In Our Own Time

Beanies and... Boys?

K E I R A

Oooh, God. If my hair ever does this again, I'll chop it all off. Myself. I'm actually quite handy with a pair of scissors, however much my mum disagrees.

It consisted of tangled curls, waves and ringlets that sprung out in all directions. Apparently they "frame my face nicely", but I beg to differ. Eughugh. One thing I do like about my hair is the colour, though. A dark oak brown with hints of auburn. Maybe, if I ever managed to get the frizz under control, it could look quite pretty.

Maybe.

I usually wear cute beanies over it, though.

Huffing and puffing at my reflection in the mirror, I shook it out. Felt good. Looked awful, felt good. . . .That's what she said. Whipping my black cat beanie (complete with cat ears) off my desk, I shoved it over my head, smiling wickedly.

Not today, I thought. You thought you'd won, but not today.

Suddenly, the horrendous thought that it might be against school policy to wear cute beanies in class crossed my mind, but I dismissed it with a shrug. I was feeling lucky today. Plus, who in their right mind would say no to a girl wearing an adorable, fluffy hat? What were they gonna do, kick me out?

"Keira?" Mum poked her head in through my door, raising a brow.

"You gotta knock first, mum." I stated dryly, not taking my eyes off the mirror.

She sighed. "Okay." A moment later, a knock. Then "come on in!", then "Keira?"

"Yush?" Funny voices are my shtick.

Mum sighed, rolling her eyes and giving me a once-over. "You look lovely." I felt myself blush as I got that teenagery urge to slap her clear across the face so she wouldn't notice. Do other people get that?

"Thanks."

"Now, I know it must feel slightly strange, starting in year 11, but let me tell yo--"

I interrupted her before she could lecture me. "Yeah, yeah, we've been through this. I'll be fine. I'm sixteen."

Another sigh, though this one in good taste. "Okay, okay," She beamed. "Be down in five." I grinned back before she left the room. People always said mum and I had the same smile. Cool, I supposed.

I like it when mum smiles, even though I'd never admit it to her. Unless I was putting on a funny voice to mask my embarrassment, of course. Truth is, she never did a whole lot of smiling after dad left, but recently it's picked back up. Something about stuff going well at work? Yeah, something.

But, if I told mum how weird I'd been feeling for the last half year, I reckoned she wouldn't smile as much anymore. Hey, she probably wouldn't frown, but no doubt it'd take some kind of toll on her. After all, she was always egging me on and on about how I'd do better than her, get a handsome husband and raise some adorable kiddies.

I was her only hope. I don't have siblings.

But I couldn't have kids. I didn't want kids. Well, actually, I did, but. . . But I just didn't think I liked guys like that. My mind was instantly alert when girls were about. I guess I must've been gay. Which, honestly, doesn't bother me too much, I was just concerned for mum. I didn't want her to be disappointed or unhappy. I was her only family.

What if I end up being her last family? The end of the road? The tree stops here, unless dad got busy, wherever he is.

How can I ever make up for that?

Of course I tried. I dated a guy called Nick last year. He was good at football, which I suppose for any other girl would make up for the fact that he had no brain. But not for me.

I like quick-witted, sharp-eyed, bright, enticing, beautiful, mysterious. . . girls.

. . .How can I ever make up for that?