My cell phone held messages from my mom, my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, the financial aid office, and my academic advisor.

Multiple messages.

In the interest of putting off my return calls indefinitely, I’d already cycled through my email three times and lost four rounds of solitaire since lunch.

The phone beeped again.

I clicked on a link to an article about what to try when traditional stress management behaviors just aren’t cuttin’ it. My watch gave me about ten minutes before I had to leave for my afternoon class, so I gave tip number one a try: breathe deeply and picture a soothing color.

Inhale. Green. Exhale. Green. Easy enough.

After a few breaths, I did feel calmer. And I was impressed with the nifty green color I saw on the back of my eyelids. My calm lasted until I opened my eyes and realized that the back of my eyelids probably were green, because the rest of me sure was.

I hadn’t thought I was that stressed, not enough that the place I obviously needed to be had nice white jackets and padded walls.

I must have made a noise when the mirror confirmed that I was indeed head-to-toe green, because one of my suitemates knocked on the door from the shared bathroom and asked if I was okay.

“Just peachy,” I said, only a little hysterically, leaning away from the mirror to check that the door was locked. When I looked back, I had become head-to-toe peach-colored.

Peach managed to be even more disconcerting that green. It was close enough to my natural skin tone that, for a second, I feared I’d gone bald and naked before I discerned the lines of my hair and clothes.

The doorknob rattled. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” The inside of my mouth was peach, the underside of my shirt was peach, the lint in my belly button was peach…

“Okay… If you need anything—”

“Mmm, thanks.”

I pinched a fold in my jeans and pulled the material away from my thigh.

Peach jeans? Ugh! The only color jeans should be is blue.

My jeans turned blue.

I licked my peach lips and glanced at my shirt. Last year’s sorority crush shirt. Bright yellow.

Done.

I smiled.

I’d like to say I was still concerned about my sanity at this point, but as I turned my hair the shade of silvery-purple I’d always wanted to try, I was just hoping that the nice padded room would have a mirror.

Then my roommate’s key card slid through the lock.

Whoops. Umm, pink lips, brown eyes, brown hair. Not that shade of brown. Okay, burnt sienna! Raw umber! Close enough. White teeth…

I glanced frantically at the opening door and back toward the mirror. I looked like a badly photo-shopped picture. Sarah colored!

Tammy entered the room and sat her laptop case down on her bed. “You alright, hon?”

The mirror showed me that everything was back to normal except for the wild look in my eyes. “I’ve—” gone insane, lost my mind, plunged off the deep end… I glanced at the clock and grabbed my backpack. “Gotta go.”

I set a personal best record across the quad and took my seat in the middle of the crowded lecture hall just as the lights dimmed and the projector began its hypnotic whir. I was so glad it was the last week of American constitutional law lectures! Though I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the final exam.

“Everyone take out your number-two pencils for a pop quiz.”

I grumbled under my breath as I reached into my backpack. Annoying tenured professors who think they can get away with pop quizzes... Oh, drrr-at.

No pencil. Pens, I had. Even a highlighter, but no number-twos.

Of course not. Just like I had no sensible major that appealed to me, no money to buy books next semester, no more patience with—

I took a Scantron and passed the rest of the stack. I wonder…

I glanced at the first question, projected across the screen at the front of the room—the easy one to lull us into a false sense of security. B.

I touched the bubble for “B” in the first row. Number-two-pencil gray.

I pulled my finger away.

Whatdaya know? My super power is actually useful. Or I can at least think so until I get this quiz back Tuesday.

For the next ten minutes I experimented with my ability. I found that if I concentrated hard, I did not have to be touching the bubble to change its color. I also discovered that if I did not know the answer, I could not make the correct bubble fill itself in—which I merely attempted to satisfy professional curiosity, I assure you.

When I turned in the Scantron, I figured that I’d passed, as long as all the neat gray circles were not figments of my imagination.

The rest of the class passed in a blur of review. I tried to pay attention, really, but reviewing presupposed my acceptance of the reality of the final exam next Thursday, and I was having far more fun playing with my alternative reality.

After I returned the random ceiling tiles to their original color, I caught the professor doing his who’s-not-paying-attention sweep of the room. I had no clue what he’d been talking about, and I knew if he caught my eyes, he’d know it.

Lecture hall colored!

His eyes passed over me.

My relief was such that my concentration fled, and I popped back to my normal colors. It seemed that camouflage, I had to actively maintain. My classmates in the seats next to me turned my direction, but I kept my eyes studiously toward the front.

I rushed out the moment class was over. Normally, I ate dinner in the dining hall, but I figured a meal to go was in order. I filled my Styrofoam container without dallying or speaking to anyone, but I trudged up the stairs to my room. Should I tell Tammy I seemed to be crazy? Crazy was kinda fun and fairly useful. Should I want to be… umm, cured?

Tammy wasn’t in the room, so I sat on the rug and played with my food. Mom would never—

My phone beeped and sent another call directly to voicemail. How did she…? Ugh! Always knowing my infractions had to be her superpower.

I hadn’t felt much of an appetite for weeks, and blue-with-orange-spots-colored mashed potatoes did me in. I put my hands over my face and rubbed hard.

Tammy entered the room and sat her own dinner down at her desk. “What are you eating?”

“Nothing.” I closed the lid and pushed my food away. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s too hard. I’m running away to become Amish.”

Tammy smirked. “What are you going to do among the Amish?”

I considered. “Paint barns.”

“Okay.” She crossed the room to my closet, took down my suitcase, and started filling it.

“What are you doing?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Helping you pack.”

“I didn’t mean today!”

She slammed the suitcase shut. “No, of course not. Not today.” She returned to her desk and stabbed at her food. “Someday. Someday you’ll change your major to art like you’ve been threatening for three semesters. Someday you’ll tell your mom to get off your back. Someday you’ll dye your hair purple and make Justin treat you like you deserve or tell him to take a hike. Someday you’ll run away to become Amish. Whatever.”

“I’m fixing to break it off with Justin…”

She rolled her eyes. “Hon, you are why Yankees think ‘fixin’ to’ means squat.”

That stung.

By the time Tammy had finished eating, her eyes had softened. “Sorry. I’m stressed too.”

I forgave her. If I was being honest, I knew I deserved it. “So, what should we do? Being so stressed? I think I could qualify for my own padded room at this point.”

“Oh! Can you imagine how restful that would be? Or better yet, prison? They have televisions there…”

“Tammy? Tammy?”

“Hmmm?”

“You were drooling. Back to us? The rest of the semester? Making it through?”

“Okay, here’s the plan: we turn up some good music loud enough that we might get a visit from our wise and gracious RA and stare at the ceiling until the answers to our problems reveal themselves to us.”

Tammy was snoring by the fourth song. I turned off the CD player, threw away our trays, and tried to come up with my superhero name—Rainbow Bright, Optical Illusion Woman, Chameleon Girl… I guessed I’d have to work on it—until I fell asleep.

The next day was Friday, so I only had Logic 1306 to contend with. On the way, I noticed that the campus anti-fraternity had defaced some of the statuary again during the night. The pink noses didn’t bother me until I reached the statue of Jesus in front of the religion/ philosophy building.

The slightly larger-than-life bronze depicted Jesus kneeling with His face turned beseechingly toward heaven. Talented artistry demanded the observer’s participation in the word portrayed, and I could not pass it without feeling my own pang of empathized agony in the garden. I don’t know how the anti-fraternity had overcome the artistic word’s power to perpetrate their mischief. Not only had they painted Christ’s nose, but they had also painted pink blood onto the hands and feet.

I stared at the desecration a moment. I didn’t like it. I was going to fix it. Right after class, I’d go get a washcloth and…

No. Now!

I stepped onto the stone base and reached up to the statue’s nose. Bronze.

I stepped back. That had been impulsive of me, but it was fixed. I looked at the hands and feet. Those bothered me too, but I debated whether to fix those. Jesus hadn’t had a pink nose, but he had borne wounds on his hands and feet. Still, it seemed somehow sacrilegious. And besides, the vandals had gotten their events out of order. Jesus had agonized and then gone out and become the Sacrifice. He had been anxious, but then he went out and did what he had to do anyway… Oooh.

Hmmm.

I fixed the hands and feet and went up to my logic classroom.

Luckily, logic was one of those either you get it or you don’t classes, and I got logic—at least the “if A, then B” kind, if not the I-can-suddenly-manipulate-color variety—so I spent the hour planning my attack. I agonized a little, but comparatively speaking, the cost of my choices was pretty minor.

I called Mom first. “Mom, I’ve decided to stay here over the summer.”

“What! Sarah Marie Huwert, you know you’re expected at home. I have everything planned. I set up an interview for you—”

“I know, Mom, but I don’t want to intern at the office this summer. I’d appreciate it if you would give me the chance to do what I think I need to do, even if you think it’s foolish.”

She sputtered and threatened for a few more minutes while I scanned the course catalogue and decided I’d save the fact that I was not pursuing pre-med or pre-law for a different phone call. She accepted my sincerity after I mentioned I’d be staying at the House—time-sucking sorority she’d made me join ought to be good for something—and would take the bus home for a visit, but I was not—emphatically not—going home for the entire summer.

I called my advisor next and discussed my choices for both summer sessions. He accepted my change in majors without batting an eye—at least that I could tell over the phone—and I figured I’d made enough progress for before lunch. I had committed to change, but I needed to take a breather before applying for another loan to pay for books or talking to Justin.

I checked the mirror before I left the room and smiled to myself.

I sat alone at a table in the dining room until someone sat next to me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and looked back at my food. He was cute.

“I really like your hair. What do you call that color?”

I smiled to myself. “Insanity purple. I’m betting half of my sorority will be wearing it by July.” No, must not use my powers for evil... Must…not…

“You’re Sarah, right? I have a couple of classes with Tammy. I asked her your name. Umm, do you wanna go get a coffee after lunch? Tammy said you’re considering an art major, and I could tell you some of the best professors in the department… I’m Paul, by the way.”

I wondered how long it would take people to notice if I started changing everyone’s eye color to Paul Green so I could stare at it all day. Mmm, what had he said?

“I’d like to, but I think I’d better break up with my boyfriend first.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Would you like to use my phone?”

I laughed but pulled out my own cell. “I like your style. Give me a minute.”

It turned out Paul was not only interesting and good-looking, he also worked at the nearby home improvement store and knew of an opening in the color-matching department. I planned to apply for that, or maybe a house painting job, after I got the results of my American constitutional law quiz Tuesday. Art textbooks were going to be expensive. Of course, if art didn’t work out, maybe I could change my major to creative writing and narrate the continuing adventures of Lavender Lady, Color Chick, umm… Surely I’d come up with something.

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