Torn » h.s./marcel

Chapter 12: Marcel's Secrets

Chapter 12: Marcel's Secrets

Marcel's POV

I'm not sure what I did to make Allie leave abruptly like that. I thought she would return Sunday just to surprise me again, but she didn't. She really meant Monday. But why? What did I do?

I woke up Monday morning dreading the school day, but that was normal. I put on my school clothes and went into the bathroom. I brushed down my hair best I could and reached for my hair gel bottle. I couldn't find it.

I looked over and saw that it wasn't in its usual spot. It wasn't on the counter anywhere. I checked every drawer; nothing. I looked in the cupboard; nada. I even searched the shower; zilch. My hair gel was gone.

"Mother!" I yelled. "Where's my hair gel?"

"What?"

"Where's my hair gel?!"

"I can't hear you, hon!"

I scowled at my reflection. "WHERE IS MY HAIR GEL?!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.

"Oh, that. I, um... put it away."

"Where?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"I need it!"

"For what?"

"What do you think?! My hair!"

"It looks fine."

"You haven't even seen it!"

I sighed and gave my throat and voice a break from screaming so much.

My mother did not understand. She thought she was doing me a favor, but she was actually dooming me. I needed that hair gel! Without it, my hair would stick up everywhere and be in the way! No one would stop teasing me about it if they saw it.

"If I don't get my hair gel back, I'll use the grease from your morning bacon!" I threatened my mother.

I realized I was still in the bathroom and it wasn't against the law for me to talk to her face-to-face. So I left the bathroom and went downstairs.

My mother was making bacon, as usual. I sat down at the counter and glared at her back. She turned around and jumped slightly.

"Oh, Marcel! You scared me! When did you get down here?" she asked.

"Stop avoiding the matter at hand!" I said sharply. "Where's my hair gel?"

"I'm not telling you. Your hair is perfect the way it is, Marcel. Why do you hate it so much?"

"Because it's stupid and curly and thick," I said, pushing it away from my forehead. "Now pass me that bowl over there."

"My grease bowl? Why?"

"No reason. I just need to borrow it."

My mother took the plastic bowl and walked over to me. I reached out for it, but she held it over her head. She dumped it out the open window behind me. She set the bowl down next to me.

"Here you go," she chirped. I scowled at her. "What? I thought you wanted the bowl."

I had to be more specific next time. She saw right through my plan. I had to find some other method to straighten down my hair somewhere else.

I left the kitchen and explored the whole house. I had time. I saved my mother's bathroom for last, because that was her personal space and I had never ventured in there before.

It looked like any other ordinary bathroom, but still I hesitated before searching. This felt wrong, but it was also necessary. I searched all of her drawers and cabinets. I checked under the sink and behind the toilet. I tried behind the curtain.