Page 49 of Scream For Me
“Yeah. Look at this.” I tilt my head forward, showing her my roots.
Harper laughs—really laughs—and it feels like a small victory. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. This is a hair dye emergency.”
“We’ll make a night of it,” I offer, seeing her smile in return worth everything.
“Mess included?”
“Especially the mess,” I say.
The porch door opens again, and Kaycee pokes their head out to call us in before shutting the door again.
Harper turns back to me, already knowing the answer but asking the question anyway. “You in?”
“Always,” I offer with a small smile.
Harper wraps me in a hug, pulling me tight.
We stand, brushing old wood and dirt off our asses as we head toward the door. I glance back at the steps and the thoughts I’m leaving there.
They’ll still be there next time.
For now, I have hair dye to buy and a mess to make, and that feels like exactly what I need.
Twenty-One
Kat
Bad Reputation – Joan Jett
If blood were purple, my bathroom would look like a crime scene.
Harper dances around the tiny space, foils covering her head asBad Reputationplays from the record player in my bedroom. She holds the little plastic tub in the air, shouting out the words, and she’s dancing like the room is twice the size, her elbows narrowly missing the cabinet door we left open.
This is the type of scene that would have little Kat giddy with glee. A girl’s night with her best friend. Harper has always treated my apartment like home, and because of that, it feels more like home to me, too.
Towels cover every surface, tainted with various shades of purple. The box of dark magenta hair dye lies ripped open on the countertop, instructions abandoned as usual. My tiny sink is already splattered with diluted violet streaks that look suspiciously like a low-budget horror movie.
“Peroxide should come with some type of warning,” Harper coughs out. She waves one hand dramatically in front of her face like she’s fending off frat boys who wear too much cologne.
“It does,” I say blankly.
“Well, it should come with more.”
A streak of bleach sloshes dangerously close to the edge of the bowl as she mixes it.
“You’re going to spill that,” I say, already grabbing a towel.
“Negative thinking, K,” she shoots back.
The bowl tilts another inch, and I toss the towel onto the counter beneath her just in time. She dramatically rolls her eyes as she pulls my head back against her, dragging the brush over my roots. A shiver works its way up my spine at the cold invasion against my warm scalp.
The faint sound of the extractor fan does nothing to dispel the chemical warfare waging in this tiny room. The smell takes me back to the first time I did this, although the circumstances couldn’t be more different. I smile to myself, choosing to ignore the old memory surfacing.
“This is a lot of work,” Harper says after a while, wiping her wrist across her forehead, careful not to transfer any bleach. “Why do you put yourself through this every month?”
“I like the change.” The words roll off my tongue too easily, although Harper seems content with the answer as she continues to brush the blonde dye across my dark roots.
We sit in comfortable silence, the music from the record player eventually fading as the vinyl comes to an end. My legs cramp from being crossed for so long, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to be hauled off this floor.
