The Good Hair Family Sitcom

S3 E7.3: Classic

Brayden's POV

I pretend I don't know what's happening downstairs while I read my book in the living room. If I don't know anything, then I can blame everything on Hazel for being irresponsible and not me. Honestly, it wouldn't be the end of the world if my parents blamed me anyway, because then I probably wouldn't have to babysit her and her peculiar impulse decisions again. She truly is a strange child. Most kids wait until their teen years to start the rebellious hair dying, but she's always been what one would say unique, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

"I think you're gonna like it," comes Hazel's voice as she ascends the stairs and plops down on the chair beside my couch, "Cara's hair."

"I've never had an opinion on her hair. I doubt that will change."

"I think she's trying to find herself," Hazel goes on. "I think she'll be happy with this."

Realizing that Hazel actually wants to converse with me, I lower my book to give her my attention. I don't talk to Hazel too often, but of all my cousins, she's the most bearable. The other options are of course a hyperactive tween, a self-absorbed seventeen-year-old, or a literal baby, so Hazel doesn't have to do much for her spot.

"I don't know," I say. "I always thought I knew her without the hair dye."

"Maybe we don't," Hazel responds. "Maybe even she doesn't. This is probably just the first step to figuring out the rest.

"Yeah, I can understand that."

To say that one can figure their self out is an interesting suggestion. That implies that the person is pre-established, something that can be uncovered like an artifact. In actuality, I wonder if the person is more like a building. We don't need to figure ourselves out. We simply need to create ourselves. I like to believe that, but then I end up back in places like where I am now that I'm not distracted by my novel, now that I'm being forced to think about myself again, the way I've been thinking so hard lately. The topic: Deion. It's hilarious actually. My mind is hung up on a boy, a boy that makes me feel things and view things and experience things in new ways. The newness of it all has been quite tolling for me. I thought I had it all sorted when I said I was gay, but I suppose there's no limit on just how different one can be.

Noticing my face, Hazel pushes for me to continue, saying, "Say more."

"No," I reply, shaking me head. "I don't share my feelings."

"I'm aware."

That strikes me silent. Am I that mysterious? That unapproachable? Perhaps I should try to open up to someone, and Hazel is probably the best candidate for that. It takes some internal convincing, but I eventually get my mouth to speak.

"It's Deion. Or me. But also him."

I pause, and Hazel just waits for me to finish, because, although the sentence is over, I'm clearly not finished.

"I've concluded that I'm demisexual," I reveal.

She provides no judgement, so I continue.

"I'm not entirely sure about it. But there's a way I feel about one person that I've never felt with anyone else."

"Deion?" she guesses as though it's not obvious.

I nod. "It's this thing where I just think of him differently, and I'm drawn to him in a way I'm not with others. I could be completely wrong. I am only thirteen."

"You're allowed to be wrong," Hazel speaks up. "You can have this label now. That doesn't mean you can't change it."

I've never thought of that. Now I understand why Hazel gets herself involved in other people's lives so often: because she's good at it.