Piper Fantouche hated her name. She often apologized for it when she met someone new. “It’s a strange name, I know,” she would say, as she shook hands. “Not my choice,” she’d add, blushing. “But easy to remember,” she’d throw in, with a slight laugh.
Piper didn’t like it when she blushed. Blushing revealed something about her, a raw nerve. Life had taught her that revealing something personal could be dangerous. But, try as she might, she couldn’t stop herself turning red when she was embarrassed, and she embarrassed easily. “It’s your capillaries,” her friend Susan told her. “They’re too close to the surface of your skin.”
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