Cara's POV
My arms lift away the drapery that is my hair, flipping the frizz backward like opening a book. Desperate sunshine pries through the blinds to take a look in the glossy, clear mirror. It highlights my highlighter hair, unveiling a few freckles in my coffee-coloured skin. Thin arms, but strong, enough at least to complete the tasks in P.E. I've always been pretty indifferent toward my body, my face, giving it grace, it's not really mine anyway, so what could I even say? I use it to move, to eat. It does those things just fine, I guess. Doesn't do much to impress, but it's alright.
I get dressed. A sad hanger holds that baby blue suit I wore last year. It doesn't fit anymore, too tight at the shoulders. That's what happens when you get older. I shove it to the back, sparing its life once again, until my mom will eventually come in with a bucket for donations. Carnation stickers stay on my closet door handle that I put there when I was five and can't peel off without leaving residue. I bet they're confused too, seeing as my closet when from cartoon colourful to vibrant vaporwave spinoff. I pull out a pitch black graphic tee with graph-lined imagery printed on in pastel blocks. After slipping it on easily over my head, I face the mirror across my room again. Something's missing, and it doesn't have to do with my pyjama pants that still make a racket.
I retrieve the suit jacket and a pair of scissors. Thread spits open like bursting a balloon. It's now a vest, and it fits quite well over my shirt of pastel. Black, purple-pocketed pants; an eggplant-toned, canvas belt; and the look is done. But my hair, although wild and out-there, looks bare. I slide a bead into a curl, then another one, and more, and now it's a glittering geode of plastic dots. The look is done.
Down in the kitchen, my family is gathered. Brayden is tethered to his book as usual. Andreas sits on the neighbouring seat, eyes flicking up from his phone for a mere second to look at me. Mom has her new baby in her arms, my little brother, his eyes droopy, face loopy, for he can't yet have his morning coffee. I'm still waiting on that, although Andreas let me try it once, and I immediately spat it out. It's some cruel trick how energy taste disgusting.
Dad sips his energy, sight wide and on me, like my mom's. The cake isn't out on the counter anymore. That means they saw it. They moved it out of the way. So why don't they acknowledge it?
"Good morning," Mom greets.
"Yup," I respond, heading toward the table.
"Is your hair clacking?" Brayden questions, listening to the shallow beat of my swinging coils.
"They're beads," I explain.
"How peculiar."
"What do you want for breakfast?" Mom asks me.
I want a different question. I want you to ask me about what I wrote on the cake. It wasn't just a pointless display of they. I want you to say something, Mom, Dad. I waved a flag in front of your eyes only to have you ignore it. I'm starting to deplore it.
I could bring it up myself, if I had the self-esteem, but confidence isn't so prominent in me apparently. The thought of vomiting that conversation up myself is terrifying.
"Um, anything edible," I answer.
"How about cereal?" Dad offers.
"I guess."
A pause.
"Then later tonight you can have that cake."
He mentioned the cake. My pulse pumps. My mom gives him a nudge and sharpens her brows his way. My baby brother's head lays limp against my mom's chest. He doesn't care. I can't tell if my parents care. I care. I'm screaming—inside only.
YOU ARE READING
The Good Hair Family Sitcom
Fanfiction{4 seasons and complete} Tyrus, Ambi, Muffy, and Wonah are adults now, but growing up and having families brings new kinds of challenges. Through the complications of them and their kids, their life-long friendship is the one thing they can always r...
