“And if you don’t like it I can give you beach waves.”
I nodded, trusting her expert hands because up until now Tiffany had done nothing but improve me so much that I didn’t even recognize myself.
“Let’s see what I can do with this.”
She started heating up the curling iron and I was startled when I realized how similar it was to mine. The shape, the smooth metal, and no spikes. While we waited for it to get to the right temperature, Tiffany grabbed her makeup bag out of her backpack.
“You’re so lucky your hair is straight,” she said then, getting the tangles out of my hair with her fingers.
“I’d actually like it to be wavy like yours.”
Tiffany licked her lips and meticulously applied lipstick to my mouth.
“Sit down.”
She pointed at James’s bed, where I reluctantly sat down.
“Have you known James for a while?” I asked, continuing to look around while she curled my hair. I’d already been in that room, but now I noticed things that I hadn’t caught before. The scent was the same. The mix of fresh laundry, vanilla, and male hormones. There were no photos.
The light was cool, almost bluish.
“What do you want to know, June?”
“What does he like?” I asked her without even thinking about it.
“Other than drugs, sex, and fighting?” Tiffany smiled as she said that, even though she wasn’t really joking.
My thoughts went right to my mom. I judged her for being with Jordan, but I wasn’t that different since I was in the room next door.
“He likes excess,” explained Tiffany, continuing to arrange my hair. “And if you can’t make him feel something more, there’s not much you can do with someone like him.”
“Is that why I saw him making out with a guy?”
“Oh no, no.” She burst out laughing, throwing her head back. “He’s always liked those.”
We heard footsteps in the hall; Tiffany gave me the curling iron and went to the door.
“I’m still not done. Give me two more minutes,” she said to James, who was already grumbling and annoyed. “What are you drinking?” taunted Tiffany. “Don’t you and Will have to stay sober tonight?”
“So what?” he countered apathetically.
“So the coach doesn’t go ballistic.”
“The coach can suck my dick, Tiff.”
“You know that you can’t let yourself get kicked off the football team,” Tiffany said maternally, and James scoffed at her.
“What are you worried about?”
“You’re always the same. Gimme two more minutes.”
Tiffany closed the door and went back to finishing my hair.
“The coach can suck my dick, Tiff,” she repeated, imitating James’s gruff voice.
We both burst out laughing, until my curiosity got the best of me again.
“What were you guys talking about?”
