Heaven
I didn’t think two members of the Ford family would pop up this summer and stress me out, but here we are. I do want to work the party and also I’m scared out of my mind. I remember being twelve and very pointedly not being invited to sleepovers or birthday parties, so being at one with Saylor’s sisters and her friends will probably trigger some very specific PTSD. Still, Mrs.Ford’s offer is hard to pass up—paid practice sounds like a pretty good deal, and Saylor will be there.
But also, Saylor will be there. We’re making our way through the mall. I try not to freak out when Saylor takes my hand and tugs me toward the land of LEGO. We stand there for a second, just looking at each other, our fingers intertwined, and maybe I should just ask her if we’re still just friends, but the last time I asked a relationship-related question, I found myself wishing I could pull my own lips off my face and throw them in the trash, so I go with the safe option.
“So should we get one big LEGO set or work on a couple smaller ones?” I ask.
“Hmm, smaller ones? I really like the flower kits.”
“Cool.” Cool is safe, right? Saylor tugs me farther into the store and keeps her grip on my hand until she grabs one of the succulent kits. It takes me a little while to figure out what I want. I settle on the LEGO Kawasaki Ninja.
Our parents worked out some sort of deal, so Saylor pays this time. I take the bag and Saylor takes my hand. I don’t care if anyone is looking. We start toward the food court when Saylor suddenly stops and pulls me to the side.
“We have to talk,” she says. The four worst words in the English language. I nod and will myself not to cry.
“Sure. What are we talking about?”
“I don’t want to scare you.” She laughs. “But we need to seriously discuss the makeover. We need to talk about ground rules because I won’t lie, I wanna give you the works.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. “You don’t like the way I look?”
“Um no. That could not be further from the truth,” she says with a wide-eyed shake of her head. “I just need to know how far is too far. Like are shorts too far?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Okay. Come with me.”
Twenty minutes later, we walk out of Old Navy. I think about how long I can go giving Saylor the silent treatment. She gives me about four seconds to sulk before she’s back in my space. She doesn’t hold my hand again ’cause she’s carrying a bag now, but she does tickle my palm with the fingertips on her broken hand as we make our way past the food court. My whole arm starts tingling.
“Stop pouting.” She laughs. “You don’t have to even wear it outside. We just have to show your parents and take, like, one picture for the time capsule. You’ll survive, I promise.”
“Yeah, whatever. I hope you like black ’cause I’m going full goth. Kiss that blond hair goodbye,” I joke, focusing in on the Vans store across the way.
She gasps. “Heaven, wait!”
“What? What’s up?” I automatically start looking her up and down, looking for signs of fresh injury. Saylor just stares back at me, her mouth hanging open. “What?”
“I should dye my hair.”
“Nah. No way.”
“Why not? It’s a makeover, right?”
“Yeah, and you said it yourself, like ninety percent of the content your mom makes is about your hair. I will not be put on a hit list because I ruined your precious blond curls,” I tell her.
“You will not be put on a hit list. Listen, it’s my hair and my mom is all in on the bingo. You saw the T-shirts. If we’re doing a makeover, one of us needs to fully commit, and since it’s harder to strip dark hair than it is to dye light hair, I think that person should be me. Actually, I need it to be me. This is my act of independence,” Saylor declares.
“Okay, George Washington, but you have to promise me this isn’t gonna come back to bite me in the ass. I don’t want to be banned from your house or you banned from your—your person,” I say, gesturing around her. “I’m trying to hide you from your mom. Not piss her off.”
“You’d miss me, wouldn’t you?” she says with a smile, andI force myself not to touch her scar-free cheek. I have to push the urge to kiss her in the middle of the mall out of the way.
“Yeah sure, whatever. We can dye your hair, but just know your mom is gonna freak.”
“And then maybe she’ll stop putting me in her videos.”
“I—you have a point. Let’s dye your hair, but first…” I take the Old Navy bag from her so I can hold her hand again and then I head right for the Vans store.
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