The Good Hair Family Sitcom

S3 E2.3: Cy-chologist

Andreas's POV

I have my legs stretched out over the grass as I lean against the stone school wall. Beside me, Jayda sits cross-legged, and I watch the way her black hair blows in the breeze like the tall grass too close to the building to be cut with a mower. It's warm outside, so I imagine the wind must be a nice coolness ruffling her peach-coloured dress and kissing her bare chest and arms gently like frost over a car window. Although I thought she might be a little cold, she doesn't seem to mind at all.

"You watch the girls' soccer team practice," she says, looking ahead at the players in the field a bit away. "You're that straight, huh?"

I let out a breathy laugh, replying, "I came here before they started their season."

"So this is just a bonus?"

No, the bonus is having her here. Her hair is clipped back on one side with a white beaded barrette. She has on her charm bracelet, and the chain reflects splotches of sunlight off the very place where the charm from Oceana used to hang. Giving it more attention now, I notice a new charm, but it's not a charm at all. It's the tiny, plastic diamond I gave her, now glued to a chain and dangling from a link near the latch. I don't mention it aloud, but I can't help but smile.

"There's Elliot with braces," I point out on the soccer field.

"That bitch," Jayda snipes.

She takes a sip of her Pepsi as she glares out at the girl. I just smile.

"She has some stupid Youtube channel with beauty tutorials where she makes homophobic and transphobic jokes," Jayda gossips. "Meanwhile, her boyfriend is about as straight as her teeth."

"Other girls are basic with their shit-talking," I respond. "You're creative."

"I don't half-ass my shit talk," she says.

That makes me laugh, and my laughter results in her smiling and looking down at the grass before bringing her eyes up to me again.

"Do you ever wonder what people say about you?" she asks.

Not really. I've never thought about it. And I've never cared.

"Do you?" I reflect back.

"I do," she admits. "I wonder if people actually like me, or if it's all in my head. And I want to know, but even if I asked, nobody's honest. Everybody alive is a liar."

"I don't mind it."

"You like when people lie?"

I shrug. "I'd be scared to know the truth. At least if people lie, I can make up my own truth."

"So you would be fine with me lying to you right now?" she questions.

I shrug again. I don't know my answer. Because with her, I want to know the truth—but I think it might be better to just keep pretending like my hope is a possibility.

"Okay," she says. "Andreas, those white socks go perfectly with those black shoes."

She eyes my feet, and I roll my eyes, letting the insult slide off me.

"Ouch," I respond. "Well, if you're lying, so can I."

"Really? You'd lie to me?" she teases.

"Maybe I already have." Not directly lying, but I definitely haven't told the truth. "You'll never know."

"Lie to me right now," she challenges.

I shake my head. "No."

"Wussy."