It really was late, and I was being quite loud.
"Maribelle!" my dad called from down the hall, "Turn the music down, it's late."
I turned the volume on my radio down marginally.
"Okay, Dad!"
"Go to sleep soon, it's late!"
I didn't reply, just held my breath and hoped neither of them would come check on me. They would find out all about it in the morning, but for now it was much too late to be springing surprises.
Silence fell (except for my still quite loud radio) so I resumed my hair job.
I was cutting it short, a bob with layers (because who can cut straight lines with kid's scissors? And who would want to anyway, that takes away half the charm) and long side bangs, with punky edges. I was enjoying myself, humming and snipping, getting pieces of loose hair all over my vanity.
I noted with satisfaction that my hair was now too short to be put into a ponytail even, much less a bun. And was I sad? Not even a little bit. If I was going to be sad it would come later. I pulled a hoodie over my head and snuck downstairs to find the koolaid.
YOU ARE READING
Dreams
General FictionEthan dreams of Maribelle, the beautiful and popular dancer, every night, but in his dreams she's not the same person as she seems to be in reality. Meanwhile, Maribelle struggles with facing an image of herself she has painted, one that she feel...
