Page 48 of Ladybirds

But she’s not that same person anymore.

Between David’s accident and Oma’s death, the fights with her father and the recognition of pain in Seth’s eyes, the length of her hair feels trivial at best… a painful reminder at worst. She used to love how Oma would braid her hair in the summer, weaving in flowers from the garden as if any ordinary weekend was May Day.

Sara’s fingers play with a strand of hair, twisting it around her knuckle before letting it fall. “It’s fine—I’m fine.”

Jen must sense something in her tone, because her expression softens—lips parting around a quiet, “oh.” She takes Sara’s hand in hers, squeezing softly. “Well, for the record, I think it’ll look great on you. You totally have the bone structure for it.”

Sara smothers a laugh, nudging her friend’s shoulder with her own. “Thanks.”

Jen nudges back, grin wide. “Anytime, Bestie.”

The hairdresser—Natalie, according to her name tag—calls her name, and Sara rises. When she glances over her shoulder, Jen gives her two enthusiastic thumbs up.

“So what are we doing today?” Natalie asks, rotating the chair for her to sit.

Sara shows her the picture as she settles in. “I want to do something like this.”

Natalie whistles, the swallowtail tattoo on her forearm winking as she flicks the cape over Sara’s front. “Big change!” She winks at Sara through the mirror. “It’s going to look great!”

Taking a few minutes to comb through Sara’s hair, she works out the tangles before banding it at the nape of her neck. Then she holds up her scissors, offering a final chance to change her mind. “Ready?”

Sara nods, butterflies in her stomach. “Ready.” She can hear the scissors slice through the banded strands—three cuts—and then she’s struck by a sudden feeling of weightlessness.

The stylist laughs, holding up the ponytail for her to see. “Feels weird, doesn’t it?”

Staring at her reflection, a small smile teases Sara’s mouth. “Yeah. It does.”

It feels lighter.

Sara rushes home after, the air on the back of her neck cold but her spirits high. Class is starting in an hour, but she hadn’t thought to bring her school bag with her to the salon. Turns out a full cut takes longer than a trim (go figure).

She doesn’t think about Seth’s reaction to the sudden change, not until she’s through the front door and his eyes are on her—pinning her in place.

He blinks, expression infuriatingly neutral. “Your hair.”

Instinctively, her fingers reach up to the strands hovering just past her ear. “I, uh, cut it.”

He continues to stare. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Yeah, I—well, it was time for a change, anyway. And I know Ms. Green really likes those old eighties movies. So, yeah. I’m Claire. You know, from—”

“The Breakfast Club,” Seth finishes. “I’m familiar.”

Oh. “Really?” Aside from a handful of pop culture references, she wasn’t really well acquainted.

“Time is something I have in excess.” He shrugs. “You’ll be hard pressed to find a film I’m not familiar with.”

Sara remembers the way his expression darkened, how the words “I do” hissed between his teeth when she demanded he watch a movie instead of attending her literature class two months ago.

“Oh.” In that moment, the obvious dawns on her. “You… you don’t sleep, do you?”

He smiles, crooked and bitter. “No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.”

There’s a pain there, hiding at the edges of the sardonic lilt in his voice. It’s hard to imagine a life without rest—without the weightlessness of sleep or the lucidness of dreams. Sara almost pities him.

“Surely you aren’t planning to wear that?”

Almost.

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