Read Online The Art of Getting Stared At by Laura Langston - Free Book Online

million lifetimes from freakdom, Sloane, though I have to admit that green hat does make you look jaundiced.” She sighs. “I don’t know why you pretend not to care about your looks. We both know you do.”
    Wrong. Lexi just wants me to care about my looks. The familiar argument is a welcome reprieve from thoughts of Matt. “I’ve told you. I should have been born Muslim. The veil is liberating. It frees you from worrying about clothes and makeup and hair.”
    She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, blah, blah.”
    â€œSeriously! Who wanted to be a mummy for Halloween when she was nine so both of her hands would be covered in bandages?”
    â€œThere are germs on doors,” she says primly.
    â€œYeah, and I had to knock on every single one of those doors for both of us.”
    Her cheeks grow pink. “I gave you extra candy, remember?”
    â€œForget the candy,” I tease. “How’s that mummy suit thing working for you these days?”
    She snickers. “Do we have to talk about this?”
    â€œOf course we have to talk about this! I’m telling you, Lexi, the burka is the answer for both of us. You’ll never haveto worry about another germ and it won’t matter what I look like. We’ll both be happy.”
    â€œYeah, until some guy wants to kiss us.”
    â€œTrust you to get to the heart of what really matters.” We both start to laugh. After a minute my gaze is drawn to the mirror. To my lips. To the hat. Covering up isn’t liberating at all today.
    Lexi glances at the T-shirt I chose. “Blue isn’t your colour either. Why don’t I bring you something else to try?”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    â€œGo home and work on your video,” Lexi orders. “It’ll take your mind off stuff.”
    It doesn’t. Not really. Once I’m home, I spend some time researching laughter on my laptop, and I text Harper again. When she doesn’t answer, I call her cell and leave a message asking if I can stay with her the first month Mom’s away. I call a few other friends too but nobody can commit. A few minutes later I’m back on the laptop surfing. And I can’t help myself: I google “hair loss.” Over sixty-three million results pop up. Whoa!
    I click on the top link. The first two paragraphs detail the normal cycle of hair loss and growth but paragraph three— what causes excessive hair loss—is the one that interests me the most.
    Surgery can cause hair loss, I read. So can hormonal problems, having a baby, and thyroid disease. There’s a section on infections; I click on it and scan the entries. Ringworm. Folliculitis. Something called Demodex. It’s a wormlike creature that lives in hair follicles. I stop breathing.
    Oh. My. God.
    Mom taps on my door. “Sloane?”
    Worms? My stomach does a queasy flip.
    Mom pokes her head inside my room. “Sloane?” Her gaze lands on the laptop resting on my knees. Her lips turn down. “Oh, Sloane.”
    Heat hits my cheeks.
    â€œYou said you wouldn’t.”
    â€œThat was before I lost more hair.” But I slam it shut. I could seriously throw up. Worms?
    Her eyebrows fold into a frown. “Please don’t.”
    â€œFine. Whatever.”
    â€œI found a specialist who’ll see us Monday afternoon at one.”
    I have film after lunch Monday and Isaac and I need to get going on the video. But I need to see the doctor too. “Can’t I go Monday morning?”
    â€œIt’s the best I can do, baby. He’s squeezing us in right after lunch.”
    I should be grateful. It can take weeks, months even, to get into specialists. Maybe Isaac and I can get some planning time in at lunch. “Thanks.”
    â€œI’ll write you a note for school.” Mom gestures to the laptop. “And please stay off the Internet. Don’t be like Lexi.”

    To avoid temptation, I stash my laptop in the