Chapter

Fifteen

(Saturday, July 23, 2016)

Dakota’s porcelain pedestal sink was the scene of an arduous ritual sacrifice, splattered with the newly let blood of a unicorn. That’s how it looked anyway. An inch of standing pink water, pink droplets everywhere. Boxes of hair color—pink and bleach—discarded on the tile. Two of her mother’s white towels, stained. And Dakota’s hair, pink too.

“It’s not pink,” Hannah insisted, smoothing the ends as she blow-dried. “It’s rose gold. And it’s sophisticated. Trust me.”

Dakota turned her head right to left, left to right and shrugged, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of agreement. With some things, Hannah could be trusted. Eyeliner, sunless tanning lotion, hair dye. With others, like the basic rules of friendship, not so much.

“C’mon, admit it. You look hot. Dickface—oh, sorry, I mean, Tyler—eat your heart out.”

Dakota winced at the mention of his name. She hadn’t heard from Tyler since Monday when he’d left her at the Pedersons’ mailbox. Not that she’d expected to. Senior boys don’t apologize. And they certainly don’t obsess. They move on. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“Okay? It looks just like Kylie Jenner’s. Maybe even better. I knew it. You’re still mad at me.”

Yes. Very. “No, I’m not.”

Hannah groaned as she wielded a can of hairspray, leaving a plume of metallic sweetness in the air. And—bleh—in Dakota’s mouth.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, I didn’t mean it like that. Dickface twisted my words. I said you were inexperienced, and he needed to take it slow.”

“I don’t understand why you were talking about me in the first place.”

“Look, Tyler was my friend first. I’m the one who set you guys up. It’s only natural he would come to me for advice. I was looking out for you, biatch.”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Even though she didn’t.

Hannah ran two hands through Dakota’s hair and stepped back, admiring her work.

“Your mom’s gonna freak, you know.”

Dakota nodded, her face cracking into a smile that wasn’t meant for Hannah at all but for herself. Because even more than getting Tyler’s attention, ticking off her mom was the whole point. She’d be back from Saturday errands any minute now with her two reusable bags of organic groceries and her fresh gel manicure.

“Speaking of which, you’ve gotta go. I’m supposed to be grounded, remember?”

Hannah shook her head, pitying, and headed down the stairs. “Twice in one month, you rebel. That’s got to be your lifetime record. Let me just get a quick pic for the vlog. My viewers are going to love it.”

She aimed the lens of her phone and Dakota relented, hoping she didn’t look as silly as she felt, posing in one of her dad’s old, stretched-out T-shirts, barefoot in her bathroom. Not exactly high fashion.

“Wait until Dickface sees this,” Hannah said. “You look like a rose petal.”

Dakota felt more like the stem. Lanky and full of thorns. “I doubt he’ll care.”

“So let’s make him.” She tugged down one side of the shirt, baring Dakota’s collarbone, and mussed her hair. Out came the lip gloss. Just a dab. “Gorgeous. Now, look over your shoulder at me.”

As Hannah snapped another photo, Dakota caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and sighed. “I look like I just woke up.”

“But in who’s bed? That’s the question.”

“You’re such a perv. Don’t post that.”

Hannah said nothing, giggling like Dakota had meant it as a compliment. Then she took off down the stairs, giving Gus a cursory pat on the head and Dakota the wave of a pageant queen. Her loyal subjects. Gus had no shame. And neither did she.

Dakota looked on from the window as Hannah pedaled away on her bike. She returned to the bathroom sink and opened the stopper, watching the unicorn blood swirl down the drain into nothing.

****

When Dakota heard the Range Rover round the drive, she positioned herself at the kitchen counter, an apple in her hand, and waited. “Get ready,” she warned Gus.

The door opened, and her mother gaped at her, holding the two reusable bags of organic groceries in her newly manicured fingers. Predictability was her mother’s weakness. Well, one of them anyway.

“What the hell did you do to yourself?”

“Chill, Mom. It’s summer. It’ll wash out before school starts.” She took a casual bite of the apple, chewing slowly. As if she had all the time in the world.

“Chill? Seriously? I think you’ve been spending too much time with Hannah. Did she do this to you? This ridiculous pink hair?”

Dakota shook her head, wondering why she felt insulted. She could misbehave perfectly well on her own. She didn’t need Hannah’s help. “It’s not pink. It’s rose gold.”

“You’re supposed to be grounded. That means no friends, no phone, and definitely no . . . whatever this is. I’m calling her mother.”

“Go ahead. Or maybe you should just ask Dad to talk to her. Since they’re obviously so close.”

She hadn’t planned to say that. Of all things. She knew she’d pushed too far. But sometimes too far was the only way. Because it had been days since she’d logged on to Shadow Snoops, and she was supposed to meet Grandpa Krandel tomorrow. And as of this moment, she was still a caged bird with her wings clipped.

“What did you say?” Her mom spun her around by the arm, those manicured nails—shiny red, of course—digging into her flesh.

“Ouch, Mom. You’re hurting me. I just meant Dad’s always at the hospital, always working. He’s barely even home anymore.”

Her mom let go, tears already glossing her eyes.

They both stared at Dakota’s arm, at the little red marks there. Those half-moons that might turn into fingertip bruises. Or not. Only time would tell.

“I . . . I’m sorry.” Her mother delivered the apology to a head of kale. She’d already turned away, wiping at her cheeks and busying herself with the groceries.

Wordlessly, Dakota helped. Almond milk in the fridge. Bananas in the wooden bowl on the counter. Paper towels on the rack.

Finally, with the bags emptied, she sat on a bar stool, sniffling herself, and said it. The words she hoped would get her un-grounded. But more than that, words to get her mom back on her team. Because lately, she’d never felt more alone.

“Tyler broke up with me.”

****

Hours later, the spots on Dakota’s arm had faded, but she had her phone back and her mother’s permission to bike to the library tomorrow. Still, it wasn’t a real victory. Because her mom had felt so guilty, she hadn’t even mounted a proper protest, retrieving the phone from the master bedroom and passing it to her, not meeting her eyes. They’d barely talked about Tyler at all. Dakota had tried, but her mom seemed distracted. Not like she used to, when they could chat for hours about nothing.

After, her mother just stayed in the bedroom with the door closed. If Dakota pressed her ear to the place where the wood panel met the side jamb, she could hear her crying, so she retreated to her own bedroom. Her usual hideout, beneath the covers, headphones stuck in her ears.

It only got worse when Hannah texted.

Check this out. Dickface liked ur photo.

Dakota clicked the link, and her face appeared on the screen. Well, it was sort of her face, the raw materials anyway. But Hannah had photoshopped her into someone she hardly recognized. Her lips, fuller and redder than they’d ever been in real life. Her skin, smooth and dewy. Even her nose looked different, more regal somehow. And her boobs, her boobs, well, she actually had boobs. No pushup bra required. The caption: Sugar and spice and all things . . . naughty. Who says pink is the color of innocence?

Dakota studied the picture, cataloguing all the things she wasn’t. A flame of rage licked up to the center of her chest and burned. Of course, Tyler had liked it.

What is this? she finally texted back. I told you not to post that one.

Come on, D. I made you beautiful. Ur already up to 1,000 likes.

Disgusted with herself, she balled her hands into tight fists and slammed them into the mattress, but it didn’t help. She felt stupid for ever listening to Hannah.

Abandoning the phone on her nightstand, she padded down the hallway to her parents’ bedroom and knocked softly. When the door cracked open and her father’s beleaguered face appeared, she nearly gasped. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him. Behind him, her mother sat on the bed, head buried in her knees.

“I didn’t hear you get home,” she said. “Is Mom okay?”

“Jeez, Dakota. You really did dye it pink. What’s going on with you lately? It’s like we don’t even know you.”

Spontaneous human combustion. That’s what Dakota thought of. Charles Dickens had written about it in Bleak House, one of the books she’d read for freshman AP English last fall. And she’d googled it, fascinated. She knew now there was no such thing. Because if a body could auto-ignite, hers would’ve caught fire right then and blown up, leaving a pile of ashes at her father’s feet.

Instead, she stood there, intact, until her mother whimpered, and her father closed the door in her face.