A trip to the salon, with a friend (Tess POV)

Tessa Lewis

--

I stepped out of the shower, humming along to the new CD Wyatt had given me. Well, technically, the music wasn’t on the CD anymore, it was playing off my phone. I’d burned the tracks first thing to my computer and sent the files over so I could listen to them on the go.

Playing now was an extremely ordinary-sounding piano piece. The only way to truly describe it would be uninspired, and I loved that about it. How normal it was. The chords were predictable, and while the tune was familiar, it never ventured too close to exciting. It was the musical equivalent of drinking tap water.

In a way, it was the perfect palate cleanser for the real music I'd listen to later.

I toweled off, suppressing my annoyance at having to brush my hair out of my eyes just so I could put on my glasses. Long hair was nice and all, but sometimes, it was a lot of maintenance.

Wiping the steam from the mirror, I looked at myself in the glass and listened to the stereotypical, oddly comforting climax of the piano piece playing on my phone.

My dark, wet hair stood out to me. I again had the thought that if it was brighter, it’d help me stand out. Lately, I’d been thinking about dying it.

I’d always struggled with being noticed. It was why me and Wyatt were friends. He truly saw me when few others did. For a while, I found my peace with that - I liked blending into the background, nobody bothering me, nobody asking me to get involved in their drama - but evidently, another part of me never did. I did want to be noticed, and dying my hair might just help out with that.

At first, I was thinking blonde, or maybe just a nice lighter shade of brown. Some highlights would be subtle, but cute. But the more I considered my options, the more I knew what I had to do. I had to go for something bright. Something fun. Something that’d make people notice me, whether they wanted to or not.

And, as I brushed my hair out in front of the mirror, endlessly brushing, and brushing, I sighed. I was sick of all the brushing. I'd never thought of shoulder-length hair as long before, but what was I doing now? So much maintenance. Maybe it was time for a change.

The idea felt like clouds parting. If I wanted a change, what was stopping me?

After I brushed out my hair, I picked up my phone to look up hair salons in the neighborhood. I was already making a plan to ask mom to borrow the car. I could call Zan too, ask she’d come with me. With how big a change I was thinking, I could use the moral support.

--

Not long later, I swung by Zan’s house to pick her up.

Zan was a mutual friend of mine and Wyatt's, though honestly, she was more my friend than his. Whenever the three of us hung out, it usually ended up that Zan or Wyatt wound up feeling like a third wheel. They had no friend synergy between themselves. Beyond their age, had nothing in common.

Parking on the curb, I texted that I’d arrived.

Zan came out after a minute, skipping to the car in flip-flops, shorts, and a cute t-shirt. She swung into the passenger seat beside me.

“Heya Squirt,” she said in a singsong, pulling me into a swift hug. “Thanks for inviting me to your big day.”

Zan was back for the summer from college just like Wyatt was. She was Chinese, her grandparents straight from China, as was her mom. Her night-black hair hung in a perfect curtain, framing her face. She was really super pretty.

I smiled. “I was kind of nervous you'd try to talk me out of it. Some girls flip out when they cut their hair.”

“And you’re dying it too,” said Zan, nodding sagely. “I totally get it. No need to explain.” She laid a hand on my arm and smiled conspiratorially. “I’ll be with you every step of the way - and afterward, we’ll go get ice cream.”

Secretly, I felt like a gremlin in Zan's presence - I was a plain Jane and she was beautiful - but Zan never saw it like that. She was a really cool person, and just cool in general. She even had a nose piercing. That's why I felt safe coming to her with my plans. This was something she could handle.

Already feeling less nervous about what I was about to do, I took us onto the road.

On the way to the salon, Zan made a distasteful face and flicked a finger toward the stereo. “What’s with this music, anyway?”

I’d tuned it out, but my phone plugged into the car stereo, playing Wyatt's CD music. The same piano piece from earlier was playing, the one I really vibed with.

"Tess?" asked Zan, giving me a look when I didn't reply.

Answering the question was a struggle. The easy explanation was that I was listening to a playlist Wyatt put together for me, but that was better kept a secret. What she didn't buy it? I couldn't tell her that I was 'just helping a friend' with a study on **** learning, so acknowledging it out in the open felt weird. At least, not until Wyatt published his findings or… whatever.

“It’s just music, I guess,” I said, vaguely.

Unfortunately, Zan wouldn’t drop it. “Well, this song sounds like the non-copyright music YouTubers put in the background of video essays,” she complained. She went for her own phone. “Where's your aux cord? I’ll pull up Pandora.”

“Please don’t,” I said. “I like having some background music on, okay?” In reality, the prospect of changing the music to something else left me distressed.

Zan gave me a weird look. "You’re the driver, you pick the tunes," she eventually relented.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

She gave up the Pandora idea and leaned her head against the passenger side window. Zan occupied herself by watching the passing scenery outside, instead, clearly disinterested in my taste in music.

“It's really not as bad as it sounds," I said. "I mean. It is, but it grows on you after a while. It's nice to have something on that you don't need to think about, you know?”

Zan rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “If you say so, Squirt.”