Miss Bird, the soft-spoken, blue-eyed counselor, looks around the room. "Bruce, what would you like to be when you grow up?"

The dark-eyed boy shrugs nonchalantly. "Something with the police, maybe. Or a judge or something. I'd like a job where I could help bring justice and peace to the city – you know, stop criminals from running wild in the streets."

The boy next to Jack – Brendon, maybe? – snorts and leans over to Jack to whisper, "Just because his parents got shot…"

Jack turns his startling golden eyes on the other boy. "And what would you say if it had been you in his place?"

Taken aback, Brendon blinks and scoots away.

Miss Bird notices Jack talking. "And what about you, Jack? What do you want to be when you're older?"

The boy looks up at the counselor. She's very sweet, and she's always been kind to Jack, so he smiles a little at her as he replies: "I don't know either. I've an interest in engineering, but I've also been thinking about cosmetology. You know, make-up artist, hairdresser. Clothing would be fun, too…"

"Those are girl jobs, stupid!" calls a boy across the classroom.

Jack's jaw clenches.

Miss Bird looks at the other boy. "Derek, there's no such thing as a 'girl job' or a 'boy job,' and you'd do well to remember that."

Rosie's hand shoots into the air. "I know what I want to be, then!"

"What is that, Rosie?" Miss Bird says with a smile.

"I want to be an physicist . My mom always says that's a boy job, but I'm going to do it anyway. It sounds so interesting – you know, science and the Laws of Physics."

Miss Bird laughs. "That does sound like it would be fun. Now, class, I want each of you to come up and talk a little about what you like to do. That's what helps us choose what we want to do in life, right? The things we love to do will help define what our future career will be."

The class nods. Then, one by one, they walk up to the board and do their presentations that their teacher, Mr. Eccleston, had asked them to prepare a few weeks ago.

Finally, Jack's turn comes. He walks up, feeling nervous. He'd prepared his presentation about mostly 'girl jobs.' He knows he's going to get laughed at, which usually thrills him, but not this time.

He clicks into his PowerPoint and opens the first slide. For a brief minute he goes over hairdressing – different types of hair, different cuts, bits of trivia that interest him. Then he talks about makeup, including Halloween ideas and a little bit about makeup for movies and stages. Second to last, he talks about custom-style clothing and puts of photos of some of his sketches for suits and dresses and shoes.

At this point, even the boy who had insulted him earlier is listening. The clothing designs Jack had come up with are beautiful and stylish. Makeup is interesting.

It's like Miss Bird said: there are no 'boy jobs' and 'girl jobs.'

Finally, he goes over engineering and the different sections of that he'd be interesting in going into. Then he sits down quickly while the class applauds. Brendon leans over to him again.

"You should dye your hair, Jack," he says.

Jack looks at him. "Why?"

Brendon shrugs. "It'd be cool."

"Whatever."

As the day wears to a close, however, Jack keeps thinking about Brendon's suggestion. Jack had always wanted to dye his hair and never had because his mother hadn't wanted him to. But he's quite old enough to make decisions about his appearance now.

The question is, what color?

Natural? Or absurd? Or subtly strange?

He'd like his hair color to match his personality. He'd also like it to bring out a warmer tone in his skin, which remains white despite his attempts at tanning.

Auburn would probably be nice, but only if he cut it short. Of course, short hair is out of the question, so maybe he could go metallic gold?

That would be too hard to maintain.

The bell rings and he scrambles to throw things in his backpack. His mom is working at the grocery store, so he has to walk home. But if he hurries, he can get to the hair salon and home before she does. He'll surprise her.

He walks into the salon, still with no clear idea of what color he wants. When he sits down, and the hairdresser asks him what he'd like done, he says, "Well, probably a trim, since I haven't had one for a while. Just take off the ends. I'd also like to dye it – I'm not really sure what."

She starts wetting his hair to cut it. "Well, do you want to go natural?"

"Not really."

With a practiced eye, she examines him, taking in his eye color, and skin tone. "Do you want to go really wild, then, or more subtle?"

"Probably a little more subtle. My mom doesn't want me to dye my hair at all."

She laughs. "I see. In that case, I'd say a dark red or gold. Or… maybe green?"

"Why green?"

She shrugs. "I dunno. It seems like it would suit you."

He thinks this over as she trims around his ears and neck. Green would be cool. A dark green, of course. Almost brown. Subtle and yet…

"Yes, let's do green," he says.

She smiles. "I'll just finish up the trim, then, and we'll start dyeing."