Page 37 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
“You might want to dry your hair before you have purple sideburns.” Her voice is low. Menacing. And too damn sexy.
My hands fly to the sides of my face. I wipe away the water and look at my purple-stained fingertips. With a growl, I grab my plate and carry it upstairs without thanking her. When I glimpse my purple hair in my bedroom mirror, I have no regrets about not being polite.
I set my plate on my desk and glare at the food. It looks good, but I’m still not sure I can trust her.
Actually, I know I can’t trust her.
My stomach growls again. She’s made steak covered in butter with a side of roasted veggies that smell delicious, too. I haven’t had a good home-cooked meal since before Dex and Britta left for Fiji. And steak—which I love—was never on Dex’s approved menu, so we rarely had it. I ordered this meal specifically for me.
By the time I get my trackies on, I’ve decided it’s worth the risk of being poisoned to try the food. But I ring Frankie first, just in case I need someone to call 911.
And also, because she might have an idea of how to get the purple out of my hair.
Of course, my sister wouldn’t be my sister if she wasn’t completely useless when I most need her help. Her first response after I tell her what’s happened is to burst into laughter.
“Piper dyed your hair purple?” she asks through her giggling. I put her on speaker so I can eat the steak, which is as good as it smelled.
“It’s not funny, Frankie.” My phone buzzes, and I check the screen. “And I’m not switching to FaceTime, so stop trying.”
“Come on, Arch! I need to see it if I’m going to help!”
I growl and accept her FaceTime call. Seconds after we connect, her laughter shifts to full-on howling.
“Is this you helping?” I ask her, refusing to see any humor in what Piper’s done to my hair.
“No. This is me laughing, but I promise I’ll help as soon as I can stop.”
“I’m hanging up now. Call me when you’re done adding to my humiliation.”
“No! Wait! I’m done!”
I stop my finger millimeters from the end call button. “Laugh again, and you’re dead to me.”
Frankie scoffs. “You wouldn’t last a day without me.”
“True,” I say reluctantly. “Now help me fix this, please.”
“I just texted Juan.”
“Did you tell him what happened?”
“I sent him a screenshot.”
I moan.
Frankie’s old hairdresser is not only the best with color—according to Frankie—but also the biggest gossip in Hollywood. People go to himbecausethey want their business in the tabloids. Not that anyone cares who I am anymore, but I still don’t want a picture of me with purple hair on a Who Wore It Best Page next to Ariana Grande or Katy Perry.
“What kind of dye did she use?” Frankie asks.
“She said a temporary one. I don’t know the brand.”
“I’ll let you know when Juan gets back to me. In the meantime, tell me what you did to Piper to prompt this payback.”
“What makes you think I did anything?”
Frankie props her phone on something, then sits back on an old brown couch and crosses her arms, waiting patiently. When I don’t answer, she raises her eyebrows, same as Mom used to when I was a kid and she knew I’d done something naughty.
“Even if it wasn’t something in the last couple days, you found a lot of ways to pick on Piper when Dad first married Cynthia. She locked herself in the bathroom to avoid you whenever we had to do things as afamily.” Frankie makes air quotes around the word family, but I’m caught on the fact that Piper used to hide from me. This is the first I’ve heard of it.
