“Not important.” My face heated, which meant it was probably red and I didn’t want to go into details. “You used to do the other girls’ hair all the time before recitals. It was what you wanted to do at one point.”
Surprise flickered across her face. “I didn’t know anybody remembered that.”
All I did was shrug in return. I remembered a lot about those days. Just because I cut dance cold turkey didn’t mean I stopped thinking about what it was like to have a routine, a set schedule, and how much I enjoyed being around some of the girls. Not that I’d ever admit it to Tiffany, but I always liked her head-strong, no bs personality.
“Why don’t you just go somewhere and pay a professional to do it?” Walking over, she examined the hair and made a face. “I don’t know what you did to this, but it’s hideous.”
Rolling my eyes, I swatted her hand away. “I know it is. It wasn’t on purpose. And you offered to help me, so I thought…”
“With dance, Adele.” I just stared at her with a pleading look until she groaned. “Tell me why you asked me. You have plenty of friends and probably a personal stylist like the rest of us.”
Blinking, my throat got thick. “I think you’re forgetting that personal stylists cost money.” I wasn’t embarrassed over my current financial standing. I worked hard and was proud of what I had. Commissioning some of my work, selling pieces I’d collected over the years, and working different smaller jobs on campus had kept me afloat. But everything else? “Listen, I’m trying to be careful about what I spend and going out isn’t always the most comfortable for me.”
“But you do it.”
“For school,” I reasoned.
She pointed toward the stool in the kitchen and gave me a relenting sigh. “Fine, but you need to give me more than that. Sit down and tell me where your scissors are. And I’m not cleaning up.”
“Deal.” Helping her get what she needed, I plopped down on the chair and watched her grab a towel from the kitchen to drape over my shoulders.
“This is because of your eating disorder, right? If it were just about your father, you probably wouldn’t even go to school because there are a lot of people he hurt there.”
Wow. She went right for the jugular. I wasn’t that surprised, but it still didn’t make me warm and fuzzy to hear. “The haircut is for me. I always told myself I’d keep my hair long, especially if it meant my mother would brush and braid it before bed every night.” And Theo, but she didn’t know who that was, and I didn’t feel like explaining the sordid tale. It made me think about the note, which I realized halfway through the day had fallen out of my pocket. It’d put me in a sour mood, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t a love note, but it still made me feel…something.
She was quiet for a moment as she ran a comb through my hair to make sure it was smooth. “Your mother was always kind to everybody. She stood out from the rest.”
The familiar sting of old memories watered down my eyes. “Yeah, she did.”
“Okay, so new hair for a new you,” she moved on, allowing me to close my eyes and collect myself. “You don’t go out a lot because of the disorder though. A haircut won’t change that.”
“I didn’t say it would.”
“Why do you want to be different then?”
“I don’t want to be different, per se…” How could I explain it when I wasn’t sure I got it myself? I froze momentarily when I felt the blades rise to a lock of my hair. They closed, snipping off a long chunk.
Sensing my reaction, Tiffany walked in front of me with her brows raised. “For some reason you trust me, right?”
I met her eyes. “I trust you not to make me look homeless.”
She snorted. “Tit for tat. You’re right about me being interested in cosmetology when I was younger. Hair, nails, you name it. I liked making people feel pretty using what they already have. So, I get it. What you’re doing. It’s about enhancing how you feel about yourself. Cutting your hair is like starting over, right?”
Maybe she did get it. “Right. I’m thinking about going back to my normal color too.”
“Okay.” Moving back around me, she carefully evened out my hair before snipping off more. The weight eased from my scalp with every passing minute and I refused to look to the floor where my hair rested. “Do you struggle with it? Your disorder?”
“Every day.”
“But you haven’t…?”
My throat bobbed. “Not in a while. That doesn’t mean I’m not tempted. Some days it’s easier to fight than others. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how easy it would be to just go back to what I used to do. To not eat. To…” Letting my words trail off, I shook my head.
“Do you think this will help? You said you had steps you were following. What’s the endgame for you?”
What’s my endgame? That was a question I hadn’t asked myself in a long time. Maybe never. “Would it be wrong if I said I don’t know? It isn’t like I don’t have goals—”
“Fine. What are they?”
I paused. “To be happy. To be…healthy. Or as healthy as I can be given what I’ll be facing for the rest of my life. I just want…” Theo came to mind, making heat creep up the back of my neck. Squirming, I said, “I just want to be the best version of myself I can possibly be.”
When she didn’t say anything, I wondered what she was thinking. I didn’t want her to pity me. That wasn’t who she was. I preferred her talking smack, trying to pressure me into dancing, anything but what was possibly going through her head that sympathized with me. “What else do you want to do besides get a new ‘do? Tell me
