Fast-Tracked by Tracy Rozzlynn Page B

some kind of underlying threat hidden within them.
    Immediately Odin disappeared. He returned soon after, steaming mug poised in his grip. I wasn’t usually a tea drinker, but I decided to be polite and sipped some. It was delicious. He had used honey to sweeten the herb tea instead of sugar. The flavor of the tea was an irresistible mixture of apples, berries and cinnamon. Before I realized it I had drained the entire mug. The warm satisfying feel of it sitting in my belly made me feel sleepy, and I started to doze off.
    When I awoke, Mrs. Glabough , Odin and Remy were staring down at me. “Well as usual, the two of you have done wonders.” Mrs. Glabough beamed.
    Panic rushed through me and I bolted upright in my chair. I turned and looked in the mirror behind me. “You drugged me?” I whimpered as I saw the atrocity of my hair.
    “It was just a little tranquilizer. Nothing to worry about really,” Mrs. Glabough said with a gleeful sneer on her face.
    It took all my willpower not to cry. My beautiful long hair had been chopped off. I couldn’t tell just how short it really was, because the front had been slicked back, flat against my head, and then the back hair had been fanned out in the shape of a peacock’s feathers. If that wasn’t bad enough, blue highlights streaked through my hair. I looked absolutely ridiculous.
    “I told you I will not tolerate any embarrassing behavior from any of you,” Mrs. Glabough menacingly whispered in my ear.
    All I could do was whimper back, “Yes, ma’am.” I had learned my first important fast-tracker lesson: you could be as rude and condescending to anyone of lesser station of you, but never to anyone who was your equal or superior, and that definitely included Mrs. Glabough .
    I had a hard time concentrating the rest of the day during classes. I know it’s just hair, but it was my hair. I felt so betrayed and violated by Mrs. Glabough’s actions. I hated her more than I thought it was possible to hate a person.
     
    “Oh, get over yourself and stop moping over your dinner,” Vera snapped at me. “My hair is even shorter than yours, but you don’t see me complaining.”
    I glared at her short cropped hair. At least hers was still its natural platinum blond color. Her superior smug tone infuriated me. I snapped, “That’s easy for you to say; your hair looks good. I look like a demented bird is sitting on my head.”
    “Well maybe it’s not as bad as it looks right now,” Trisha offered helpfully.
    “Thanks. I hope so,” I responded. Maybe the hair wasn’t a total loss if it got Trisha talking to me again. At least hair can grow.
    Before bed Trisha helped me brush out my hair. It had so much product added to it that it had formed a helmet against my head. After some time and pain, I got a good look at my new hairstyle. Trisha was right: it wasn’t nearly as short as I feared, but still it landed just above my shoulders. Brushed out, my hair was a simple bob with the ends cut into a hard angular line. It was a flattering cut for my face, and hanging loose the highlights were well hidden, and when a glimpse of the dark blue did show it made the ebony of my hair really shine.
    I thanked Trisha for her help. As much as I wanted to know what life would be like for Byron, I decided to wait to ask Trisha about it again. I needed to build her trust first.
    The next day I slicked my hair back up, so Mrs. Glabough couldn’t tell how long it really was. I didn’t want to chance her deciding to give me another haircut. Yet try as I might, I couldn’t duplicate yesterday’s hairstyle for the life of me. So I styled the ends in little pin-curls. Satisfied the length was undetectable, I headed down to breakfast.
    After breakfast, Mrs. Glabough marched us to several clothing boutiques. The first one was a lingerie store. Again, the store had been closed off just for us and there wasn’t another customer in sight. This time we were brought into the back and placed in