Page 65 of Friendshipped
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Lexi
Iwake vaguely remembering the faint whispers of a dream. As I stretch my arms outside the covers and shift around repositioning my pillow, scattered images return to me. I never have been known for waking quickly. In adulthood I’ve allowed myself the daily luxury of simply soaking in the sweet intermission that comes between waking and having to go about my day.
Trevor kissed me.
He didn’t actually kiss me in real life, but oh, this dream. In the dream we were at the reservoir and I emerged from the water like a swimsuit model (proof this was totally not real life. In this dream I was tall and lean, and my skin was the perfect golden shade of tan).
I slowly prowled my way toward Trevor, walking with seductive moves as if the sand were my catwalk (I quietly giggle to myself. I’ve never walked like anything was my catwalk. Not even close). Trevor had a hungry come-hither look in his hazel eyes. (Come hither? Really?) … Anyway, he looked like he wanted me—really, really wanted me.
I stepped toward Trevor and fell to my knees in front of where he was sitting on our beach blanket. (Of course, Dane and Rob were not there like they were yesterday. Dreams are awesome that way. I would never fall to my knees in front of Trevor like I did in the dream if my brother-in-law and Laura’s ex-boyfriend were watching me. I’d probably crack a kneecap while everyone thought I had snagged my toe on the edge of the picnic blanket. Then, instead of landing gracefully at Trevor’s feet, I’d end up splayed across him like a starfish out of water).
But no. Dream Lexi reached out and ran my hand across Trevor’s stubble. A shiver runs through me as I remember the way his eyes roamed across my face with such want and intensity. Trevor put his hand over mine and he leaned in. Our mouths connected and …
Stop the presses!
Why am I rehashing a dream kiss with my best friend?
I throw off the covers and snap out of bed as if the offending mattress itself were causing me to drift into hazy daydreams about my admittedly cute and obviously wonderful, but very off-limits best friend. I have to shower and get ready for church. I also need to somehow bleach these kissing thoughts out of my head.
What if Trevor senses I dreamt of him? I won’t live it down. It would make things eternally awkward and confusing between us.
Yesterday morning he may have flirted, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt certain he was playing with me like we always do with one another. What Trevor and I have is the most important relationship in my life. I can’t mess up our friendship with romantic thoughts and feelings, especially when I know he has no intention of reciprocating. And he’s at steak level with Meg.
No. Trevor’s my best friend and I need to purge any thoughts leading me down paths ending with him kissing me. And what a kiss! I feel tingly remembering it, and it was only a dream kiss—which I’m going to forget now. No more kissing thoughts. I’m the most unkissing person ever. Maybe I’ll walk around with my lips tucked inward to prove it.
I walk into my bathroom and stare at the bottles of potion or whatever they call it. I picked it up on a whim when I heard Meg was coming back into town. It’s ridiculous really, but I always wondered if Trevor’s attraction to Meg had anything to do with her being a bleach blond. My hair has more of a mousey or sandy color to it.
I considered dying my hair to get Trevor’s attention. I know. I know. But what if it worked? What if all this time, all it would take were a little increase in my highlights to make Trevor snap out of the friend zone and see me as more?
I couldn’t ask Laura to do this. She might ask me what prompted the change. I know it’s crazy, but she’s got this sixth sense when it comes to people. Her intuition might come from listening to everyone pour their heart out all day long.
All I’m saying is that Laura can sniff things out better than a bloodhound and I don’t want any sniffing going on when it comes to me and my feelings for Trevor.
I stare at the two bottles, plastic mixing bowl and brush the woman at the beauty supply sold me. How hard can it be?
Taking a deep breath, I unfold the directions and lay them flat on the counter. I pour the contents of one bottle into the bowl. Then I mix in what seems to be the amount needed from the other. The stuff smells like the chem lab in high school. Since the directions are actually in Chinese, I follow the pictures.
After an hour, I head to the shower to rinse off and see my new and improved self. Watch out, Trevor, Sexy Lexi is in town. Okay. Scratch that. I’m never repeating that line to anyone. Blond highlights or not, I’m going for subtle. More like, “Oh, what? The blond? I just wanted a change. What doyouthink, Trevor?” Yeah. That’s more like it.
When I step out of the shower, I glance at myself in the mirror. My first clue should be the fact that I look like a canary stuck in a monsoon. Should there be so much yellow in my hair while it’s still wet?
I hang my hope on the far-fetched possibility it will tone down when it dries. I wrap my towel tightly across my chest, turn on my hairdryer and blow hot air toward my head—on high in case that helps.
The yellow, actually does not diminish. Not in the least. It’s sort of like watching one of those energy-saving lightbulbs warm up. The drier my hair gets, the more fluorescent the yellow becomes. The words caution tape flash through my mind. My hair is the color of caution tape! My head looks like a crime scene!
I run through my bedroom in my towel and grab my phone to text Laura.
Lexi:Um help!
Laura:What’s up?
Lexi:I sort of highlighted my own hair. And when I say highlight, well … it’s pure yellow.
I walk back into the bathroom. My hair is banana yellow. Goldfinch, lemon, preschool crayon bright. I could stop traffic—or at least make cars slow for the red light or yield with this yellow.
I think of my mom’s admonishment when I was little.Don’t stare at the sun.It can damage your eyes. Maybe the sun isn’t the only thing with blinding capacity. My eyes feel a tugging sensation as I gaze at my reflection. I stare at the shock of yellow hair on my head, then I look at the wall, and I actually see spots.
