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storage. Digging out a candy bar, Nellie swung the grocery bag over her shoulder and slipped into the busy street. Already the corner store theft was fading from her thoughts. One last memory of her shapeshifting, knife-carrying double crossed her mind—now that had been a real rush, a double that made her think for a change—and then she ditched the incident completely and focused on the surrounding crowd.
    On all sides street pedlars bartered with women who were keeping sharp eyes on the children that darted shrieking about their knees. Eagerly Nellie’s gaze flicked over the scene, taking in everything she saw and filing it as information that could be used to shore up her shrinking store of memories about her own mother. These related mostly to the time they’d spent in the Out-backs before her mother disappeared, for Nellie could recall very little of their life in the Interior, and the urge to fill those missing years with some kind of story had her continually searching her environment for details from the lives of other children. Had her mother, for instance, ever grabbed Nellie’s arm and yanked her out of a spit fight like the mother scolding her seven-year-old son acrossthe street? Probably. Had she braided her daughter’s hair with red ribbons and bells like the small girl seated next to the vendor selling animal-head balloons? Probably not, and it seemed like a surefire way to drive a kid crazy, but still Nellie followed every twist and turn of the little girl’s head, listening as the bells sent out their faint tinkle. This would make a lovely bedtime story to tell herself about her own mother, she decided wistfully—the two of them walking through a bustling market, Nellie’s hair tinkling down her back, her small hand engulfed in her mother’s large palm.
    A new thought struck her. Why not buy a few ribbons and braid them through her hair? Thoughtfully Nellie tugged at the ragged tendrils hanging over her ears. Generally she attacked the stuff on her head with a pair of rusty scissors when it got too long, but today she had enough money, more than enough—and there was a barbershop nearby. She could get it done professionally . Grandly Nellie played with the word on her tongue, tasting its importance. Already she could see herself sitting in the barber’s fancy chair, pretending it was actually her mother cutting her hair, or better yet, that her mother had sent her there to get her hair done professionally . Yes, that was what she would do. Excitement mounting, Nellie headed toward the barbershop, sketching out the scene in her head. She’d just come home from school. My dearest darling , her mother had said lovingly, stroking Nellie’s lovely waist-long locks. I think it’s time you had a haircut. You’re the star in the school play tomorrow night, and you’ll need to look your best. Here’s some money. Go get it cut and come home quickly, so I can see how beautiful you look
    Yes, that was it—her mother was at home right now, waiting for Nellie to return with her professionally cut hair. Cheeks flushed, breathing anticipation, Nellie pressed against the barbershop window. As far as she could see there were no customers in the shop, the barber standing alone in front of the mirror, rearranging bottles of shampoo. Why not go all out and get her hair washed too? Her mother would like that. She would pull Nellie close, bury her nose in the fresh shampoo scent of her hair and say, Nellie darling —“Where ya going, Bunny?” a voice sneered behind her.
    Nellie whirled but the Skulls had already surrounded her, breathing heavily as if they’d been running for blocks. Hornets of fear swarmed her brain but she managed a frantic head count that took in everyone but Deller.
    “Barbershop, eh? Think you’re going to get pretty?” jeered Pullo, a large heavyset boy who seemed to be Deller’s second-in-command. Slit-eyed and intent the boys pressed closer, staring at the blobs on Nellie’s