16. Archie #2
“Have at it, mate.” I turn my head side to side, scowling at my hair and—telepathically—at Piper.
“You have three choices, amigo. Shave. Bleach. Or Dye.”
“Well, die is out. I’m not ready to give my life because of this.”
Juan huffs. “D-Y-E. Like, turn your hair black.”
“Black?” I study myself in the mirror, trying to picture what I’d look like with black hair. Might be kind of cool. The darker color looks good on Frankie.
Juan shakes his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it with your complexion. You’ll look like a vampire. Although you’re not as pale as your sister.” He leans closer to examine my cheeks. “Are you wearing bronzer?”
“I was in the sun yesterday. I probably got a little tan.” Despite the buckets of sunscreen I applied all day and the fact that I’ve never in my life had a tan because of my Scottish heritage. But there’s a first for everything.
“Hmm,” he mutters. “Shave or bleach?”
“Why not wash? Piper said it would wash out. It’s a temporary color.”
Juan runs a handful of hair through his fingers, studying it.
“It’ll fade after a few weeks, but the kind of shampoo I’d need to use to wash it out in one day would destroy your hair.
You’re better off shaving it or going blond.
After a few weeks, I can add some highlights to move it toward your natural color, but this over-the-counter stuff she used is brutal.
I can’t do too much at one time until we know how your hair is going to react. ”
I growl, then send a second telepathic growl to Piper.
Frankie gets more attention for her hair than I do because she’s a woman, but I’ve been told my “thick, curly locks” are my best feature, too.
I’m not getting write-ups in People or Us Weekly, but I’ve never been short on compliments about my hair—girls have a bit of a thing for the auburn, apparently.
It’s soft, too, or so I’ve been told…back when someone’s fingers were actually in it. Been a minute, though.
“You can get it blond without ruining it?” I’m not shaving anything. I did that once and I don’t have the head shape for it.
“Absolutely. I’ll get you scheduled to come back in a couple of weeks. Then we’ll take the next step.”
Six hours later, I walk out of the salon looking better than I did walking in but strongly resembling Fight Club Jared Leto. I am ridiculously blond, and Juan cut off a lot of hair, damaged after the bleaching process shredded my ends.
I drive a block before I put my beanie back on. At least it’s October, so I won’t look like a tool wearing a beanie until Juan can add some red to my hair.
I’m irritated with Piper, but I had a lot of time in that chair to think about everything I’ve done to her. There’s the perfume and the mannequin thing, but also the years of teasing every time we had forced family time. It wasn’t often, but I made sure she knew how I felt about her and her mom.
I reckon between that and my pranks, we’re close to even.
Not quite—messing with my hair was low—but close.
I’m tempted, though, to retaliate. I’m keen to see her eyes grow darker the way they do when she’s ready to go to battle.
Her face takes on this intense expression when she’s lit up.
She sucks in her cheeks until her cheekbones are deep slopes with her eyes hanging like full moons above them.
I don’t remember noticing that about her when we were kids.
Or maybe I did, and that’s why I did what I could to rile her up.
I’m learning memory is a funny thing. It bends and stretches into what we want.
When I pull into the garage, I see Dex’s car parked on the street. I knew he and Britta were getting back this morning, I just haven’t had the bandwidth to think about it. But now I breathe a sigh of relief that I’ll have a bit of a buffer between Piper and me.
I’m surprised, though, when I go inside and start up the stairs and Britta turns the corner carrying a box. They’re moving out now? Dex had said they found a place, but I expected it would be a few weeks before they moved.
Despite my surprise, I rush to take the box from her before she starts down the stairs.
“Thanks,” she huffs. “I thought I could handle it, but it’s heavy!”
“I got it. Where do you want it?” I rotate carefully, balancing the box with my hip, before heading back down the steps. Dex passes me on his way up.
“Hey, mate.”
“Welcome back,” I say to him. “You’re leaving already?”
“Apartment’s ready now, so might as well get out of your hair.”
“Set it left of the front door,” Britta says behind me. “That's where we’re putting stuff that goes with us. The other boxes on the right are going into storage.”
I set the box down and face her, ready for more instructions. Her eyebrows pull together. “What’s with the beanie?”
I sigh and take it off.
Britta blinks. “You’re blond.”
“I was electric purple this morning.” I start back up the stairs.
“This is better?”
I put the beanie back on. The fact she’s questioning whether I looked better as a kid’s TV character isn’t encouraging. I can hardly wait for Dex’s reaction.
“So…why was your hair purple?” Britta asks as we walk down the hall.
“Piper.”
“Piper?”
We walk into their room—the primary suite of the house with a full en suite bathroom and wall to wall windows. Dex is taping a box shut. There are more of them stacked against the wall closest to the door.
Most of their stuff is still in boxes in the garage because they never really unpacked when they moved in.
Their marriage was supposed to be temporary, so they didn’t have much reason to settle in.
Even after Dex’s accident, as it became clear he and Britta had something real, they didn’t unpack anything they didn’t need.
I guess we all understood this arrangement was temporary.
“Show him your hair,” Britta orders as she rushes past me to take the taped box from Dex.
He reluctantly lets it go, then looks at me. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.” I keep my beanie on. “Piper dyed my hair purple. I just spent six hours and a fair bit of cash for Juan Rivera to fix it.”
“I’m dying to hear why you let her mess with your hair in the first place.” Britta sets down the box by the door and her eyes bounce to my beanie.
“I didn’t let her do anything. She spiked my shampoo with purple hair dye.”
Britta looks horrified. Dex starts laughing.
“It’s not funny, Dex!” Britta pulls off my beanie on her way back to Dex. “Look what she did! She’s ruined Archie’s gorgeous hair!”
I appreciate her indignation. Also, her compliment about my real hair. She may be my new best mate. Particularly with Dex laughing as hard as he is.
“Why would Piper do this to you?” Britta demands.
“The better question is,” Dex interjects, “what did Archie do to deserve it?”
I glare at Dex. He keeps laughing.
“What are you talking about?” Britta is almost as irritated with her husband—my former best mate—as I am. “What could he do that’s bad enough to deserve this?” She waves her hand in the direction of the abomination on top of my head.
“Can I have my hat back now?” I tug it away from her and put it back on. Maybe I’m not sorry they’re moving out.
“Where to start?” Dex grins at me. “The time you tricked Piper into eating so much Vegemite she puked? Or when you introduced her to Rhys as ‘my annoying stepsister who has a massive crush on you’?”
“That’s not what I said.”
At least I hope not.
“Archie, you did that?” Britta sends me a disappointed look from across the room.
And I can’t even argue, can I? I legit couldn’t stand Piper back then.
Or, possibly, it was more that I couldn’t stand what she stood for—Dad fawning over her like she hung the flamin’ moon.
Hard to untangle now. Especially considering the fact that every time she looks at me, a zing of something shoots down my spine and settles in my belly.
I’m not sure what it is, but it’s not what I felt about her ten years ago.
But this isn’t exactly the moment to start pulling at threads to unravel the past from the present.
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, Britt. Archie was a bit of a bully to Piper.” Dex still moves slow, thanks to his injury, but he’s sure quick when it comes to throwing me under the bus. I’ve got no choice but to defend myself.
“That was a decade ago. She’s the one picking on me now. The worst I’ve done to her is hide the coffee.” I realize my mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I meant to admit to the mildest of my crimes.
I’ve done the exact opposite, considering my audience of two complete coffee snobs.
Britta stops what she’s doing and stares at me. “You hid the coffee? What is she supposed to drink in the morning?”
I shift awkwardly, wishing I had something to do besides stand in the doorway. “She bought some instant stuff at the Sev,” I mumble.
“Oh, mate…” Dex sighs like I’ve just revealed I have a terminal disease.
Britta’s eyes narrow. “Is she drinking Folgers? Are you forcing her to drink Folgers every morning when she could be drinking my blends?”
I shake my head slowly. I’ve dug my own grave with this one. I may as well climb in. “I think it’s Dunkin’ brand.”
“That’s not better, mate,” Dex mutters softly.
Britta answers with a noise that’s part growl, part moan, but at least she’s gone back to taking pictures off the wall instead of glaring at me. “Was the purple a temporary color or permanent dye?”
“Temporary, but?—”
“I would have made it permanent,” Britta cuts in. She takes the pic of Dex with his WSL trophy from his Finals win last year off the wall. “You should have waited for it to wash out.”
“Apparently my hair takes color really well or something. Juan worried it wouldn’t wash out completely. My choice was to strip it or shave it.” I turn and flip on the ceiling fan. It’s hot in here, and the beanie doesn’t help.