippers, reduce hair length to 0.25". As shown below, start at forehead and work back to crown, careful to remove hair caught in guard. Then start on sides by moving upwards to previously cut path on top. The most difficult part is the rear. Using your writing hand, position clippers under nape and hair, and move up towards crown. Use mirror and hand to make sure no longer strands remain. There was an absurd cartoon drawn figure of a woman shaving her head in the pictures below. Step 2. Use small clippers and repeat above process, this time to reduce hair length to negligible amount. Make several passes to ensure you have removed all hair. Towels are provided for you underneath sink. It is recommended that you wash scalp underneath water. Feel free to change clothes for comfort. Jen had rapidly become engulfed in the situation. Being bald had never occurred to her. She had always liked her hair long. In fact, she had never had short hair. Now everyone in that lab had removed any and all value from her hair whatsoever. It seemed like an object that was as easy to take off as a pair of shoes. Dr. Lewis and the instructions played it out like it was no big deal at all. "Calm, Jen. I must be overreacting," she thought. The sight of Mary waltzing out of the bathroom with not a hair left on her head was enough to convince her. So was the recurring thought of the $450. Peer pressure had blocked off all of her escapes.

"Okay, I am going bald," she said aloud, almost in a sarcastic tone.

Cynthia was ready at the switch..

Jen fixed the collars on her shirt in the mirror, and leaned over from the stool and wrapped a towel around her shoulders. She pulled her hair back in a pony tail, and she saw something she had never seen before.

"Okay, I am going to shave my head," she repeated out loud, to determine herself again. Then she thought of herself at graduation, a year and a half away. Her family was all there, sitting proudly. "Graduation? What about Thanksgiving?" Her parents adored her looks, and Thanksgiving was two months away. "I can get out of Thanksgiving, Winter Break is another story. Okay, three months, and I heard somewhere that hair grows out at an inch a month, that would give me... hair way too short. Okay, this isn't an option." Jen did not realize that she was misinformed - hair only grew out at half an inch per month or so.

Cynthia ran her index finger up the bridge of her nose. Only four girls had made it to the bathroom, and Jen was the last experiment subject. She watched Jen stare at her.

It was the summer after the Jen's junior year in high school. She was standing out on the street, in front of the town barber shop. Today, in the basement of Roberts Hall, was not the first time she had been in this predicament. Her best friend was before her, pleading. She was fingering through Jen's hair, trying to convince her that her parents would not mind. Her friend had shoulder length hair, much like Jen's today, but back then Jen's hair extended down past her shoulders. It was extremely hot for June. Her friend was almost on her knees. "I need somebody to go along with me. You will look so hot with short hair. Have it cut just like mine," the friend begged. The friend pulled the magazine article out of pocket again, showing a model with a feathered cut clipped close on the sides and by the crown. The title went something like Short for Summer: Tired of being hot, well, this is the cool new look, or something like that. The friend was determined, and Jen was not. The friend said she would go first, and Jen did not want to follow. Jen did not want to remember the rest. To save her hair, she backed out of it and went home. Her friend went on with the cut, thinking all along that Jen would follow.

She thought she was going to throw up. Her heart raced, her hands tremored, she took her right hand, and placed it on the top of her hair, feeling the silky smooth strands beneath it. She curled her fingers in, and dragged them down through the strands to the tips. She thought of her friend, and then she thought of Mary. Out of shear angst, she grabbed the large shears, found the switch, and turned them on. She positioned them at her forehead. The sight of Mary walking past her, with the fluorescent light reflecting off of her bald head, entered her mind again.

"Oh my, here we go," Cynthia whispered in astonishment. She sat upright in her chair.

That was the final convincing image. All rationality had left Jen. Peer pressure had won in this experiment for the first time ever. The thought of regrowth time or family opinion left Jen's head the instant before her hair would. With one unconscious thrust she inserted the rake into her hair and closed her eyes to lessen the impact.

Cynthia almost turned away. She had watched Mary pull the wig off nine times, and was astonished to greet her in Roberts that Saturday morning. Cynthia reached for her own hair again, twirling it into a luscious rope.

As the clippers choked, she felt the hair fall past her face, brushing her eyelashes and nose. Jen leaned her head back, and thrust the clippers in once again, this time to the right of the previous spot. Although the experience was not unlike rinsing shampoo out after a long shower, this time Jen leaned back to cleanse her scalp of hair. Large silken strands fell silently to the floor. Jen felt the coolness of the bathroom touch her scalp, and the vibrating overwhelmed her nervousness. She repeated the process, ignoring the instructions, and doing the sides with increasing determination. Her ears felt cold, but she was so nervous, the foreign sensation escaped her. She raced the clippers back across her crown and down the back of her skull until they reached the collar of her shirt. After a few passes, she felt the bristles double back upon themselves and a cold gust of air brushed past her freshly exposed, moist nape. With her believing the job was done, and exhausted from anxiety, she tilted her head forward again. Feeling the lightness of her head she slowly opened her eyes.

The figure that greeted her in the mirror was Jen with a ponytail, at least that is what she thought of at first. Her hair, shorn down to a quarter inch - a mere fraction of its original shoulder length - had decided to lay virtually flat against her scalp. Jen put the clippers on the counter. She reached up to her head and touched the matte of hair. It felt like her hair, but when she passed her hand back over her head, it bristled. She examined the sides, and then touched the back of her head. "There is nothing to touch," she thought. Wanting to run her hands through her hair, that now was littering the bathroom floor, she frantically began grasping for hair with ever increasing nerve. She finally covered her round black head with both her hands, scrunching for hair, and leaned over into the sink, sobbing: "What have I done, what have I done..."

Cynthia could not do a thing now. The thought frightened her, and psychologically, she was a long hair person, not a short hair person. Both Mary and her took the same picture test Jen and all the other girls did. Mary was a short hair person, hence the reason she was assigned the role of decoy subject. Cynthia got the less glamorous, yet less sacrificial role of sitting in a pitch black room with two video cameras for company. For sitting in the dark for four hours, she still had nicely tan skin. She saw Jen leaning in the sink, and she wanted to do something for her. She wished hair could be glued back on. The sight chilled her all over, she closed the terry up and doubled it over tightly, it was way too large for her tall, thin frame. She reached behind her head and grabbed the rope of hair again. She then wound it around and around her left arm and folded her arms under her chest.

After a few minutes, Jen stood up and headed for the door, wanting to streak out of there with a quarter inch still intact, but she turned around for her bag, and the sight on the floor sickened her. The delicate silken strands formed huge piles in a circle around the stool. Compared to Mary's pile, hers was much larger. Then the shocking image of Mary walking past her, totally bald, entered her mind again. "How did Mary do it?" she thought. "How did my once best friend have her hair reduced to a boy's cut - simply to avoid summer heat?" she remembered. "How am I going to let Mary down?" she wondered. She hopped back in the stool. "I must finish the job," she said with determination that surprised even herself. She looked at herself in the mirror. Strands of hair hung out of her open blue and white striped shirt. Reaching in, all the way down to her chest, she pulled them out, feeling embarrassed. "Okay, small clippers," she thought to herself. She held the strands up in front of her, straightened them out, and laid them on the counter. "I am not going to look at them," she said. After a deep sigh, she reached for the small clippers, almost falling out of the stool, and turned them on. The made such a high pitched noise, she almost laughed. She positioned them by her ear, ignoring the buried instructions again, and raised them up towards the top of her head. Little clippings went everywhere. The black matte of hair disintegrated before her eyes. She repeated the process, racing them up to her crown. She switched sides, and then did the top, peeling away at the shiny black mass and leaving pale white streaks in it's place. The real change hit her after the top. As she made a pass from forehead to crown, her hand brushed the smooth, white scalp. It felt moist, not like her legs at all after shaving. Finally, she leaned back and sheared the last quarter inch off the back of her neck, trying hard to reach the area by the nape and sending clippings down the back of her shirt. She noticed that she had forgotten the areas right behind her ears, and in an instant made short work of them.

"There we go, all done," she said.

Jen got a good look of herself in the mirror. Standing out of her stool, the 5'6" Junior University student saw herself. Covered in hair and clippings, she stood motionless before the mirror. She slipped the towel off and placed it on the counter. She brushed her shirt off, and then her jeans. Then she looked at herself again. She blinked, as if this horrible image would change. Reaching to her head, she patted the surface. Shavings stuck to her hand. She remembered the instructions, and plowed the hair away from the sink. Turning the water on, she thrust the polished knob under the running water. It was the most unusual experience she ever felt - her scalp was so sensitive. When she decided that her head was clean, she stood up. Little drops of water ran down the back of her head, through the curve by the nape, and down her back. Jen had shorn herself to an elegant nature. As opposed to Mary, who was a cute bald, stripping away her hair revealed her most attractive feature, one she had never know existed: the curves of her head. Her head was perfectly round, with a subtle bulge by the crown. A tear gathered in her eye. There she was, the girl in the jeans and the oxford shirt, with a black backpack over one shoulder: the average college junior, with a gleaming white, shining bald head.

She turned around and headed through the door. A long time had passed. She could not see at first, but what the experimenters saw thrilled them - a dark silhouette with a perfectly round top.

"We can take you over here at the console," Dr. Lewis instantly said.

Jen panicked before the eyes of strangers. She felt naked. She grabbed her head again, delicately touching it, and all the while expecting to grab hair. She curled her fingers in, but nothing was there except skin. She had completely stripped herself clean. Mary gave Jen a confidence smile, with her skull cap already on, and Jen smiled back. She walked over, sat in the chair while Dr. Lewis strapped her in, and pretended she had left that bathroom the same way she came in. The real impact of what she had done would not hit her until later. The doctor came up behind her.

"Just relax and sit still. This will feel cold at first."

He slipped the elastic cap over her shaved head, with the electrodes touching her scalp. He made some minor adjustments, and Jen caught a glimpse of her metamorphisized self in the console reflection. She had wires pouring out of her head in all directions.

"All plugged in. Ready to start."

During the experiment, Jen stared at herself in the console reflection passively responding to the questions. The wires coming out of the skull cap looked like hair, and that made Jen think how unusual it was for her to take her hair off like a sock. She remembered the sensation of her palm on her head brushing the clippings off of her surface. Before she knew it, the experiment was all done. An assistant came over and pulled the cap off, but now the screen was off, and Jen could not see herself.

Jen had neglected to realize that her scalp would sweat so profusely. Obviously Mary must have thought the same, because she cleared a path to the sink and proceeded to wash her little round head under the water. Jen saw the freckles on her head, and she looked at herself in the mirror.

"I can't believe I just shaved my head bald."

"Nothing to it. No damage was done. The experiment is over."

Mary had to be clever and use great tact. It was her responsibility to watch for signs of nervous breakdown once they left the bathroom. Mary ducked behind a protruding wall in the corner.

"If you don't mind, I am going to change."

Jen remembered her bag. She swung it off her shoulder, and zipped it open. She untucked the dress shirt, and damp hair clippings fell out the back.

"What a mess."

She realized how ridiculous getting dressed up was. She exchanged the pair of jeans for a gray pair of sweat pants, trying to remain decent. She thought about keeping the shirt on, loose and open, but it was pretty damp with sweat and too formal. After a few seconds of decision, she unbuttoned the thing and stuffed it in the bag. She pulled out a plain white T-shirt, slipped it over, and noticed how easily it went on with no hair to catch it. The change of clothes made her feel much better. She reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a heavy navy and white plaid flannel. She slipped it on like a jacket. Then she remembered the instructions on the sheet Dr. Lewis had sent her. She removed her white baseball cap, and looking at herself, proceeded to cover her newly shorn head. It was way too loose, used to being worn over tons of hair. She reached to the back and tightened it up. Then it hit her: when Dr. Lewis meant scarf, he must have meant shawl. Jen felt rather silly bringing a light winter scarf. Mary slipped out from behind the embankment. The bespectacled little girl had also exchanged her jeans for sweat pants, and now wore a red and green faded flannel over a T-shirt. They both had brought almost the same changes of clothes through some twist of fate. Mary fastened a navy bandanna around her head in a tight manner, still showing the curvature. They both exited the bathroom.

"Subjects, come see me up front," Dr. Lewis said softly.

They followed him. Sitting at his desk, he thanked then, and handed over two $450 personal checks. He wished them well, and said he would be in touch. Shaking both their hands, he escorted the to the door, and deposited the subjects out in the hall. Jen snapped.

"They took my hair," she said hysterically

Mary snapped the bandanna off of her head.

"Look, it will be okay. It is just hair, and we both made a sacrifice to be well rewarded. Look in your hand, you have a $450 personal check. Think of all the things you can spend it on."

"My parents are going to kill me," Jen continued

"Who owns your hair, you or them. Listen, you made a choice - a choice to be bald in the name of science," Mary interjected.

"I don't want to be bald, I want my hair back. I look like a man. How can I go to class like this?"

"Look, do you remember when they showed you the pictures of the models?"

"Yes," Jen said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"What did you say about the bald ones."

"I don't remember, there were so many altogether."

"Come on, what did you say about the bald ones?"

"I said, they were...unique,...and attractive."

"Well there you go. Why do you think they chose us out of so few people. Because we really were always willing to shave our heads. What you did took a lot of courage, and is indicative of a strong character. Anyway, a good wig will fool anybody"

"There is absolutely nothing left," Jen mumbled in a calming tone while caressing the surfaces of her head that was not covered by the white University hat.

"Look, I have freckles," Mary said pointing. "And by the way, I think you look cute without hair," she added.

"That does make me feel better. Don't let me leave without getting your phone number. I know what I am going to put the $450 towards."

"What is that?"

"A wig. How ironic."

The two of them headed out of the building. Jen felt drained. It was pitch black out and still raining. She stepped outside, and the chill hit her shaved head hard and cold. She turned her hat around so the brim covered her nape. This left a tiny hole above her forehead, but it was much warmer that way. Jen and Mary exchanged phone numbers and parted ways. As Mary turned, she put her bandanna back on, elated that Jen was the last trial, and she could get back to growing her hair out. "By graduation," she thought.

Jen, under her umbrella, headed the opposite way. Someone was coming. At first she wanted to hide, but he passed her, not noticing a thing. Jen felt relieved. The backwards white baseball cap, pulled low, left her temples and nape exposed, along with the telltale strap hole right on her forehead. She raised her other hand to the side of her head, touching the smooth surface. Then she saw another person coming. "My word, it's Steve." Jen knew him. He must have been on his way to the library. The two came closer. She stopped under the lamp post, with the front of the umbrella turned up exposing her face. He closed in on her, passed her to the left, and then leaped back in front of the umbrella.

"Jen, sorry, I didn't see you. It's dark out," he said startling her.

"It's okay."

"Wait a minute, something is different."

First he glanced at the back of her cap, expecting the hair to be flowing out the rear. Then he surveyed the sides, looking for sideburns. Finally, He looked up at the hole in the back of the hat which revealed a smooth, pale patch of scalp only slightly darkened by shorn roots. Then it hit him.

"Take your hat off."

Jen paused a minute.

"Oh my God! You shaved your head," he said hysterically

Jen reached with her left hand. grabbed the back of her hat with the biggest grin on her face, and slowly lifted the covering apparel off.

"You shaved your head!"

Jen was at a loss, and then, a hidden part of her kicked in.

"Yeah. How do you like it?"

She handed him the hat and rather seductively ran her left hand over the freshly cleaned surface to drive the point home, all the while smiling.

"I just had it done. Isn't it awesome!"

"My word...you look great."

"Don't joke with me Steve."

"No, I'm serious. I can't believe it, you shaved your head - bald."

"Yeah, bald as a little bowling ball"

"Why?"

"I wanted a change, and I think it is attractive."

Jen did not even notice what she said.

"Let me touch it. Please!"

"Sure, isn't it great."

He rubbed his hand back and forth over her scalp, and then petted it.

"Come on, let's go shock the heck out of everybody."

"Can I have my hat back, it's cold. Wait, never mind, hold on to it."

"Where did you go?"

"The place up on College Street. Just marched right in there and said shave my head," Jen said boldly. To emphasize her completely new self, when Steve turned to look at her again, she looked back at him, and rapidly ran her palm up the back of her neck, through the curve by her nape, around the elegant crown, and down to the forehead, still smiling.

"They didn't mind?"

"I had to convince them I was for real, but after that. Whoosh! Off with the hair. In and out in fifteen minutes," Jen chimed, imitating the motion of the clippers moving from forehead to crown with her hand and all the while making a buzzing noise.

"They didn't say anything at all?"

"Nope. I walked in, had a seat in a waiting chair, got up when called, sat in the big seat of honor, told the woman a shampoo would not be necessary, and said the three magic words with a smile on my face."

"Where you nervous?"

"No. Well, maybe a little at first."

"You look like you have been crying."

"Uhh, oh no. I was excited when I opened my eyes and saw my new self."

"How long have you wanted to do this for?"

"Since five this afternoon. It just came to me while studying. I was bored of reading 211, and noticed that my bangs were too long. I felt extremely impulsive, so on the way there I thought I would have my hair chopped short like this," she said holding her hands parallel to the bottom of her ears.

"This is so unlike you."

"Well, with each step I took, I changed my mind shorter and shorter and shorter until I realized how awesome it would be not to have to put my hair back while studying."

"I never thought this was like you."

"It is no big deal Steve."

"Are you going to keep it like this?"

"For the time being, I am not sure. Maybe I will grow it out into a quarter inch cut so I won't get chilly in the winter, and then maybe back to its length. Maybe I'll keep shaving it, I don't know."

"What on Earth are your parents going to think?"

"Oh, they would kill me, but that's what wigs are for Steve."

" I never would have thought you were the type to do that," Steve said, again.

"It really is no big deal, calm down. I shaved my head for a change."

"You are completely bald!"

"Enough Steve. Who are we going to scare first."

"Ellen! Oh, this is so cool...," both said simultaneously. Jen took her hand, and instead of grabbing for hair, she rubbed it behind her ear, enjoying the curvature.

Jen wasn't a liar, in fact, this is the first time she ever deliberately falsified the truth. But as she reeled Steve along, she felt her path at College change before her eyes. She had become proud of her elegant new self, proud enough to take the hat off, and it really hit home with Steve.

Later that evening, after getting praise from everyone, she would return to her room. Without turning the lights on, she would notice the clothes she had set out for Friday morning lecture. She promptly took the gray sweatshirt and jeans and returned them to their respective locations. She then would began to forage through her closet, picking out all the things she thought emphasized her head. She found a jet black pair of slacks and a conservative white silk blouse. "This is for tomorrow," she would say that evening. And she was proud enough to go to Friday morning class and sit in the front row, the back of her shorn head shocking everybody. She did not know of any other girls at the institution who routinely shaved their heads, except Mary of course. This was bound to receive a lot of attention, and Jen knew that. She was unique for the first time. Nothing had changed inside, she was still the honest, hard working, girl she had always been. This added something to her character. Walking with Steve, she realized that she had tucked the check in her back pocket, originally planning to purchase a wig with it at Mary's suggestion, but now that plan was on hold. The two friends walked off in the rain, Steve's persistent questioning trailing into the distance.

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