I drew inspiration for this story from a particular conversation I had with my mom on my decision to grow my hair out to donate to the American Cancer Society to make real-hair wigs for cancer patients who had lost their hair due to chemotherapy. At first my mom wasn't all for it because she believed that after the haircut, I would regret the decision because I won't like the way I look. But I convinced her that I was doing this because I felt that I had to and explained myself to her, so now she's totally for it and now I'm psyched :) And the haircut idea really stuck with me, so I ended up thinking what would happen if a certain TMI character had to cut her hair for a particular reason? One thing led to the next and before I knew it, I had this!

So I hope you all enjoy it, I'm not quite sure what I want to do with this story just yet, but it has potential! Happy Thanksgiving weekend you guys :) I know I had an awesome one!

**Foresight: I had this scene also in my mind after establishing the reason why she was cutting her hair, so I included a little "preview". You can thank me in the reviews ;)

Song:

The Dog Days Are Over-Florence And The Machine (It was playing at the time of inspiration)

Snip, snip!

She had always dreaded getting haircuts since she could remember; from the way the cold metal blades sent shivers down her spine to the inevitable lighter feeling she experienced after losing what felt like pounds of hair on her head. Nothing about haircuts excited her, even when her friends told her they preferred her hair to be shorter so they could see her face clearer.

To her, haircuts were cruel and unusual punishment to something she spent years attempting to grow out with nurture and concern. Wincing now, she recalled her first ever haircut: she was only five years old when the classroom bully in her preschool decided it would be hilarious to put putty in her hair. The torturous humiliation that ensued shortly after left a brutal scar on her for life.

Shaking off her old childhood fear that was starting to get the better of her, she put on her game face and with a shaky hand, grabbed a fistful of hair. She took a steadying breath and focused on keeping her eyes open when the steel blades joined together in one quick flick of the finger. As the blades came to a close, she struggled to keep her vision from blurring as she watched the beautiful locks float to the ground to join the massive pile.

Don't chicken out now, she chided herself. You've come this far already. There is no turning back. You've crossed the point of no return. With a sigh, she ran her hand through her newly butchered hair and stared at her reflection. She looked…the same, she supposed. Her eyes looked bigger, brighter even, and her ears looked massive since they had no hair to hide behind…

Wiping a tear from her eye, she silently mourned her loss as she bent down and scooped up the remains into a plastic bag. Once all the strands were zipped up, she put the bag into the secret compartment of her luggage and locked it. She peeled off her shirt and shook it off above the toilet to make sure any extra strands would be flushed down. All the while, she forced herself to ignore the blatant different reflection in the mirror above the sink that stared back at her.

"This better be worth it," she grumbled as she tugged the shirt back over her head. Turning back to face the mirror once last time before going to bed, she turned on her side and forced her eyes to focus on the last obvious difference she had yet to get used to: the flat uppermost region where two bumps once were. Her hair she could deal with, but the suffocating binding was an entirely different story. Simply sighing was made difficult thanks to the gauze wrapping and she silently prayed as she did every night the week after getting the assignment that she could pull this off easily. Getting a sex change was easy, but faking to be a boy to fit into an all-boys school? Now that was the hard part.

**Foresight:

She paled. "I don't really want to play anymore…"

All the boys turned their heads to look at her and she felt her cheeks flare up as she took in their bemused expressions. "I, uh, um…"

"Is it because you're on skins?" he asked. Of course he would, she figured. He was her target after all, her reason of being there in the first place. He was a natural-born leader–that much she knew even before she "met" him officially. And his cocky demeanor was the one that gave it away. Even now, that simple question was loaded with sarcasm. It was disgusting, really.

"I prefer to keep my shirt on," she mumbled to her feet. By the Angel, after all this time of preparation for the mission and she hadn't seen this coming? She was supposed to be the best of the best, and here she was, in a situation even a newbie could easily get out of. How embarrassing.

"You don't have to be self-conscious," the other boy––Alec––spoke up. "I mean, you have a-uh…well, it's not like you're fa–"

"I'll spare you the embarrassment," he said with a roll of his eyes as Alec bit his tongue. "You can go on shirts if it makes you feel better about your insecurities."