Alex shrugged. "So? I wanted my own look. Does it matter, really?" He fell silent, then shrugged again. "I don't know. He just did."
Alex chewed at his thumbnail. "I just like it. I like my eyes; they're like my mother's. I don't so much care about the smell," he added, after a moment. "Or the feel. I just... I dunno. It's me. I guess maybe I wanted to piss my father off, last summer when I did it. We didn't talk much for a long time." He looked over at her. "We didn't get along much. I... I was pretty much a bitch, for a while. I'm not Fred. I don't care about jokes and pranks or the shop. He didn't get that, or at least I thought he didn't. But I think he understands me better now. I understand him, too, better than I did."
Alex shrugged. "But he's never been a big talker about stuff. Guess I learned that pretty well."