It had been a very hot, humid summer and the fall brought no relief from the sweltering heat and sticky air. My hair was completely unmanageable - it was growing quite long, but even when I pulled it back into a ponytail, there were always, always the dreaded wisps that would escape and flit around my face like annoying mosquitoes.

"Mom, can I please get a haircut?" I begged. "It's so hot at school and I can't stand it!" I had just started seventh grade and I was desperate for a new look. I was meeting new kids since I had transitioned from elementary to junior high, which was technically in the high school, but we occupied a separate wing. I wanted to look more mature and make a different impression on my classmates now that we were tangibly headed towards high school.

We went to the salon after school on Friday. When I sat down, the hairdresser asked how I wanted my hair cut. My mom began to say, "Just a trim," as always.

But I gathered my courage and said, "I'd like it cut short, please."

The hairdresser was happy to comply. My mom? Not so much. "Maeghan, you know how your father feels about short hair on girls. He says it makes them look less feminine." I had never cared less about looking feminine. I wanted my hair off my neck and I hoped I could train the stupid wisps to stay in place with the rest of my hair if it was short.

"Mom, please. It's my hair so why can't I decide to wear it the way I want it?" It didn't make sense to me. Dad seemed to think he was still living in Biblical times when it was practically a sin for a girl to wear her hair short. "I'm twelve years old. Can't I make my own decision about this?" Niall and I had just celebrated our birthdays in the past week; he had finally turned double digits and he was thrilled about it.

I could see in Mom's eyes that she had no argument against mine. "Fine," she relented and I did a fist pump.

The hairdresser, who's name was Megan too, but not spelled like mine, got to work. When she was finished, I had no hair on my neck and kind of a fluffy style around my head. It felt really weird, lighter. I asked Megan if she had any ideas for keeping the wisps out of my face and she showed me some hair product that was supposed to tame the flyaways. My mom grumbled as we left the salon, complaining about the over-priced hair product. Instead of arguing with her about its usefulness, I simply said, "Thanks, Mom."

She gave me a genuine smile and said, "You're welcome."

I couldn't wait to get home and show Niall. He still went to the elementary school, so we didn't see as much of each other as we were used to. When we pulled up into my driveway, he came running over to the car, waiting for me to get out.

As soon as I opened the door, he gasped. "What the heck happened to your hair?"

I scowled at him and said, "I got it cut, doofus."

"Maggie," Mom said in a warning tone.

"Sorry," I said, giving Niall a fake grin. "I got it cut, if you couldn't tell."

"It looks funny," he said with a chuckle.

"Shut up!" I said and then stomped into the house. When I got to my room I sat down and cried. Even stranger, I was completely confused at my reaction. Why would I care if Niall didn't like my hair? I liked it and that was all that mattered.

By dinner time, I was feeling better, but my mom asked me to not let Dad see me before she got a chance to tell him about my hair. Surprisingly, when she finally called to me and said I could show him, he didn't over-react or yell at me. He just said, "It makes you look very grown up, Maggie."

I smirked at him and then said, "Why thank you, Father. It does make me feel rather sophisticated, I must admit."

He started laughing and gathered me into a hug. He murmured in my ear, "You'll always be my Maggie Mae, no matter what your hair looks like. But for the record, I like it."

In the morning, I ventured out into the yard and sat on our old swing set. I hoped Niall would come out. I could have just gone to his house and asked for him, but that tiny taste of rejection from the day before held me back. I started to swing and I pumped as hard as I could. Niall and I had tried many times, vigorously, to swing fast and high enough to see if we could actually go around the top of the swing set and back down. We knew it was possible, according to physics, but we never figured out how to go fast enough to keep the momentum going.

Anyway, I started swinging really high, pushing my legs furiously to work out the last bit of my anger towards Niall. It wasn't long before I heard him shouting, "Did ya figure out how to do it?"

Swinging always made me feel high and light, both physically and emotionally. I started laughing and slowed down. "I just did it!" I lied. "You missed it."

"You're lying," he said, taking the swing next to me. I slowed down to just a gentle rocking. "Hey Meg, I'm sorry for what I said about your hair. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"It's all right," I shrugged.

"It was just a big change and I wasn't expecting it," he admitted.

"I know," I laughed. "I can't remember ever having short hair before. When she cut it all off, it felt like part of my body was cut off because my head felt lighter."

Niall laughed pretty hard at that. "Honestly, I think it looks pretty nice. Hey, I was thinking of something we talked about at school yesterday."

"What's that?" I asked, glad to have Niall's stamp of approval on my haircut.

"We were talking about time capsules. I wondered if you wanted to make one with me."

"Cool!" I said, stopping the swing completely. "What do you want to put in it?"

He shrugged. "Not sure yet. We have to find something to put it in first. Something that won't break down easily. Like maybe one of those big coffee cans."

"That could work," I said. "Or maybe...oh! I know!" I jumped off the swing and ran towards the house.

"What?" Niall yelled, following after me. I ran up to my room and found the gigantic popcorn tin in my bedroom, the one Niall's parents had given me for Christmas the year before. Before I even said anything, he reverently said, "It's perfect."

I nodded in agreement. "But we have to bury it, right? So we're going to need permission from my parents or yours, depending on where we want it to go."

"Yeah, or we could store it in one of our basements," he said.

"Nah, that wouldn't be as much fun," I replied. "Wouldn't it be fun to dig it up in ten years? Or maybe like twenty years when we have kids or something."

"We?" He asked, jerking his head back. "What do you mean, we?"

"You know what I mean," I snapped. "When you have your kids and I have mine. We'll be like 30 and I didn't mean we'd have kids together." I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"Oh, okay," he laughed in relief. "That would be really weird."

"So what should we put in it?" I asked.

We spent all afternoon and the next day, coming up with ideas and getting permission from our parents accordingly. We used a newspaper, dated September 20, 2003; a picture of us when we celebrated our birthdays together just after he arrived two years earlier; some memorabilia from movies we'd seen together; and an unopened Twinkie. I added some of my Jurassic Park drawings. Together, we filled most of a notebook, telling of our adventures in the caves, how we spent the two summers we'd had together so far, secrets about kids in our school. We asked our parents' permission if we could use a picture of us from the 4th of July when we were playing in the lake together.

We included our valentines to each other from the year before, when we had that big blizzard. My mom had gotten a big pack of Spongebob Valentines for both of us to give to our classmates. The one Niall gave me said, I like you more than chocolate!" But then he crossed out chocolate and wrote "I like chocolate first, then you!" and made a silly face next to it. I had given him one with Squidward saying, "I hate Valentines Day," but then I added, "But you're still my best friend."

Lastly, we filled out a sheet of important facts from the year 2003 and stuffed it in the tin.

Late Sunday afternoon, after dinner, Niall and I went and sat at the base of a large oak tree in our back yard. It was our favorite place to sit and talk or get some respite from the sun on a summer day, and today still felt like summer. I laid back on the ground and looked up at the branches above me.

"We should bury the time capsule right here, under this tree. Then we'll know exactly where to look when we dig it up," I suggested.

He laid down next to me, our heads touching but our bodies angled away from each other. "That sounds like a good idea."

As I looked up, I regarded the two thick, sturdy branches that Niall and I often climbed up to. I looked further and noticed another rather strong branch at about the same height. "I have a great idea!" I practically shouted. "We should build a treehouse!"

With the time capsule almost forgotten, we raced into my house and screeched the news of our wonderful plan to our parents. My dad said the idea had merit, whatever that meant, and Mom said it was fine with her if it was okay with Dad. They told us to go next door to see if Mr. Horan would be willing to help us build it while the weather was still nice, and he agreed as well.

The following weekend, with our time capsule deep in the ground, my dad and Mr. Horan dragged a bunch of tools out to the back yard. Dad had some old 2 x 4's and 4 x 4's in the garage, and there was some leftover plywood in the Horans' garage from the previous owners. Our dads had to go and get some extra wood at a nearby lumber yard, so we went with them. We were hoping for the Taj Mahal of treehouses but they were thinking of something a bit more modest. No matter, we were excited to start building and had a solid platform by sunset.

After lunch time on Sunday, we set out to continue our work. I still had visions of a multi-story mansion by sunset, but we'd only been working about half an hour when my dad asked me to bring a tool up to him. I grabbed it and, in my eagerness, I missed the third step, which was basically just a piece of wood nailed into the tree. I tumbled to the ground, but the worst of my injury was when another nail - one that wasn't part of our project - left a huge gash in my arm.

I hit the ground and it was the first thing I felt, a vicious sting in my arm. I looked at it, thinking I must have scraped it pretty good, but I didn't realize how bad it was until Niall started crying.

Mr. Horan raced to me and blurted out, "Heavens, Maeghan!" He had yanked off his flannel shirt and wrapped my arm and then picked me up, yelling up to my dad, "It looks pretty bad, Jerry!" Niall was crying harder and I was just sitting there thinking about how much blood there was.

My dad scrambled down the steps and cursed when he looked at my arm. He took me from Mr. Horan and ran into the house, yelling, "Sandra, get in the car! We're taking Maggie to the ER!"

Sheesh, all the fuss! He carried me the whole way like I was a baby. I mean, yeah, it was really starting to hurt by then, but I could still walk. 

When all was finished, I had eighteen stitches on my left forearm. And I got to take a few days off from school. I never did understand all the commotion, but when Niall came to see me after we got home from the hospital, I asked him why he had been crying. I figured he'd say he didn't like the sight of blood, but he finally told me, "I was afraid you were hurt somethin' terrible." Then he gave me a feeble hug, being careful of my wounded arm and went home.

* * * * *

Hey, I'm still here! Thanks for being patient, and please let me know what you think <3

As I was writing the part about the time capsule, I realized that I made a HUGE error in the first chapter! Niall's family supposedly arrived late on the evening of September 12, 2001. This was only one day after September 11, the terrorist attacks on the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, a day I will never forget (except when writing a story, obviously). It would have been near impossible to get a flight into the US on that date, and of course the terror and the aftershocks for days, weeks and months afterward would have been revisited everywhere from discussions at home and work to lessons in school. I realize that it doesn't have to play a major role in the story, but that day still haunts me 16 years later and I feel rather negligent about having excluded it. I will go back at some point and re-write accordingly, trying to keep the main events intact.