Chapter Thirteen: Morning purple (Part 2)
RILEY'S POV
We walked out of the bikini store after Amber paid for everything—because, of course, she insisted. I was already turning toward the exit when Amber grabbed my wrist and pulled me back.
"And where do you think you're going?" she asked
.
"Home," I replied casually.
"Oh no, you're not going anywhere," she said, flipping her hair dramatically. "We're not done yet."
"You aren't done. I am," I said, trying to walk away—until I heard Cleo's voice.
"Riley Sarai Grayson, get back here."
She planted her feet firmly on the floor, the same way she used to when we were little—her I'm-in-charge stance.
Well, I wasn't a baby anymore.
I shook my head and stuck my tongue out at her.
"I'm not staying."
"Riley, I said get back here."
"Cleopatra Hannah Grayson," I shot back, "I said I'm not staying."
Harleen and Amber burst out laughing.
Cleo and I both glared at them, and they immediately shut up, Harleen muttering, "Sarai and Hannah…"
"Please, Riley," Amber said, stepping between us.
I turned my face away and sighed loudly, making it very clear I was unhappy.
Amber smiled in victory. Harleen squealed, and Cleo snapped a picture of my annoyed face, laughing. I sent her a glare.
We walked into the salon, and I glanced around, taking everything in. There were sections for tattoos, haircuts, manicures, pedicures, makeup—basically everything.
"I'll be back," I told Harleen. "You guys do… whatever you want."
She gave me a don't-try-anything look.
I rolled my eyes and walked out.
I wandered around the mall, looking at random stores and displays. It was cool and all, but people kept staring at me since I wasn't buying anything.
Okay… time to go back before those girls decided to murder me.
I was almost at the salon entrance when someone called out a familiar name.
"Hey, Lily!"
I turned—and froze.
Harleen.
Or… a completely different Harleen.
If she hadn't called me Lily, I wouldn't have recognized her at all.
My mouth fell open before a smile spread across my face.
"Oh my goodness, Harleen.
"
She blushed. "It's my natural hair color."
"It suits you," I said honestly. "Why did you dye it red before?"
"I was embarrassed," she admitted. "I thought I looked like an old lady."
She did a small spin. "So… how do I look?"
"Beautiful," I said.
Her wavy silver-blonde hair complemented her skin perfectly.
"All right," she said, grabbing my arm. "Now it's your turn."
I let her drag me along. I'd had enough exploring for one day—it's not like I was Dora.
She led me back to where Cleo and Amber were. They'd both made slight changes to their hair too—nothing drastic, but noticeable.
"Riley, where did you disappear to for almost two hours?" Cleo asked.
I ignored her.
"Come on, Lily," Harleen said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Sit. Let's get you changed—if you want."
The stylist nodded, gesturing toward the chair facing a large mirror.
"I'm fine," I said quickly. "I don't want to change my hair color or anything."
"Oh, come on, Ril," Amber said, using the nickname Cleo always used when she wanted me to agree. "Your hair's not bad, but the color's a little… boring."
"I like it the way it is," I said, frowning.
That wasn't entirely true. I used to hate my hair color—but I couldn't forget English class. I couldn't forget Xander saying he liked it.
For some reason, I didn't want to change it anymore.
"How about I just wash it, condition it, and trim it?" I suggested. "Is that okay?"
Cleo sighed. "Alright, weirdo."
I glared at her.
"Relax, Lily," Harleen said gently, sitting me down. "Close your eyes. You won't even notice."
I'm not a baby, I thought irritably. I'm sixteen. I've had my first kiss.
Just because Cleo was my older sister—and Harleen and Amber were a little older—didn't mean I was a child.
The moment the stylist's comb touched my hair, I spun around sharply.
"Don't touch my hair," I snapped, nearly biting her fingers.
Everyone froze.
I forgot about that.
I looked down, biting my lip. "Sorry," I muttered.
"Sorry, ma'am," Cleo explained gently. "She doesn't do well when people handle her hair roughly."
The woman nodded understandingly. "It's okay, dear. I'll be very gentle."
After about thirty minutes, the stylist tapped my shoulder.
"You can open your eyes now."
She'd kept her promise. Her touch was soft—like my mom's used to be when I was little. I barely noticed her working.
I opened my eyes—and stared.
It wasn't a drastic change, but it was perfect. My hair fell smoothly over my shoulders, straighter than before, neatly trimmed, with a darker shine that made my skin glow.
I turned and hugged the woman quickly.
"I love it. Thank you."
She chuckled. "You remind me of my five-year-old daughter. She doesn't like people touching her hair either."
I smiled.
"Lily, you look amazing," Harleen said.
"I know," I replied, turning to Amber. "Now let's go home. I'm hungry and tired."
"And that's why you're fat," Cleo muttered.
I'm not, I thought.