Don’t people have nine-to-five jobs?
Or are work hours that flexible here?
I want to make friends. I do.
But I’m mildly intimidated and nervous that I’ll make the same mistakes with everyone else here that I somehow did with Flint yesterday.
“I didn’t do this,” I tell Opal quickly, trying hard to keep my tone light and amused. “Someone with a pocketknife and a death wish did this.”
“He was trying to save us from being eaten by wolves, so I guess he gets, like, two points for that. But he could’ve cut closer to the chain instead of trying to take your ear off.” Junie’s seated in a bright-pink egg chair along the wall opposite my salon chair, her eyes glued to herphone, which she occasionally lifts higher like she’s trying to get a better signal.
“Oh, are you the reason there was a clump of human hair in the park this morning?” Opal asks. She’s a white woman in her mid- to late fifties with her hair shaved on one side and the longer part flipped over her head dyed bright blue. Her smock loudly proclaimsDon’t fork with me, and she’s wearing it over skinny jeans, high-top Converse sneakers, and a crisp white blouse. “There was a whole hullabaloo on the Facebooks about it.”
Junie snorts softly.
I try to catch her eye in the mirror to give her theDo not mock peopleeyeball, but I catch Opal’s eyeball instead.
And that eyeball is dancing merrily, like she’s waiting to see if either of us will call her out onhullabalooorthe Facebooks.
“I had a small mishap on the swing last night,” I tell Opal. “My hair had a larger mishap.”
“I’d say. Who’s thishewho saved you?”
“A total basic snood,” Junie mutters.
“Ooh, a story,” Opal says before I can ask Junie what asnoodis. “Do tell.”
“A local teacher from the high school found us outside in the park at dusk and startled us,” I tell her.
“Which teacher?” one of the other ladies calls.
“Mr.You Can’t Join the Soccer Team Because We Already Had Tryouts,” Junie answers before I can speak up.
There’s a collective gasp, and then everyone turns to stare at me.
No, notme.
Opal.
They’re staring at Opal.
Her lips quirk. “Mr.Jackson?” she asks Junie in the mirror.
Junie rolls her eyes. “Whatever his name is. He helped us bury a cow and made me think he was a decent human being and then dashed all of my dreams for an easy transition to a new high school.”
“That’s Opal’s nephew,” someone whispers.
I almost come out of my chair, but she plants her hands on my shoulders and keeps me down. “I’m a much better hairstylist than he is,” she says dryly.
I eyeball her half-shaved blue head. Am I that brave?
Am I?
Could I go drastic?
No, you’re a chicken,I answer for myself.You didn’t even participate in tattoo day in high school when all your friends turned eighteen. Also, Junie will be mortified and quit talking to you forever if she thinks you’re trying to be young and hip.
“Not the first time she’ll have fixed his attempts at a haircut,” someone says with a chuckle.
