She unlocks the doors. "I know. I want to. Get in."
Something about her no-nonsense attitude makes it hard to keep arguing. I slide into the passenger seat, resigning myself to whatever makeover scheme she's concocted.
"So," she says as she navigates away from campus, "tell me the real reason you're hiding behind that hair."
I stare at her, caught off guard by the direct question. "I'm not hiding."
"Caleb," she says, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow, "I have three brothers, all of whom tried the exact same thing at some point. The hair curtain is not as subtle as you think."
For some reason, her bluntness disarms me. "It's easier. People don't try to talk to you when they can't see your face."
"And why don't you want people talking to you?"
"Because they usually want something." Shit. That came out more honest than intended. "Or they're only interested in getting their foot in the door with my family."
She nods, as if this confirms something she already suspected. "Family name issues, huh? Let me guess— pressure to follow some predetermined path, disappointment when you don't conform, conditional acceptance based on performance?"
"Are you a psychology major or something?" This is getting uncomfortably perceptive.
"Education, actually," she says with a smile. "But I grew up with a father in politics. I recognize the signs."
"My father's running for Senate. Was the Mayor before that. The Huntington name means something in this state, apparently." Bitterness coats every word; no point hiding it now.
"And being the gay son complicates things?" she asks gently.
My spine snaps straight, "What my father says in public and in private are two very different things."
"Drew mentioned things seemed tense," she says. "Don't worry, what happened with Tyler isn’t known by everyone. He just wanted me to understand your situation better."
"My situation," I repeat flatly. "You mean being blackmailed into joining a fraternity instead of facing disciplinary action?"
"I mean, being alone and isolated when you don't have to be," she corrects. "And for what it's worth, Drew doesn't see it as blackmail. He genuinely believes you'll benefit from having a brotherhood."
"I don't need—," I begin, then stop myself. What exactly don't I need? Friends? Support? People who actually see me for who I am, not as an extension of the Huntington dynasty?
"Everyone needs someone," Emily says quietly, as if reading my thoughts. "Even grumpy law majors with daddy issues."
I find myself smiling slightly. "Are you always this direct with people you've just met?"
"Only the ones I like," she replies cheerfully, pulling into a parking space outside a stylish salon. "And I decided I like you about thirty seconds after meeting you."
"You don't even know me."
"I'm an excellent judge of character," she says, turning off the engine. "And you remind me of my best friend from high school, prickly on the outside, total marshmallow underneath."
"I'm not a marshmallow." It sounds weak, even to my ears.
Emily laughs and gets out of the car. "Come on, marshmallow. Sandy's waiting for us."
The salon is modern but comfortable, with none of the pretentious sterility I associate with the places my mother used to drag me to. A woman with vibrant blue hair looks up from the reception desk and breaks into a wide smile when she spots Emily.
"Em! Right on time." Her gaze shifts to me, curious but not judgmental. "This must be your project for today."
"Sandy, this is Caleb," Emily introduces. "Caleb, this is Sandy, miracle worker and hair goddess."
Sandy laughs, coming around the desk to greet us. She's tall and willowy, with tattoos peeking out from under her rolled-up sleeves. "Nice to meet you, Caleb. Emily texted that we're doing a full transformation today."
My anxiety spikes. "Just a trim, actually."
