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need to speak to someone,’ Mum began, ‘…about my daughter’s hair.’
    The girl looked at the fuzz on top of my head. I wanted to turn and run.
    ‘Yes,’ she agreed, as if it was obvious. ‘Take a seat and someone will be straight over.’
    I refused to look up because I was convinced everyone was staring at me. Instead I took a seat next to Mum. She flickedthrough some magazines but I was anxious and started kicking my heels off the wooden bench beside her.
    ‘Stop it!’ she snapped.
    I glared at the ground. It was her fault I was here. Suddenly, the hairdresser appeared.
    ‘Do you want to come over?’ she said, tapping the back of a nearby chair.
    The stylist was a heavily-bosomed woman with teased blonde hair, exactly the same shape and colour as a brass bell.
    Mum explained the problem and the hairdresser pulled sympathetic faces and tutted as she listened. She ruffled her fingers through the frizz and grimaced at the state of my hair. You could read what she was thinking by the look on her face. But even though she was sympathetic, she refused to do anything with it.
    ‘Her hair’s ruined,’ she said simply. ‘You can either cut it all off and start again or stop using that stuff in it and let it grow out naturally and get its condition back.’
    I looked up in horror at Mum through the reflection in the mirror. She was standing behind, nodding her head in agreement.
    ‘I’m not having it cut,’ I insisted. ‘I’ll look like a boy!’
    I knew a boy’s haircut would make my life a hundred times worse at school.
    ‘Well, in that case you’ll just have to grow it out,’ the hairdresser told me.
    ‘But how long will that take?’ I gasped.
    ‘Months, probably even a year. I’d put a colour over it but I’m afraid the condition is so bad that I’d be too scared to touch it.’
    And so my fate was sealed. I was the girl with the golden hair, but I wasn’t like the one in the adverts. She was beautifuland successful. I wasn’t – I felt stupid and ugly. Instead I became more and more of a sitting target. It took an age but my roots slowly grew out, making the blonde and brown equal in length. I looked ridiculous, as if I really was wearing a wig. All I’d ever wanted to do was blend into the crowd, but my hair wouldn’t let me. Instead everyone had a field day at my expense.
    The other girls were pretty with nice, shiny hair and they wore the right clothes. I was Mophead, the one everyone laughed at. But fate was about to throw a curveball into my life. Little did I know it then, but I was about to become the envy of every girl in my school.

CHAPTER 5
CARNIVAL QUEEN
    E ach year, a carnival procession was held in the centre of town. Made up of dozens of different floats, it was sponsored by local businesses promoting their wares. Everyone looked forward to the gala, especially the kids because it meant the fair would come to town. In many ways, it was the highlight of our summer.
    I’d already spent a miserable first year at secondary school. The bullies had made me feel crap about myself every day, so I was looking forward to it, especially the fair with its merry-go-round – it was my favourite ride. Up until now, I’d always been a spectator; I never got involved in the gala because I preferred to just blend into the crowd. Being involved was a job for the popular girls, not me. But Lauren had different ideas.
    ‘Let’s dance in the procession, we could join the school dance troupe.’ she suggested, her eyes flashing with excitement.
    My mouth fell open; I thought she’d gone mad, again. Everyone knew the dance troupe was made up of all the popular girls, not misfits like us. To try and join in would be social suicide.
    ‘Err, no way!’ I gasped, but Lauren refused to take no for an answer.
    ‘Come on,’ she coaxed. ‘We’ll be together and it’ll be fun!’
    But I wasn’t having any of it. I thought she’d completely lost her marbles.
    ‘Are you kidding me? They’ll