Short Stories

Blue

Part 1

I sigh for the umph time, I don't know how many times I've tried to gel this hair, it won't budge. Not even gel!?

I grit my teeth and furrow my eyebrows as I stare angerly at the blue streak in my hair, standing upright. 18 years I've been stuck with it and for 14 years I've tried to get rid of it or at least make it less obvious.

"You're going to be late.." my older sister, Claire, smirks at me while leaning against the bathroom doorframe. I lean back, from almost being completely on the sink, to glance at her. She's seen me struggle with this.. thing for those 14 years.

"I just don't understand," she pushes off the wall and comes up behind me. As stated before, she's older than me, but given that I'm a 18 years old and a male you'd think I would be the one taller than her, but I'm not. Due to our difference in genes, I drew the short stick... Literally

"Who on Earth could have blue hair and it be floating, at that?" She massages her hands onto my scalp, then ruffles my hair. After a second she places her hands on my shoulders and swivels me around. I look up at her while I bite the skin off my lip (a perk of having anxiety).

"Come on kid, it's your first day at a new school." I roll my eyes at her playfully, suppressing a smile. "I know you're dreading it but try to look at some sort of positive note.. we live near a lake now" She shrugs a little, "you could throw a lake party."

"Hmm," I ponder for moment, "nah, dad'll probably kill me"

"You're so right- but it'd be fun to watch"

"I'll keep my loins, thank you very much." I grimace, as she tilts her head back to let out a loud laugh. I take that moment to really look at her, I do this often, I'm a people watcher. I like looking at every detail while people aimlessly go about their lives. She has beautiful curly, yet wavy, red hair. Her black strand sticks out like a sore thumb, she loves that little streak with her entire being. She's got some freckles splattered on the bridge of her nose and on her under eyes, like someone took a wet paint brush and flicked it at her. If you looked close you could almost make out a smiley face under her left eye, that was my favorite thing to look at when we were younger. She told me they (her freckles) reminded her of her mother, who passed away before I was born.

"Come on you two, I have to drive Sam to school." Our dad stops at the the door, his gaze fixated on his watch, that he can't seem to clasp right.

"I got it." I push off from the sink and reach my hands out for the watch. It was silver, the only jewelry metal my mother wasn't really allergic to. She never let dad wear gold, she said that even if she wasn't allergic to gold she'd still hate it. He sighed.

"Will you ever give up on it? I know you've tried everything to get it to stay down, you're very persistent," He poked me on the forehead, "just like your mother" I looked a him through my fringe, blowing hair out of my eyes.

"Maybe, but not yet... Let's go, I already packed something for breakfast and lunch. I just need to put my shoes on."

Part 2

There I stood, at the front door to my school. I was fearful, yet excited, we moved here because my mother got a new job opportunity... However, I can't say I'm mad, moving to the Pacific Northwest is a score, personally.

Taking a deep breath, I step forward and open the door. I could feel the stares already, everyone turned and looked.

Everyone was just curious as to who walked in, because most of the students were already there, only the stoners were late, but Samuel wasn't a stoner, he looked quite the opposite. He had a knitted forest green sweater on, seen as it was the beginning of November, with beige slacks and Mary Jane shoes (Doc Martin's Bethans). His hair, which was still ruffled from his sister 20 minutes earlier, was brown and looked gold/bronze in sunlight, and of course, the blue streak of hair that floated in the air. His dark brown, almost black, eyes scanned the the hall from left to right, already he could see people pointing and whispering, most likely about his hair.