Chapter 9
3 Months After The Choosing
Imani
My hair is officially out of control. I’ve been keeping it natural and loose since everyone kept mixing Dominique and me up the first few weeks, but I really need to put it in some sort of protective style so I can keep growing it out and minimize the daily upkeep. If the housemates haven’t figured out our personalities by now, they really are blinded by all the hormones running rampant around here.
Back home, Mom does our braids. Dominique can never be bothered to sit still long enough to do a full set on someone else. I giggle to myself, thinking about how she falls asleep getting her own braids done and marvel at the amount of desensitizing our scalps have gone through over the years.
I wonder if one of the other girls wouldn’t mind doing mine? Quinn wears French braids fairly often… Ugh, no. I don’t want to inconvenience her. Besides, mine will take significantly longer than the few minutes her simple braids must take her.
I shuffle around the room, idly stretching my lengthening hair around a finger and consider attempting them myself when suddenly Parker walks in with a pair of scissors and a razor.
“I can’t take it anymore! I need this taken care of once and for all!” He gestures to his, also admittedly neglected, head of slightly looser curls. “Will you help me shave this off?” he asks frantically.
I laugh. Of course we would be on similar hair care cycles. We had basically the same cut when we arrived; though he’s never favored braids and usually visits a barber every few weeks to maintain it.
“Of course I will. But only if you help me do some braids. I don’t think anyone else here would get natural hair, other than Dominique and Eli, but goodness knows I wouldn’t ask either of them for help unless forced.” I try to make my request seem joking and casual. That way he can blow me off without feeling bad. I know it’s a decent time commitment and not an equivalent favor.
"Imani, I would be honored to help braid your hair," he says solemnly as he reaches out and smooths it back from my face. Then, he glances around the room for a suitable spot to sit.
“Do you think we could get comfy and do it in here?”
“That’s what she said!” I bust out before I can stop myself. What is wrong with me?!
He pauses, then chuckles nervously, avoiding my eyes. “Ha ha. Very funny.” Turning away, he gathers up my hair stuff from the desk before sitting down on the couch and plopping a pillow in his lap, then setting his tools down on top of it. He grabs another throw pillow and tosses it down at his feet before waving his hand to indicate I should sit on it.