Page 66 of Friendshipped
My phone buzzes from the floor of the bathroom, where I apparently dropped it when I got a second glimpse at myself in all my golden glory.
Laura:Send me a photo.
I pick my phone up and aim it at the mirror. I can’t even watch. I squeeze my eyes shut and snap the picture. Then I press the arrow to forward it to Laura.
A few seconds later her response comes through
Laura:Wow.
I stare at my phone.
Lexi:Can you help me?
Laura:Of course. It’s what I do. Can you meet me at the salon?
Lexi:Yes! I’ll be the one with a bag over my head.
Laura:Don’t fret, Lexi. We’ll make you beautiful again.
23
Lexi
Idress and then I search through my closet for my options to cover the beacon that is my head. I try on a ski hat. Yes, it’s the height of summer in the Midwest, but I don’t want to cause an accident by inadvertently stopping traffic, so I need something.
I braid my hair to contain it, then I tug the beanie over my head and walk out of my home toward my car, my neon yellow braid trailing down my back. Okay. I don’t walk. I’m running like Forrest Gump—a dandelion haired Forrest Gump who is sweating from her hair follicles. My hat is literally a sauna in this summer heat.
Trevor must have heard my door shut, because he steps out onto our porch as I’m approaching my car. I’m running—which I never do, but drastic times and all. I am relatively certain I’m running fast enough to enter the nationals as a potential competitor in the hundred-yard dash. Or at least the front yard dash.
I hear Trevor call my name. I give him a wave while I duck my fluorescent head into my car. I start the engine and peel out of our driveway like I’m being shot out of a cannon.
By the time I arrive to the salon, ten minutes later, I think I may have shed five pounds through my scalp. I’m slightly drenched under my ski cap. But I’m committed to getting into the salon while remaining as incognito as possible. With any luck, no one else in Bordeaux will witness my impersonation of a human rubber ducky.
If word gets out, I’ll never live it down.
I can see it now. Rubber ducks and caution tape will haunt the rest of my days.
My phone buzzes with a text. I take a quick glance at it. It’s Trevor. He can wait. My hair can’t.
I park and dash across the street to enter Dippity Do. A few customers sit at hairdressers’ stations getting cuts or colors. When Frieda sees me, her eyes go wide. I give her a moment to process what’s standing before her. I understand.
It’s yellow.
Very yellow
She shakes her head as if to bring herself back to her senses. “Laura will be right with you Lexi. She told me you had a little accident.”
Frieda circles her finger around her head and then her eyes widen as she looks at my glowing braid again.
“Yes,” I say, trying to ease her discomfort. “Imagine what I could have achieved if I had put some effort into it. And, If I wore my striped shirt, I could pose as Ronald McDonald’s yellow haired cousin.”
“That you could,” Frieda says with a laugh. “That you could.”
Laura sees me and walks over to the reception area. She looks at me with a wide grin on her face.
Then she says, “Okay, Big Bird, Let’s take care of those feathers.”
I hold my lemony head up high and follow her. Might as well own it.
