Chapter 38
Leaving Luke’s house, I feel numb.
I drive aimlessly for a mile or two, taking random turns down streets whose names I’m not even reading, before I pull over
to cry.
Once I’ve gotten some of it out of my system, I reach for my phone. I have texts waiting from Evie. She’s like a port in the
storm. If we hadn’t made up, I don’t know what I would do.
EVIE:
I talked to Eddie today. Said everything u said I should
And we got back together ?
ME:
!!!!!!! BEST NEWS!!
As soon as I hit send, Evie immediately FaceTimes me. I let it ring a few times while I collect myself, wipe my tears away.
When the screen changes to her face, she has such a happy glow that it legitimately makes me feel better. At least one of
us had things go well.
“Mom and Dad are back together!” I cheer.
“Yes! I—” Then she squints her eyes and looks at me. “Wait, are you crying? Why are you crying?”
“I’m just so happy for you,” I tell her, brushing a fresh tear away.
“You’re lying. What happened?”
“Luke and I ended things. It was too complicated. I need something he can’t give, and he wants things I can’t give. A perfect
recipe for success.” I smile, and more tears slip out. “Now tell me the whole story in intricate detail so I don’t have to
think about my own depressing situation.”
“I’m coming over,” Evie says, and hangs up.
An hour and a half later, when Evie and I are in my room on my bed, I still haven’t gotten any texts from Luke.
I show her my lock screen, empty of any texts. “It’s really over.”
“Maybe,” Evie says. “But maybe not. You two seem to find your way back to each other.”
“We found our way back to each other. And then it ended.” I stand up and walk over to my mirror. I pull my hair up, in the approximation
of a bob, and look at myself from both sides. “What if I cut it all off?”
“You know that’s been my dream for literal years. But I refuse to take advantage of someone in such a poor mental state.”
“I need a change. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.”
“That’s what everyone says before they get bangs. Which they always do after a breakup. And then they regret it.”
I let my hair fall and turn to her. I don’t know why, but right now, it feels like cutting off my hair is the only thing that
will make me feel better. “Please? It’s what I want. And it wasn’t technically even a breakup.”
Evie hesitates for one more second before she says, “Okay, okay, fine!” all in one breath.
She gets me all set up in front of my mirror, pulling over my desk chair so I can sit. We even grab an old sheet from the
laundry room to tie around my neck, as if we’re in a real salon.
Evie stands behind me with an old pair of hair scissors we found in the hallway bathroom. She runs her fingers through my
hair. “So how short are we talking?”
I hold my hand in the middle of my neck.
Evie whistles. “You sure?”
I lock eyes with my reflection. “Yes.”
Evie washes my hair first. When she makes her first cut I feel sick, because there’s no going back now. But then she keeps
snipping and shaping, and my neck appears, looking so much longer than I thought it was. She dries my hair and messes it up
a little with some texturing spray. This part she does with my back to the mirror.
“Okay. Ready?” She sounds nervous. I nod, and she spins my chair around.
I stare at myself. I loved my long hair.
I loved that I could hide behind the curtain of it.
The girl staring back at me looks totally different.
The cut is so short that I can’t pull it back into a bun anymore.
Maybe a little sprout of a ponytail at the nape of my neck.
I touch the bottom edge. There’s no hiding with a cut like this.
“I love it,” I tell Evie.
She clasps her hands together. “Right? It looks so good!”
I lean forward and turn so I can see myself from new angles. “What if we bleached it? So it was, like, peroxide blond?”
“I’m only allowing you one major decision in the wake of heartbreak,” Evie states. “But if you still want to bleach it in
a couple of days, I’m your girl.”
I run my fingers through my hair. It’s strange when they hit the air, like phantom limb syndrome. A haircut may not seem like
much to most people, but to me, it feels huge. Seminal.
I am in charge, I think, feeling a swell of love for myself, for my body. I love how it looks, and that’s all that matters. I don’t have
to listen to or care about anyone else’s opinion about me. Every choice about my body—my life—moving forward is going to be my own.