Page 67 of Never Ever Getting Back Together
I sit up. “With what?”
She just beckons me out of the room, and, with a groan, I drag myself up and follow her to the bathroom.
In front of the mirror, she starts sectioning her hair. Just as I click onto what’s about to happen, she grabs a fistful of long brown hair and hacks it off with the scissors.
“Oh, okay, cool, this is what we’re doing.” I try to keep the surprise out of my voice, but it only half works.
“Yes, we are. If you could help me with the back, that’d be great.”
“Sure. But, um… you okay there, bud?”
“Fantastic.”
“Great, great… it’s just, usually when people cut all their hair off without notice—”
“It’s fine, I’ve done it before. This has actually been thefirst time I’ve worn it long. I’m bored with it, don’t read into things.”
“Bored, huh?” I say skeptically, watching another chunk of hair drop to the floor. “Usually I’d suggest trying out a new Netflix show or something, but, no, this works, too.”
“Can you get this piece?” she asks, swiveling so her back’s to me. She’s holding one last chunk of hair, twice as long as the surrounding bits.
“I… are you sure?”
She huffs. “No, Maya, I’m going to walk around with one piece of long hair in the middle of my back. I’m committed now, aren’t I?”
So, I take the lock from her, our hands brushing in the changeover. Turns out her hair’s just about as soft as it looks. I turn it over, trying to figure out the best way to hack it, and it catches the light with a flash of reddish gold.
“Just chop it,” Skye says. “We’ll tidy it after. Just…” She makes a slicing motion in midair.
I do, the scissors scraping at the hair as I cut through the thickness of it. My stomach swoops as the hair falls to the floor. Done.
What a normal way to spend a Wednesday night.
The rest of the haircut is quick work. Me working at the back, her taking care of the front, we tidy up the ends of the hair until she has a pretty damn impressive pixie cut going on, complete with a deep side part. As a finishing flourish, she shaves down one of the sides, leaving a soft, downy area behind. It’s the kind of hairstyle I’d never, ever, in a million years even dream of trying out, but she does it like it’s nothing, and looks fucking incredible while she’s at it.
Can’t relate.
“I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you do something spontaneous,” I say, kicking my foot out so a lock of hairfalls off the sock and to the ground. “Unless you were always planning on changing your look in week three. Long-term game plan?”
She catches my eye in the mirror. “No. It just felt right, so I did it. You of all people get that, surely?”
“No, I get that. Fair.” But there’s something about her expression. A sort of mixture of defiance and sadness that makes me want to press things just a bit harder. “Do you wanna talk about why it felt right all of a sudden?”
She shrugs, then turns to me. “I do, but… don’t take this the wrong way, but not to you. Not to anyone in the house. I just wish my friend Chloe was here.”
Well, I can do something about that, can’t I?
“Come on,” I say. “What’s the point of smuggling in an iPad if you’re not gonna use it?”
Ten minutes later, Skye’s hanging by the closed door, standing guard while I fish my iPad out. “Why didn’t I think to bring my own?” she grumbles.
“Now who’s got foresight?” I tease.
She stays silent.
“Say it. Say I have foresight.”
“What’s that saying about broken clocks being right twice a day?”
