“It’s always interesting how hard it is to cut through a ponytail,” Rosalind said as she made the final slice and passed the hair, held together in a band, to Reni. Reni stared at the hair in her hand, an echo of the trophies that had been laid out so carefully on Maurice’s desk. How does this dress look on me? Reni’s heart pounded and her mouth went dry. “How many ponytails have you cut in your life?” she asked, managing to keep her voice neutral, glad her mother was standing behind her and couldn’t see her expression. “Too many to count.” How does this dress look on me? Ponytails too
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