Page 147 of Goalkeeper
Spence is a bit off these days, too. I think all the stress and pressure are getting to him, and I totally get that. And, I have a plan to make it all better. After our presentation next week, and, after practice, I plan to whisk him away for a little R&R. Nothing too crazy, since he has a game the next night. My parents have a timeshare in Killington, and they happily gave me the keycode for that weekend. We’re all sort of playing nice until my LSAT scores come in, and I think my guy, Justin, put in a good word about my study habits, so that probably helped.
I’m just about to paint my toes for the second time today to stave off the restlessness I feel, when I hear Emma come home. We share a living room and a bathroom, but our bedrooms are separate. Doesn’t matter though. The girl doesn’t know how to knock.
“Brunette me,” she says, in all seriousness, tossing a shopping bag onto the far end of my bed.
“What? Brunette is not a verb.”
“It would be if you’d get your ass in gear,” she grumbles, opening my drawers and rifling through them. “I need those little crocodile clips, Paige.”
“You mean alligator clips?” I say, opening the only drawer she hasn’t and producing a handful of the long, slightly arched clips I used to separate my hair when I color it or braid it or curl it. Those little bitches are useful.
“Yes. Of course. Now, come on. I bought three different shades because you weren’t answering your phone.” She gives me a pointed look, as though disappointed I’m not putting my life on hold in case she texts. “I think I want to go with Toasted Almond. I like the alcoholic beverage of the same name, so I think that’s the perfect color for me.”
“You do realize you don’t get to drink vodka, amaretto, and coffee liqueur while I color your hair, right?” I ask, truly curious, as I grab my cape, bowl, and brush.
“Yes, but only because we don’t have any of that? We’re getting an apartment with a fully-stocked bar next year, Paige. I can’t keep living like this.”
“You also can’t dye your hair this color. Not if you want it to be brown, anyway. This is way too light—it’s too close to your own dark blonde. And why are we changing your hair anyway?”
Emma sits in my chair, ready to get down to business. “Bree said there are too many blondes on the team and that we look like a bunch of Barbie wannabes when we dance. I can’t pull off red, but I can do brown, so I volunteered. And our competition is next week, right after finals, so I want to get this done now. ”
“I feel like Bree needs to get a hobby or learn a second language. She spends a lot of time worrying about dumb shit.”
“Don’t speak ill of my dance captain, even if you are right.” Emma smiles up at me. “So, that’s a no on Toasted Almond. How about Warm Sunset?”
I shake my head while I comb out her shoulder-length hair and section it. “That’s going to give you a red cast that will fight against your skin tone. Venetian Brown for the win,” I say, opening the box and mixing the color and the activator together.
“That sounds like a window treatment,” Emma complains.
“You’re the one who bought it. Besides, it’s a perfect neutral brown. Exactly what I would have chosen.” This seems to satisfy her, so I get to work applying her hair color.
By the time my alarm dings a half hour later, she’s ready to rinse and I need to grab my stuff and head to the library.
“Leave this conditioner on for ten minutes, then rinse, dry gently with a T-shirt like I showed you, and style like usual.”
“I will, but only because you said so and you’re the best. But I still don’t get it.”
“Towels are rough, even soft fluffy towels. They have all those little tiny fibers that dig into your hair. And we just put permanent dye on your hair. Those poor little hair cuticles are worn out and they don’t need roughing up.”
“I bet they do, though. I like it rough, so it stands to reason that—”
“Oh, Lord, stop. I’m going to be late, so I need to run. Trust me, Em, you are going to love this color. It’s gorgeous on you.”
“If it’s so gorgeous, why are you making me put a bag over my head?” she asks, the plastic shopping bag dangling from her hand.
“Because you bought, like, the only hair color that doesn’t come with a cap. And by keeping the heat and moisture in, we’re keeping the hair shaft happy.” At her look of confusion, I say, “Just trust me.”
“Remind me again why you’re not in beauty school?”
It’s a question I get a lot, actually. But the answer is simple and always the same. “Because I like to play with hair and makeup for fun. I’m not ready to deal with pains in the ass like you for a living.” I wink, blow her a kiss, and head out into the chilly evening air for my brisk, energizing walk to the library.
These are the times I miss Trixie the most.
Spencer
I’m sitting with the guys at the Biscuit, shooting the shit after practice. Our last few wins have been closer than they should have and we should be hitting our stride about now, but we still have a few pieces missing. If we can wrap up this weekend’s games against Dartmouth, I’ll feel a lot better about our chances of going all the way.
“Have you seen Rucizinski’s wrister? It’s wicked. And that guy’s fast as hell,” Doyle tells us this like we don’t already know it.
