I got up an extra hour early to do my hair before school. Getting in the shower, I washed it and attempted to dry it with a round brush, but I did more harm than good with it. Then I plugged in my new round brush dryer, which gave off a burnt plastic "new dryer" smell. I tried to roll my hair onto it like Michaela did. My arms started to hurt from holding it, and I felt hot and sweaty. Why did drying my hair make the bathroom feel like a sauna? When I was done, my hair was full and beautiful. I took a selfie to capture the look, since I knew it'd fall before too long. I grabbed my bag and walked to the bus stop. Tori's mouth dropped open.
"Wow, Landry. You got your hair chopped."
I nodded.
Ericka tilted her head. "Oh, you finally did something with it."
I waited for her to follow up with some sort of compliment, but nothing. So I told them about the stylist cutting it with a razor.
They nodded but said nothing. Not even, "It looks less pukey than before."
"It's easier to curl now," I said.
"But it's not curly at all," Ericka said.
"Well, I — I used a one-and-a-half-inch round brush. I just meant that it's easier to style it around a round brush."
"Well, at least when your hair falls, it'll probably look okay just being all straight with this style," Ericka said. "So that's a plus."
The bus pulled up, and I got on behind Ericka. People made little comments as I passed like, "Oh, wow, your hair is so choppy," and, "That's so drastic." And then there was my favorite — the weird look with the "Do you like it?" comment, as if they wondered if I realized what a hideous mess I was.
I gritted my teeth and nodded. Tori and Ericka moved into a seat, and I was left to sit alone behind them — as usual.
"Well, models do sometimes get weird and modern cuts," Ericka said quietly to Tori. "I'm so glad I didn't get picked for that modeling thing."
"Oh I know, I'd die if I couldn't pull my hair all back into a ponytail," Tori said.
"I know, right? It's going to look so bad after gym."
I stared out the window until we arrived at school. I decided not to let their comments bother me, and I pulled out my new Little Rose lipstick and gloss. As I gave myself an internal pep talk, I once again felt pretty and confident as I walked off the bus and down the path to meet up with my friends.
"Landry, I don't think Ms. Ashcroft will allow that lip stuff," Ericka said, turning to look at me.
I stepped back. "Oh, well...maybe I can just blot it a little."
"I doubt it, it's super bright," she said.
I asked Tori and Thalia, who walked over.
"It is a little bright," Tori said, shrugging.
I reached in my bag for a tissue and started to blot the color off my lips.
"I like it," said Thalia. "It's the perfect color for you."
By lunchtime, my cute, piece-y layers were no longer defined and magazine cover worthy. I would have been okay with that had Ericka not called attention to it.
"Oh wow, what a shame your hair went limp. Too bad, it was the best your hair has ever been," she said.
"Thanks," I said and then felt stupid. That wasn't an actual compliment, was it? I couldn't tell if she had insulted or praised me. I didn't think it was a compliment, because those made me feel good, but I just felt judged. It wasn't that big a deal that my hair wasn't perfect, but why did it feel like Ericka was going out of her way to make me feel less than pretty? If she was my friend, shouldn't she want me to feel good about myself or, at the least, not make me want to put a paper bag over my head?
****
When I got home from school, I got a call from Dad about him coming to town for a few days.
"Hey, kiddo. Tried calling your mom, but she's at a conference, so I thought I'd tell you instead. I'm doing one of the guys here a favor, so we're switching vacation days. I'm coming this weekend instead of next weekend."
"Cool! What time does your train come in? Are you going to be here in time for parent night tomorrow?" I asked.
"There's a parent night at your school tomorrow? Your mom didn't mention anything."
Probably because I forgot to tell her about it. Whoops. Oh well, she had been so distracted with work, she'd probably think she forgot it.
"Would it be okay if I went, too?" he asked. "Hey, kid, my shift's about to start. Can you talk to your mom about it, and I'll call her tomorrow morning before I leave, okay?"
Mom came home about an hour later with take-out from the Italian place near her office. We stuffed ourselves with baked ravioli and garlic bread and then watched a TV movie. Mom fell asleep during the film, so I stayed up to watch the end of it.
It wasn't until I got into bed that I remembered that Dad wanted me to make sure it was okay with Mom if he came to parent night. I went into the living room where she was still curled up on the couch.
"Mom?" I whispered. She murmured something. "Dad wanted me to…"
She was completely out of it, so I went back to bed. Besides, Dad said he'd call her tomorrow. He probably sent her a text about coming this weekend anyway.