“It used to be bright red. Everywhere we went, everyone laughed at her,” I told the judge. “I, trying to be a good friend, dyed my hair pink to make Wesley like less of an outcast. And may I say that I believe it is wrong to judge personality based on hair color.”

The room was silent.

“You have a point,” the judge said after a moment.

“I object, your honor,” protested Uncle James’ lawyer, “how do we know this girl is telling the truth?”

“I’ll wash it out,” Wesly stood from her seat, “I’ll wash out the hair dye so you can see…if that’s what it takes,” she turned to her uncle and glared.