TANGLED PLANS

7

I've never gotten my hair done.

My mom was a woman of natural interests, and when I did need a trim or a cut, she would do it. My mom was never bad at doing my hair, so it didn't look this bad. Over the past two years of her not being able to do my hair, my hair has started to look so bad. The length of it was all over the place, and my hair texture was not amazing.

Running my hand through my hair meant that it was going to be brassy and frizzy, despite my not having curly hair. The lack of care put into my hair caused it to be like this.

Vicky turns my body to the mirror and puts a hand in my hair. She purses her lips up in thought and then says, "See, your hair color is gorgeous—super dark—but there are some lighter pieces in there. I could enhance those pieces."

I nodded, chewing on my bottom lip, and let her continue. "I think that the length of your hair is gorgeous, but your hair doesn't fit your face."

"What do you mean?" I whisper to her after gathering my courage to speak. She smiles at me and says, "Your hair doesn't frame your face. You have a very nicely shaped face, Daisy."

"Thank you," I say to her, and then look at my facial structure in the mirror. I always thought my chin hung a little too low and that it was too pointy. I never knew how to make it look good without looking weird, so I opted for not caring.

Vicky moves the front pieces of my hair up and plays around with it. She speaks as she does so. "I'm thinking we do wide bangs. Cut the front pieces all the way down to your chin, and then a few more to really frame your face."

"Okay," I say to her quietly, and I try to get the image in my head. I've never really done anything except put my hair behind my ears all the time. It was either that or put in a ponytail or another type of updo. I've never worried about whether it would frame my face or not. I guess that could be a good thing to play around with. I had time in the world to figure out what worked with me anyway.

While Vicky washes my hair, she says, "So how do you know my brother?"

"I don't," I say to her nervously. I was still puzzled that she was having a conversation with me. Vicky hums in response, and I let out a nervous laugh. I'm not sure why I was acting shy around Vicky; it wasn't like the guy I liked was in here. He had left me here with the promise of calling him if anything went wrong. At first, I was scared that he was leaving me, but after he left, I found that it was easier to breathe without him around.

I really needed to find another interest. Max was off limits, and I needed to move on.

"He is my brother's best friend," I say to her after a while, and she hums lighter this time in response. I fiddle with my hands; I'm resting on my stomach as she washes my hair and says, "Max and I, we aren't friends."

"He cares about you enough," Vicky says, and then starts to wash my hair off with the water. I've never had my hair washed this way before. It was usually my mom doing it, and that felt super good. When I became a teenager, it was hard for her to do mundane tasks due to her health, so I've never asked her to do them. Now, I'm enjoying the fact that someone else was taking care of my hair, even if it made me miss my mom.

I tuck away Vicky's comment about Max caring about me in my head. The next step of the process is to dry my hair. Vicky smiles at me in the mirror and says, "Do you take care of your hair well?"

"Um," I say, because she probably can notice that I do not. I'm lucky enough to brush my hair twice a day. I've never really been interested in my hair. I chew on my bottom lip and shake my head. She gives me a smile regardless and says, "I'll recommend some shampoo and conditioner for you." Then her eyes lighten as Max's do, and she says, "I'll give you your first bottles to try. It's not that your hair is bad; you just aren't using the right products."