The Lemon Meringue Boy

Part 10

After the tour, we went inside for lunch. It was gourmet style parmesan-alfredo chicken on top of angel hair with a side salad. According to Pacifica, her mom originally wasn't too thrilled about the concept of making her own meals, but soon, she accepted it as a form of fine art. 

After lunch we headed back to Pacifica's room and sat on her bed as she filled me in on everything that had happened to her over the year, like how her family was coping and how she was doing in high school. She said she has always expected to be the queen bee in high school, but a new girl had come to school and taken her place. 

She was still really popular and she even became friends with the girl, which really surprised me. The old Pacifica, I knew, would have gone all rich girl crazy on that kid. She'd really changed. 

Once she was done I told her about my awful high school experience and she seemed shocked. I showed her my yet to fade bruises on my shoulders and forehead, and to my surprise, she planted a kiss on each one. After we had finished talking, we sat on her bed in silence. We kept sneaking glances at each other until it got awkward. Soon Pacifica jumped up, seeming struck with some big idea.

"You know what would be amazing?" she asked me with wide eyes.

"Yup. Rocket boots, a teleportation machine, a cure for the common cold, a high school that doesn't suck..." I listed off, counting on my fingers. Pacifica gave me a look. Her signature annoyed face.

"No. we should die your hair!" she hopped up and down and clapped her fingertips together excitedly, cheerleader-style. My eyes widened in shock and I shook my head vigorously.

"We reeeeeaally shouldn't!" I tried to talk her out of it, but she wasn't budging.

"Dipper, you just said that you're a nerd at your school. Just think of how popular those blonde hunks are at any high school. Imagine walking in to class... taking off your hat... shaking out your dusted blonde locks as everyone gasps, who is this beautiful stranger?" Pacifica sighed, staring longingly into the distance. I just gaped at her.

"First of all, stop watching teen dramas. They're messing with your head. Second, all those 'blonde hunks' have bulging muscles, gleaming tans and country club memberships. Third, you may have convinced me before you said 'blonde'. I am NOT going blonde." Pacifica looked up at me with big blue puppy dog eyes.

"C'mon, Dipper! Do it for me!" her bottom lip quivered. What a drama queen. I was not about to fall for the act. Yet again... she would keep bugging me until I agreed. Oh god. I had to.

"Okay. Okay!" Pacifica's face lit up. "But! I have one condition. I will not go full blonde. I will, however, let you dye my tips. Don't mess this up." 

Pacifica squealed and grabbed my wrist, dragging me into the master bathroom. She wrapped a towel around my shoulders and told me to wait. She ran out of the room and returned a minute later in an apron. 

In her arms she held what looked like countless instruments of torture. First, she pulled out a bowl and filled it with bleach from a plastic bottle. She handed me a surgical mask and put one on herself. She pulled bobby pins out of the top drawer and started to brush bleach onto the bottom layer of my hair. 

Even though the door was open, the sharp chemical scent of bleach permeated the room, making my eyes water and singeing my nose hairs. I was officially scared.