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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX XXVI. imperial panda [ season 3, episode 2 ]
Her hair was the most infuriating thing on the planet. Steph had spent the last thirty minutes trying to tame it, but it was relentless; heat couldn't even fix the frizz.
She decided to comb it and call it a day. Her mind was made up: when she started university, she was going to go back to her old roots. Literally. The continuous bleaching had completely ruined her hair ( it felt like straw ) and she, admittedly, missed her natural brunette tresses more and more these days. Her rebellious streak had faded, and with it, her knack for being out there ── turbulent and wildly eccentric for the sake of it ── had as well, which ultimately meant having bleach-blonde hair was rapidly losing its appeal.
With an irritated huff, she tossed the comb onto her nightstand. Her reflection stared broodingly back at her in the vanity mirror.
Appearance wasn't something Steph tended to dwell on. She was far from perfect, and she knew that, but she was content in that knowledge; it didn't make a difference to her. She liked to be different from the ideal standards that society had pumped into the minds of the earth's inhabitants. Uniqueness was her key attribute.
Today it was not.
Steph was going on a ── date? ── with Steve Harrington to the cinema, and that meant she needed to make at least somewhat of an effort in how she looked. He'd dated pretty girls in the past before, girls who were at the complete opposite end of the spectrum to Steph. She liked leather jackets and smudged eye liner; they liked pretty pink frills and cute bows to put in their perfectly coiled hair. His most recent ex-girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, take for example, had a natural beauty most girls envied and the brains to go with it. What did Steph have? A sharp tongue and wit. Sometimes she was clever, but not to the extent Nancy was.
It made her question if Steve's intentions actually were on the more romantic side. Or was it just friendship he was after? He didn't have a great load of friends ── a least, none his age anyway. Was Steph just someone to fill that gap?
She groaned and pressed her face in her hands. It felt like she'd been plucked out of her existing body and placed into a skin-suit of some thirteen year old. When did she ever care about makeup and her outfit?
Knock, knock, knock.
"Yeah?" Steph called out as she smeared just a bit more eyeliner onto her lower lash-line.
The door to her room clicked open. Veronica stepped inside, sporting a toothy grin. She was wearing one of Steph's jumpers, stamped with a Queen sigil on the front. Her fiery-red hair was tucked up into a dozen pink rollers, courtesy of Aunt Jenny and her current fascination with elaborate hairstyles. With her came the smell of pancakes, wafting tantalisingly into the room; cooking was Ronnie's current fascination.
