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not comfortable doing. Like, when we were little, our Mom would always want Sammie and me to sing “Oh Susannah” at family gatherings so everyone would see how cute we were. I remember one year pretending to zip my mouth shut, refusing to open it for the whole party. Call me stubborn, but I don’t perform like a trained dog.
    â€œDo you feel like sharing with us, Charlie?” Ms. Carew said.
    â€œMaybe some other time,” was all I could muster.
    â€œWe’re okay with that,” she said. “It takes a while to build up trust. Does anyone else want to share a secret? Take it out in the open and let it breathe.”
    Sara Berlin put her hand up tentatively.
    â€œThis is something I’ve never talked about to anyone except my mom,” she began. “And it’s going to be really hard to share. It’s kind of similar to what Bernard was saying about being afraid to take his shirt off.”
    I wondered what it could be. It certainly couldn’t be her weight. Sara was tall and slim, with not an extra ounce of fat on her.
    â€œSo Bernard was basically saying that he was ashamed of his body,” she began. “I am, too.”
    â€œThis is a very common theme we all share,” Ms. Carew said. “No one’s body is perfect, and yet we all feel that we have to keep our imperfections a secret.”
    â€œIs it about your hair?” a guy named Devon asked. “It’s obviously really different than most girls’ hair, but I think it’s awesome the way it sticks out all over the place. It’s like it’s saying, ‘I will not be ruled by you.’ That’s awesome.”
    â€œWell, it is about my hair, but then again, it’s not,” Sara said. Everyone just sat there quietly, while she actually wrung her hands with nervousness. Wow, why didn’t she just spit it out? This hinting around at everything was driving me crazy. As far as I was concerned, it’s either about your hair or it’s not.
    Sara took a deep breath and then suddenly reached up with both hands and pulled her hair up behind her ears. It was so thick and curly that when she pulled it all together on top of her head, it looked like a fluffy black cloud was hanging over her.
    â€œSee,” she said. “There’s my secret. Now it’s out. Or I should say,
they’re
out.”
    As I stared at her, I realized that I had never seen Sara with her hair up. Now that there was no hair surrounding her face, the thing you noticed were her ears. It’s not like they were deformed or anything like that. But they were really big and stuck out far from her head. And when I say ‘far from her head,’ I mean
very
far from her head.
    â€œKids have been teasing me about my ears ever since I can remember,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “Even when I was in preschool, one of the kids told me I looked like Dumbo.”
    Ms. Carew sighed. “Children can be cruel,” she said. “That must have been very hard for you, Sara.”
    She nodded. When she spoke again, her voice sounded like she had that lump in your throat you get when you’re trying really hard not to burst into tears.
    â€œEver since I realized I had protruding ears, I’ve covered them up with my hair. Thank goodness it’s thick and curly. But I’m always afraid that on windy days, my hair’s going to blow back and everyone will see what I really look like.”
    â€œHave you tried really strong hair spray?” I asked.
    Bernard looked at me, put his finger to his lips, and said “Shhhh.”
    What was his problem? I was just trying to offer a helpful suggestion.
    â€œGo on, Sara,” Ms. Carew said.
    â€œMy parents know how much this has affected my self-esteem,” she said. “And there is a surgery that can correct it. It’s called otoplasty, and they actually operate and pin your ears back so they’re closer