again. “But maybe we should first talk about the weekend?”
“Nope.” I don’t want to bring in this weekend. I just want this. Something entirely new. “Do you think she’ll do it now?”
“It’s almost eleven.”
“I don’t care. I assume there’s nowhere else I could do it, right? No salons open now? Isn’t this a college town? Shouldn’t they be open late into the night?”
“Abby?” There’s a hint of concern in her voice, and I can’t do that. I can’t do concern right now. I don’t want to go back to crying, to trying to hide my tears from Zeke. No more. New Abby now. Abby who doesn’t need Zeke. Abby who can’t be hurt by Zeke if she doesn’t care about him.
“I need this, Alice. Please.”
“Okay. I’ll grab my leftover dyes and let’s see what Jackie can do.”
Jackie, as it turns out, is more than happy to earn forty dollars at eleven o’clock at night.
“Here’s the thing,” she says, combing through my long hair with her fingers. “You don’t have enough dye to do all of this, and it’s gonna take a ton of time because you have so much hair. I can maybe do the tips—”
“Can you cut it all off?”
There’s a long beat of silence.
“Um . . .” Jackie looks at Alice.
“Abby, why don’t you think about it.”
“No.” I don’t look at Alice. I don’t look at her because she’s saying all the right things and I know they’re true, but not right now. Right now I need a big gesture. Not a big, romantic gesture like a hero does at the end of the movie to get back the girl after he messed up. But my own big gesture. A big gesture so I can get myself back. So I can be someone other than the girl whose heart is breaking. Effing baseball. Quelle surprise. What a shock.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alice nod, and I reach for her hand.
This is what matters.
Operation New Leaf is officially on. Who cares if there’s only one more week. I’m not wasting another moment being sad.
An hour later, I walk out of the common room feeling light and airy. Like I’m no longer a husk of a body but a balloon floating through an ugly college corridor.
“It’s awesome,” Alice says, skipping beside me. I slip my fingers to the back of my neck, bare now, the short ends at ear level. I don’t even care that there was no time to dye it. I love my hair like this.
I have the curly version of Audrey Tautou’s haircut from Amélie. Or maybe Marianne’s. But I’m going with Amélie.
I can’t remember the last time my hair was this short. At first Jackie cut it to shoulder level and I begged her to go shorter. “Are you sure?” she’d asked, and I couldn’t stop bouncing up and down in my chair. “Shorter, shorter.” And that’s when I found a picture on my phone from the movie and lifted it up so she could see it. “This is what I want.”
“Oh,” Alice had said. But it was a good oh. Like an oh, yes.
“You have a very sexy neck.” Alice giggles as we reach our room.
“I do, don’t I?” I use my behind to push open the door and turn to find Zeke. Sitting on my bed.
“Oh,” Alice says, and this time it’s not a good oh. It’s an oh, this is awkward.
“Wow,” Zeke says, standing up. His fingers are reaching for my hair, and I can’t help it. I lean toward him because those fingertips on my neck are everything I want. Until I remember. I remember and take a step back. Right into Alice.
“Oh,” she says again.
Who knew one sound could have so many meanings?
Zeke’s hand drops and his head tilts forward. “You cut off all your hair.”
He’s wearing a different T-shirt, an old, ratty white one with the toucan from the Froot Loops box in the center. It’s not the one he wore all day today, the one I rested my head against as we watched soccer, the one in the picture we took this morning in Vieux Montreal.
The picture. My brothers. The call. The lie.
“I wanted to get rid of the dead weight in my life,” I say, and even though it’s meant to hurt, I can’t look at his face when I say it.
But still I see him flinch. Because it’s a motion that he does with his whole body.
“Fuck,” Alice whispers.
“Can we talk?” he says