Chapter 3
When I was little, I always loved it when Mom braided my hair.
My dark locks used to be unruly and knot-ridden, and after every nighttime bath, it was our ritual of braiding it out of my face.
I’d sit on her lavender-printed quilt, tracing the seams in the stitching.
Sometimes I’d chatter about my day. Sometimes she’d tell me about hers.
More often, though, she’d hum a song that still played through my head in the quiet moments.
Those memories were ones I kept in a treasure box, like little pictures I was afraid of warping.
Up until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t really minded her doing my hair every morning. Really, I hadn’t given much thought to it.
Now at sixteen, though, and never getting to style my own hair, that dark pit in my stomach seemed heavy.
“Why didn’t you wear your hair up to bed like you always do?
” Mom scolded me Thursday morning as she threaded her fingers through my hair.
She was already dressed for the day, her black blazer hanging on the knob of the bathroom door.
Her makeup was simple, as always, and the dangling diamond earrings she always wore hung in a swaying pendulum that I stared at in the mirror.
She always dressed her best. “You toss and turn like you’re possessed, and you’ve got a rat’s nest back here. ”
“I had a headache last night,” I told her, tracing my fingers along the white marble countertop, looking at her concentrated face in the mirror ahead of me.
She had her vibrant red locks pulled up into a high bun, a color she shared with Landon.
I’d gotten my dark hair from Dad. “I thought maybe taking it out would help. It’s just so long. ”
“So beautiful, you mean.” She leaned around my shoulder to give me a wide smile. “I can’t imagine you without this hair. Even if it is a tangled pain sometimes.”
“I can’t imagine it either,” I said on impulse, but knew that wasn’t true.
I’d only had my hair cut once in my life. In the third grade, I’d gotten so sick of all the knots, so I took out my craft scissors and hacked at my hair. Chopping it off had been so freeing, so exciting. So beautiful.
I could still remember Mom’s face when she’d seen me, and could still remember how hard she sobbed the rest of the night. Even now, a sick twist of guilt tugged at my stomach from simply thinking about it.
“Be sure you go straight to the library until your brother is done with practice,” Mom said as she pulled hair from my temples, weaving it into a large French braid, sectioning it quickly. “I don’t like the idea of you roaming around by yourself. There are a lot of…rowdy kids at Brentwood.”
The only “rowdy kid” Mom had a grudge against was none other than Hudson Bishop, and I wondered what she’d say if I told her what happened yesterday. She’d probably have a heart attack.
She wiggled her fingers to break free of a knot, and I bit down on my lip to keep from wincing. “You know,” I began slowly, toeing closer to the water I knew would be freezing. “The sooner I get my permit, the sooner I could get my license, and the sooner I—”
“We talked about this.” Mom’s voice was patient, but in a way that made me feel small.
Like she was speaking to a child who was misunderstanding something for the second time.
“It doesn’t make sense. We don’t have a car for you to use, and you’re always with us anyway.
It isn’t like you play sports either, Gemma. What’s the point in a permit?”
“Eventually, I do have to get my license. To get my license, I need a permit.”
Mom’s fingers slipped in my hair again and tugged, hard. Tears sprung to my eyes as she scrambled to salvage the braid, and when she spoke again, her voice was terse. “Not now, Gemma. I thought I was clear about that.”
I didn’t know what I was expecting, bringing it up again.
I didn’t even know why I brought it up to begin with.
That’d been happening more lately, my subconscious sneaking things out of my mouth.
Our once easy conversations felt strained now, and I wanted to lash out, tongue heavy in my mouth with words unsaid.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, one that was wavy from the tears that gathered and pooled but never fell.
“I’m sorry.” I conceded immediately, and really, she was right. It was better this way. “You’re right.”
She patted my shoulder. “One day, okay? It’s better to let things be the way they are. Keep our heads down. Right?”
Keep your head down. Part of the mantra that I adopted from years of my parents repeating the phrase over and over again.
When Mom first campaigned for school board president, it was exactly what they’d told me so as to not get in the way.
Landon was the one they wanted to parade around for his athletic ability, and they never wanted me to get in the way of that.
Over the years, I slowly added another phrase to the mantra, one that they always seemed to insinuate but never said. Even now, it felt like Mom was saying it without saying it. Closing the conversation before we could actually have it. Keep your mouth shut.
Landon rapped his fist on the semi-open bathroom door, but didn’t wait for a response before he barged in.
Suddenly the bathroom was much too small.
Even though Landon was the quarterback, he was built more like a defensive lineman, with broad shoulders and thick muscles.
His reddish-brown hair stuck up every which way, and his eyes were still puffy from sleep.
“I’m late,” he gave as a greeting, shuffling through our shared bathroom drawers before he found his stick of deodorant.
“The guys and I are doing a morning weight lift, and my alarm didn’t go off. ”
“You’re doing a morning workout and an after-school workout?” The anxiety was clear in Mom’s voice. “Again?”
But Landon dismissed it with a shake of his head, swiping up his toothbrush next and taking my tube of toothpaste instead of his. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I won’t pull a muscle.”
“The quarterback can’t pull a muscle. Your arm is one of the most valuable parts of that team.”
“My arm and Connor’s legs,” he said with a smile, and leaned to give Mom a quick side hug. Before he ducked out of the bathroom, he stopped, looking at me in the reflection. “I’ll see you after school?”
I nodded, giving in to what Mom had ordered. “I’ll wait for you in the library.”
And then, without another word, my brother was gone.
Mom finished up the braid quickly, tying it off with a clear elastic, and sending me to my room to get dressed.
She had my outfit already laid out for me, and it was a long gray dress that went down a few inches above my ankles, and a big, long-sleeved shirt to wear underneath.
It wasn’t anything fancy, but to me, the outfits she chose all seemed the same.
I wasn’t even sure what clothes I owned, honestly.
Even the skirts I made myself blended in with the rest.
“Well, don’t you look ready to learn,” Dad said as I walked out into the living room. He had his briefcase beside him for a day at the office, but he waited for me to leave first. His dark hair was cut short. “Your mother did a great job on your hair, didn’t she?”
“She always does,” I replied, folding my hands in front of me with a smile.
It was then that the doorbell rang, a delicate melody echoing through the living room. Mom gave a little gasp as she bounded toward the door. “That must be Jaden.”
I sucked in a little breath, something like an inward sigh. The only problem was that my little groan sounded a bit too much like Mom’s gasp of happiness, and Dad smiled knowingly at me as he got to his feet. “Give your dad a hug before you go.”
“Jaden doesn’t have to pick me up every day,” I said as I went into Dad’s arms, inhaling the scent of his cologne. He’d been using the same one my entire life, and it never failed to be as comforting as the hug itself. “It’s okay.”
“You know we don’t want you walking to the bus by yourself,” he said, patting me lightly on the back.
I fought another sigh, getting a smile ready for when I leaned back. “Have a good day at work,” I said, because that was what I said every day.
“Make me proud,” he said, because that was what he said every day. Except I always heard the undercurrent of words he meant but never said. Don’t disappoint us.
The front door was wide open when I got to it, revealing none other than Jaden Morris.
Jaden grinned when he saw me. His black hair was perfectly styled with the sides closely shaved but the curls coiled on top. “Morning, Gemma. Your hair looks great today.”
I was certain the braid looked the same as it always did, but I didn’t say that. “Thank you.”
Mom was a part of so many clubs that I couldn’t remember where she met Jaden’s family, but it was one random day that our moms had the less than brilliant thought that Jaden and I were a match made in heaven.
“Jaden, I can’t thank you enough for walking with Gemma to the bus stop,” Mom said, pressing her hand against her necklace. “I offered to walk her, but I’m sure it’s not cool to walk with your mom.”
“Oh, I don’t mind, Mrs. Settler.” Jaden sent the grin her way. “Living right down the road has its perks. I may not have my license yet, but it’s all okay if I have someone like Gemma to keep me company on the bus.”
“Gemma, did you hear that?” Mom tilted her head happily. “He’s so sweet, isn’t he?”
My cheeks hurt when I smiled. “Very sweet.”
I turned to Mom and watched her eyes quickly dart all over me. She reached over and brought my long braid over my shoulder. “You look so pretty with your hair this way,” she said lovingly, smoothing her hands over it. “Just like this, just over your shoulder.”