Live While We're Young

Chapter 3: The Bleach (And Yes That's Typed Right)

Carly: I sat in my room, sketching again. Today I was doing a sketch of some girl I imagined in my head. The eyes came to life at my fingertips, little spots of light reflection causing the eyes to look bright and alive. I drew the mouth, drawing the definition of the lips. I decided the girl’s eyes would go with a thick lip look. Along with a baby pink lip tone. Her nose was baby like, to match the cuteness of the rest of her. I drew little brown freckles across her cheeks. I drew thick eyebrows, but thin enough to look beautiful. Finally I came to her hair. I drew it in thick, blond curls. Then I put down the pencils. Staring back at me was a young girl, probably 14 also. She was probably popular, boys falling at her feet. She probably played sports, but she mainly did it to impress guys. She had friends who hated her, but they would never say anything bad about her. Because there was nothing bad to say. She was sweet, loving, and beautiful. I wrote her name in the upper left corner. Cayla. Yeah. She looked like a Cayla.

I flipped through my notebook. There was the blond, green eyed Hailey, who also was popular, but she was popular for spreading rumors and going after her followers boyfriends. Then there was Bailey, the blond hair, brown eyed girl that tended to hide in the Music room from the reality that she was a loser. After her, blond haired Tracy, the cheerleader, football playing, teenager, who never took her hair out of its ponytail. Blond. I realized this now. All of my drawings had blond hair. Different shades of blond, but blond. I got up off my bed, looking in the mirror. My hair would definitely work for blond. My dad had done it for years. And I could make it work for summer. I thought about it. Meh, Its hair. If it totally turns out fakey you can redye it I though. I smiled. I picked up my phone. Who of the girls had experience with dying their hair. Well, Darcy wouldn’t touch even a straightener. And Hanna didn’t pull her hair out of her ponytail long enough to think about it. Amie dyed her hair every now and then to a reddish tone, or sometimes a darker brown. I dialed her number. “Hey Amie,” I said once it stopped ringing.

“Hey Carly,” Amie said, “What’s up?”

“Um, I was curious if you wanted to help me with something,” I said.

“Okay, you have my attention,” Amie said, sounding bored.

“Do you want to help me dye my hair,” I asked.

“Sure. Um, why don’t you call Niki to pick us both up. Also then she can help too. She’s gotta be great at it,” Amie offered. Niki. Of course. She had the most dying experience.

“Okay. Talk to you as soon as we can,” I said, hanging up. But not for long. I dialed Jess.

“Jess, come get me at my house. We’re going to do something and we need to go to the store. You can help if you drive me and Amie,” I said in one breath.

“See you when I get there,” Niki said. I almost hung up when I heard, “Wait.”

“What?” I asked.

“You didn’t like murder someone right?” Niki asked.

“Who would I have a motive to murder might I ask?” I asked, laughing.

“One of those blonds in your sketchbook,” I heard Niki answer. So she noticed too. I rolled my eyes.

“No I didn’t kill someone. Are you coming to pick me up?” I asked.

“I’m already in the car. I just needed to know if I had to grab gloves or something,” Niki said. I laughed at my friend, who may be the oldest, but acted the youngest almost. I hung up without another word.

Niki rolled into my driveway about 20 minutes later. In the passenger seat, Amie sat. The top was down on the convertible. I ran out and pulled myself over the car into the backseat. “So what are we doing?” Niki asked, her voice excited.