“What else?” Ms. Brielle leaned against her stylist station.
I dropped my head forward. “She is so bossy and doesn’t listen very well. Even her brand name shows you she thinks she knows it all. I wanted to talk to her about what I need to know to decide about my hair. Not seek permission. It’s my hair. When it comes to my hair I didn’t want to ask, I wanted to tell Tanya B… not the entire natural hair community.”
“Yeah, but you did, kid. You posted your business on Instagram, so now not only are you part of the discussion. You are the one who is going to be leading it.” Ms. Brielle walked around the front of the styling chair, studying my hair and face. “You are a great kid. The best big sister in the world to Keylisa. Give yourself some time, then go tell them what you told me. Pretend we’re just having us time. Tell them the same way you just told me what happened that made you go off that day.”
I felt a tug on the back of my letterman’s jacket. Best friend. Check. Money for froyo. Check. Ready to get the heck out of school. Check.
“Hey, Influencer.” Breyonna said. She made a duck lip kissy face.
I shook my head. “You have me mistaken for Aunt Tanya. I’m just a girl on the court.”
“Nah, I saw your video, and the clip she posted on Instagram. You looked fierce. Almost made me cry, twice.” Breyonna smiled.
Memories of Ms. Brielle squeezed in behind the camera and the wall to be my sounding board made me smile. “My godmother did my makeup. Girl, I’m so ready for all of this to be over. I mean, who cares about all of this dead protein growing from my scalp. I need to ask your Mom who shaves her head.”
“Cute.” Breyonna scans my face as if trying to analyze something. “You do have the bone structure. Save lots of time and money on hair care products. Long as you don’t develop a wig habit. I’ll ask her.”
I gave her a playful punch on the shoulder. “Funny. I’m not playing. We aren’t even a week in yet. I’m exhausted. You know I have to go and respond to all of those people’s comments on the blog, and social media too. This crap is a lot of work.”
“Yeah, I can tell. My mom talks about it all the time when she is posting on non product photography pictures on Instagram.” Breyonna waved her hand. “Let’s wait til we grab the froyo. You know I hate having deep discussions on an empty stomach.”
We picked up the pace to catch the bus to her house. I’d had my Aunt Tanya arrange for the temporary bus assignment the way we’d done every other weekend I stayed over at their house. My home away from home. For all my frustration, I may have to get a super sized froyo for tonight.
I loved the eclectic colors in Breyonna’s bedroom. All her smarty pants vibes aside, I swear she is made of Care Bears and gummy worms. No one ever expects her to be as smart as she is since she is as beautiful as her mother. Yet, she and I battle for salutatorian and valedictorian in our class every report card.
Nevermind, she still talked to that weird oversized Doc McStuffins doll in the corner her Dad gave her when she turned five. Her ombre bedspread’s colors always match her oversized throw pillows when I’m visiting her or spending the night.
I can’t tell you how many nights we’ve listened to ATeez or BTS on her smart speaker. The carpet in the middle of her room should have a hole in it. We do Wonder Girls “Nobody” dance routine better than they do. Probably not. But we think we do when we perform in Breyonna’s bedroom.
My backpack landed on the floor in the spot beneath her’s on her dresser. She was nothing if not organized. Breyonna still had her childhood Doc McStuffin’s bookshelf. In pristine collector’s condition, — according to her — and she intended to keep it that way since no one knew if Disney ever planned to introduce another black female lead character again.
I plopped down on my favorite pile of floor pillows and pulled my carton of froyo from the bag.
“You weren’t kidding.” Breyonna crossed her knees. She sat on the pillows positioned next to her bed. “Wait, let me get my thinking spoon.”
Yeah, getting the tub of yum froyo had been the right call. We did our best girl talk when the thinking spoon came out. Now to ordinary folks, it looked like a high school senior eating with a cartoon character, but Breyonna and I knew better.
“So, first,” Breyonna pulled the lid off of her strawberry and creme delight. “When did Brielle start beating faces like Jon Jones?”
I laughed. No one knew about Breyonna’s love for MMA fighting like I do… except her Dad. He started this mess. “Not better than your precious ‘Mighty Mouse’. I have to tell her about this new achievement she has unlocked.”
“Whatever,” Breyonna rolled her eyes. She lifted a spoon full of yogurt then paused, “You still gonna put a relaxer in your hair? I know why I love sew-ins and wigs. My mother is the empress of fake hair. Your aunt is the queen of coils, curls, and waves. What are you thinking?”
The scream gurgling up from the tips of my
