Kyle entered the semi-crowded theater with the same expression most people reserve for tax audits and dental surgery. He clutched his ticket like it might save his soul. The screen already glowed with early previews, casting everyone around him in flickering neon and shadows.

He found an empty seat in the middle of a long row. Perfect. No one on either side. No one to ask him how he was doing. No one to notice that Kyle had problems-lots of problems-problems arriving from all directions like homing pigeons with bad intentions.

A comedy, he thought. A light, silly comedy. That would help. That would shake loose the anxiety tightening his chest like shrink-wrap on a microwaved burrito.

The movie began.

He exhaled.

And then, gently... quietly... without the slightest bit of permission...

His hair turned blond.

It didn’t stop there. It parted itself neatly into two straight pigtails (the jaunty, carefree kind seen in shampoo commercials) and began to grow. Inch by inch. Soft. Silky. Slowly tickling its way toward his shoulders.

Kyle didn’t notice.

Subtle makeup brushed across his face like a team of invisible beauty gurus on a deadline: a soft pink blush warming his cheeks, highlighter adding a gentle glow, a cupcake-sweet shimmer to his lids, long fluttery lashes, and tidy, confident brows.

Kyle still didn’t notice.

Not until his hair grew long enough to tickle the tops of his shoulders.

He blinked.

Then smiled.