“You have way too much hair to just cut, Harley. Just give me a minute, I promise I’m going to fix it.”
She calmed at my words, but the itching didn’t stop. And the more she scratched the more it felt like welts would raise on my skin.
Harlow stopped talking but tears still leaked from her eyes, every single one of them breaking my heart.
Thankfully the braids weren’t small or else we would have been here for hours trying to figure this out.
“This is so embarrassing,” she hiccupped between tears. “I just wanted to look pretty.”
“You always look pretty, Harley baby.”
She didn’t believe me. I could tell from the way her gaze narrowed before she looked away.
Every time I took out a braid, I tossed it aimlessly on my bedroom floor.
Harlow looked around after braid ten, shock playing over her face. “Were you doing homework on a Saturday?”
I bowed my head briefly, a little ashamed. “Yeah.”
“Why.”
“Because it’s due Monday and I put it off all last month, and I really need a good grade in Ms. Baldwin’s class.”At least a C.Then I’d be done with English class forever.
Harlow dragged the back of her hand across her face to itch her welts without using her nails.
“What’s the project?”
“I already wrote the report, but I have to make a comic strip to represent the book.”
“Ooh, that sounds fun,” Harlow chimed in.
It didn’t but she wasn’t crying anymore and that was a win. “For my project, I decided to make a symbolism scrap book.”
And I bet she finished it the weekend it was assigned too.
Harlow was my best friend for a reason. She was smart. And sweet. And loyal. And honest. But she was also hella pretty. So pretty I couldn’t think straight around her sometimes. Even when she had tears and bumps covering her cheeks.
Speaking of which…
They weren’t going down. I needed to figure out what to do about them.
As soon as I had that thought, my mother opened the door and uttered under her breath, “I know you lying.”
She still had on the black apron she wore when she helped my dad at the restaurant but jumped into action right away when she saw my best friend.
“Soul, go get my comb off my dresser. The one with the rattail.”
I dropped the scissors, relief flooding me. “Yes, ma’am.”
I made it halfway out my door before she yelled, “And go in my medicine cabinet and get the calamine lotion. It’s pink.”
“Okay!” I called back, already walking through her room.
I came back with another towel, the comb and calamine lotion.
Harlow looked more at ease now that my mom was here and so was I. We needed an adult, and my mom was the best one I knew.
She got Harlow’s braids down in thirty minutes, fussing the whole time. “Whoever put these braids in your head didn’t prep the hair right.”
