“Wow,” Stephanie, says, running her fingers through my long, dark hair. “A little tangled, but this is in really great shape. Do youdeep condition? Is this your natural color?” She inspects my roots.
I’m staring at my reflection, a black plastic cape buttoned at my neck. The room smells like heat and toxic chemicals, but the hairdresser is sweet if not a little loud snapping her gum.
As Stephanie picks through my hair, pushing it this way and that, I try to imagine myself with a different look that won’t be so easy to recognize on first glance. But ultimately, I’m aware of our appearance. Annalise just shaved her entire head and ended up looking more beautiful. The girls and I were created very specifically to stand out in a crowd. A haircut won’t change this. No, this is to allow me to make my own decisions, one of many more to come. A goodbye to the girl I used to see in the mirror.
My preset appearance was long, dark hair, parted down the middle, straightened to perfection. Since leaving the academy, I stopped straightening it, but really, I look mostly the same. And as I stare at this familiar refection, I realize I crave a change too.
I tilt my head to one side, and then the other. I have a few subtle waves, but not curls, not like Sydney or Marcella. I slide my finger to create a deep part on one side, swinging my hair over. I smile.
“Cut it,” I tell Stephanie, measuring the length along my jaw.
“To there?” the girl asks, crinkling her nose. “But it’s sooo pretty.”
“It’ll still be pretty,” I tell her, and she presses her lips together firmly.
“You’re right,” she says, leaning in to grip my shoulders, meeting my gaze in the mirror like she’s the one encouraging me. “It’sgoing to look great.” She smiles, her nose ring glinting in the light. “Let’s get started.”
She turns me away from the mirror and starts combing through my hair, cutting it dry before ushering me to the sink. At one point I find Annalise sitting in the chair by the glass windows, thumbing through a magazine. When she looks at me, she offers me a thumbs-up.
Stephanie keeps me faced away as she trims my hair. I watch as the dark clips of hair fall to the floor, long and curling into little circles. Hairs falling over my tan skin and sticking there. I’ve never had my hair cut this much before—Leandra would only trim our hair at the academy. Now, I can feel a breeze on the back of my neck, and it’s oddly thrilling.
“Can I add a dash of lipstick?” Stephanie asks. “I have a color that will be perfect with this hair.” I smile and tell her sure, my pulse racing as I prepare to see my reflection.
Stephanie comes over and dots an electric pink color along my lips, using a makeup brush to smooth it to the edges. She takes much longer than necessary—I don’t think she’s as deftly skilled at makeup application as the girls and I are—but I appreciate the care she’s taking in getting it right.
When she’s done, she takes a step back, surveying me. She’s beaming. She reaches over to take one piece of my hair from the right and folds it over to the left, measuring it out before giving me a confirming nod.
“Take a look,” she says, and dramatically swings my chair around.
At first, I almost don’t recognize myself. Which is silly—it’s just a haircut. I didn’t buzz it; I didn’t even change the color. And yet, for a moment I’m someone else. Stephanie cut it exactly like I told her, just past my jawline, deep part, thick waves. I look older, or perhaps just not younger. I feel grown. I feel like a woman instead of a girl.
I’m a woman in a society that calls us girls well into adulthood. But I can feel the confidence the new cut gives me. No one is in charge of me. My life is my own.
“Feel free to use the spray,” Stephanie says, pointing to an array of aerosols. “Take your time, and let me know when you’re ready to check out.” She leaves to start consulting with another client.
There is a whistle, and I look over my shoulder in the mirror to find Annalise standing there, beaming at me.
“You look fantastic, Mena,” she says. “It really suits you.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “I’m completely in love with it.”
“You should be,” she agrees. She glances to where Stephanie takes another client back to the sink, and then swings the chair next to me around and sits down. Her expression grows serious. “I need to talk to you about something. Don’t be mad.”
My heart skips. “Uh, that’s not a good start.” I pull off my cape and check around to make sure no one is listening before leaning in closer. “What’s going on?”
“I invited Raven to join us.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” I say, moving back from her. I’m completely horrified, and I jump up from the chair and brush the hair off my lap. “What have you done?” I whisper harshly.
Annalise watches me lose my cool, but she doesn’t move her position. Eventually, her calm points out my overreaction, and I ease back down into the chair. “Why?” I ask. Tears prick my eyes because this is a major betrayal.
“My head hurts, Mena,” she says simply. “The firewall Raven installed? It’s not going to work for me—there’s already too much damage. That means the corporation is going to shut me down the moment they can. I need Raven. We all need her.”
“We can find another way to fix you,” I say, wanting to believe it. In truth, I haven’t let myself think about it too much—trying to push it aside because it’s beyond my control at the moment. Jackson told me that I should focus on one monster at a time. That goes for problems, as well.
“Raven is our best hope,” Annalise says. “Especially now that we know she’s like us.”
“But I don’t trust her,” I say.
