Helena's Hairpin

Episode 3 of The Belles of St. Anthony's

I don't think Helena has ever cut her hair a day in her life. Sometime during Freshman year, I overheard somebody guessing she was planning to cut it when she got her driver's license, or after graduation, or her after wedding, but just the fact that there were so many possibilities probably meant it wasn't true. I've always been impressed by how well she takes care of it--so smooth, almost like cloth.

It also makes her look kinda creepy. She always wears it hanging over her eyes, and she stalks the halls like a vengeful ghost that crawled out of a well. She's also friends with those weirdos Charlotte and Augusta, which doesn't help her win a lot of popularity contests.

So no, I don't exactly interact with her that much. I never expected her to speak to me at any point, but during homeroom she came up to me and asked, "Excuse me, do you have a hairpin I can borrow?"

"Huh?" Well, I'm always willing to do a favor, so I opened my bag and showed her my pack--just some small wire ones I use for my own hair.

"No, that's not going to work," Helena said. "I forgot mine today."

"Oh, right, we've got Gym later." Hair like hers could cause serious problems if it started flying around. If she braided it, it could turn into a whip fairly easily. She always rolled it into a bun, and had this fancy hairpin to keep it in place. You could hardly recognize her that way. "How about a pencil? I've used that as a hairpin before. I got an extra."

I offered it to her, and her fingers hovered over the eraser, as if she were in agony. "That hairpin belonged to my great grandmother."

"I didn't know it was that special." I moved the pencil forward. "You want it?"

She tightened her lips and snapped it out of my hands. "Thanks. I needed one anyway." She took it to the pencil sharpener, and she used it for her Geometry work. I couldn't be picky about how she was using it. It's good to have multiple uses for something.

I also noticed her using it in her composition book for her poetry when her assignment was done.

Quick tip: do not ask her about her poetry.

Then it was time for Gym class, and as I was opening my locker for my duffel bag, she said, "Do you happen to have another pencil?"

"What happened to the other one?"

She showed me a little stub of wood and lead not even as long as her thumb. "I got a little carried away in my notebook."

I showed her the one I'd been using, which was almost a nub. "I'm sure somebody has one."

"There's no time." She turned around and lifted her hair aside and pointed at the back of her skull. "Stick your finger right here."

I did. She wound her hair around my knuckles about five times before running it through the loop, making a loose ponytail. I gave it a tug to tighten it. "Thanks, I owe you one." She held the used pencil out to me. "Here you go."

I pushed her hand back. "Keep it."