Page 71 of Just Friends Forever
“Oh.” My vocabulary consists entirely of this word now.
She looks at me nervously. “What do you say? Can I trust her not to set me up with a crazy person?”
I want to sayno.So badly. “Yeah, you can trust her.” I’ll just hole up in my apartment and try to find things wrong with Malibu beach homes while she goes on yet another date—and potentially comes back wanting to shave her eyebrows or something.
24
STEVIE
My head vibrates gently,and I reach an uncoordinated hand under the pillow to silence my alarm. I’m still not used to these early hours, but Troy’s consistency with working out inspires me to sit up rather than turning over and falling back asleep.
I’ve got a bunch of notifications about virtual pets I’m neglecting, but I ignore them and do my zombie-walk to the bathroom. I glance at the mirror, starting at the sight.
My heart races as I take stock of my new self. I drag a hand through my hair—a much quicker task than I’m used to. There are a lot fewer tangles to deal with.
That’s a plus, right?
I swallow, turn away, and use the bathroom. But when I wash my hands in the sink, I’m faced with my reflection again.
The adrenaline that drove my hair choices yesterday has faded to trace levels, and I’m facing down something I’ve come to hate mightily: regret.
It’s not the only thing I hate. I hate the way I can’t push my hair behind my shoulders because it’s too short. I hate the way my part line stands out against my dark hair. I hate how pale and lifeless I look framed by my fake black hair. I hate the way I thought I could reinvent myself by dyeing and cutting my hair—and how it was partially motivated by the hope Troy might suddenly see me in a different way. I hate what a mess I’ve made of my life and how every time I try to exert any type of control, things get worse.
“Stevie?” There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and I hurry to wipe at the tears on my cheeks. “You ready to work out?” Troy asks.
“Just a second,” I say in an upbeat yet watery voice, blinking as fast as I can. It just pushes more tears out. Even if I get rid of them, there’s no hiding that I’ve been crying. My cheeks are blotchy and my eyes are red.
“Are you okay?” Troy asks. Curse him for knowing me so well he can tell when my voice sounds off.
I take in a deep breath, look at myself in the mirror one last time, and open the door.
His brows snap together. “What’s wrong?”
I swallow, but the waterworks have been turned on, and there is no stopping them now. I put a hand to the hair at my neck, and my chin trembles. “I hate it so much,” I say shakily, and I hide my face in his chest.
His arms pull me close. “I thought you liked it.” His soft voice is at odds with his firm hold on me. He smells like his laundry detergent. I don’t like my hair, but I likethis.
“I did. But today I hate it.” I leave out the part about the other things I hate, but the thickness in my throat reminds me of them. Top of that list is the fact that we’re friends hugging when I want more than that. It’s the impulse telling me to pull back just enough to lift my chin and press my lips to Troy’s.
“Then maybe tomorrow you’ll like it again.”
I shake my head.
“Let me see you.”
I grip his back as he tries to pull away, and he laughs, giving up easily.
“I really do like it, Stevie,” he says.
“That was yesterday,” I respond. “A lot can change overnight.”
“Then let me see, silly.”
I let out a resigned breath and reluctantly pull away.
He steps back, drops his arms from around me, and puts a hand to his chin like he’s summoning all his objective powers. Or checking me out? It’s hard to tell.
“Daaaang, girl,” he says, going all in on the latter. “Mm mm mm.”
