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    The fo llowing Monday I called Hair De signs to make an appointment for Gary with Ellen, my favorite stylist. After I explained Gary's problem and told Ellen what I had in mind, I made the appointment for Saturday morning. It was a long time to wait, but I had my reasons for scheduling it so far in advance. Gary was supposed to get his con tacts Friday afternoon, and I wanted him to show up at school the following Monday with a whole new look.
    The week seemed to drag by, but at long last Saturday arrived. To my dismay, when Gary picked me up at a quarter of ten, he was still wearing his glasses.
    Frowning at him as I climbed into his second-hand Toyota, I asked, “ What hap pened to your contacts? Weren’t they ready yesterday, or have you vaporized them already? ”
    “ I have them right here, ” Gary said, pat ting the breast pocket of his shirt. “ It’s a new prescription, and I’m not used to it yet. I thought I’d put them in later. Where is this place we’re going to, anyway? ”
    I gave him directions, and soon we were walking into Hair Designs. The bell over the door jangled merrily as we entered the shop, and Ellen came out of the back room to greet us.
    “ Hi, Ellen, ” I said loudly over the rock music that was blaring in the waiting room. “ This is Gary Hadley, the one I told you about on the phone. ”
    She studied his shaggy mop critically. “ Hmmm. I see what you mean, ” Ellen said. “ How much do you want taken off? ”
    “ Just a trim … ” Gary began.
    “ About three inches, ” I told her.
    “ Three inches ? ” Gary echoed i n horror. “ I won’t have any hair left! ”
    “ Yes, you will, ” Ellen assured him. “ Just not as much. ”
    “ But I like my hair, ” he protested.
    I patted his arm. “ I do, too, Gary. It's very nice hair, and I’m sure it would have been very fashionable back in the seventies. But these are the nineties. Besides, if you don’t like it, you can always let it grow back. ”
    “ But—but … ”
    He kept on “ butting ” as Ellen led him gently but firmly into the salon. Now there was nothing left for me to do but wait.
    I expected to hear a wail of anguish as soon as the hair started to fall, but the music drowned out any sound from the back. I glanced at a couple of magazines, but none of them held my attention for very long, so I started pacing up and down like an expectant father awaiting the birth of his first child.
    My nervousness grew with every passing minute. What if I’d made a terrible mistake? What if Gary had really awful ears that would be better covered up? What if...?
    “ Well, I hope you’re satisfied, ” said a gloomy voice from the doorway to the salon.
    I was almost afraid to look. If this whole thing was a disaster, I'd never forgive myself. Taking a deep breath, I turned around very slowly.
    There in the doorway stood a very tall, slender boy with reddish-brown hair cropped short on the top and sides, but left long enough in the back to touch his shirt collar. Long, thick lashes framed a pair of eyes al most the same color as his hair, and at the moment those eyes were filled with uncertainty.
    I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn't make a sound. Although I’d hoped for some slight improvement, never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that inside sweet, clumsy Gary was a gorgeous hunk just waiting to be set free!
    “ Molly, don’t look at me like that, ” he begged. “ Say something! ”
    “ Oh, Gary, ” I breathed, finding my voice at last. “ You look—you look … ”
    “ Like a plucked chicken, right? ” he finished for me, nervously rubbing his newly shorn head.
    “ No! ” I exclaimed. “ You look fantastic, absolutely fantastic ! ”
    Gary blinked. “ Are you kidding? ”
    Still a little dazed, I shook my head. “ Be lieve me, I've never been more serious in my life. ”
    With a tentative smile he said, “ Well, I f eel like a plucked chicken. Are you sure I don’t look weird?