The Easy Part of Impossible - Sarah Tomp Page 0,55
exact details? We could leave the specifics with someone. Like Flutie.”
“I’m coming too,” said Flutie.
Cotton glared at her, but Leo said, “Cotton, remember, flexibility.” He went on, without missing a beat, “This could be sketchy. We need a backup plan if something goes wrong.”
“There are three of us,” Ria said. Looking at Flutie, she changed it to “Or four. We can’t all get into trouble at the same time. As long as one of us can go get help, we’re good.”
“That’s a scary point of view,” said Leo. “We need to make a more foolproof plan.”
Ria turned back to her sweet, warm drink. She knew those kinds of plans didn’t exist.
Twenty-Five
After Leo left, Ria stood in the front doorway. She rocked back and forth, from left to right. Inside, outside. Here, there. She didn’t have a reason to stay, exactly, but she didn’t have a reason to leave, either.
Mrs. Talley poked her head around the corner. “Cotton, remember you need to get a haircut today. Your father will take you when you’re ready. Not to rush you out, Ria.”
There was her reason. “I should go,” she said.
Cotton wouldn’t meet her eyes. His forehead creased and wrinkled. His fingers rhythmically tapped his thigh. He looked worried and bothered. So unlike Caving Cotton.
“Is something wrong? You don’t want to get a haircut? Do you like it better long?”
“I want it to be shorter. But I don’t like getting it cut.”
Knowing how particular he was about things, she wasn’t especially surprised, even if she wouldn’t have guessed it was a problem. “What don’t you like about it?”
“It always grows back. It seems like a waste of money. Plus, they play annoying music.”
She bit back a laugh just as Bo came running down the hallway, making a great sliding entrance in socks. He stopped in front of Ria, staring, until she stuck out her tongue. He laughed and held out his tablet. “Is this you? Flutie says it is.”
She immediately recognized the intro to the video clip. Bo—or, apparently, Flutie—had found the link to her old recruiting film. “You tell me.”
“I think it is. Want to see, Cotton?”
“Yes.”
Heads together, Cotton and Bo stared at the device. A million dives completed, months and years of practice boiled down to seven minutes.
She crossed her arms and squinted as she watched Cotton watch her dive. Eyebrows raised, then pinched together. Mouth open. Surprised. Puzzled. Awe. His face was a roller coaster. And beside him, Bo hooted and hollered. At the end, they each looked at her with eyes wide. “That was awesome!” Bo took off running, calling out to Jelly to watch too.
“Hey, Cotton. What if I cut your hair? I won’t charge anything and I won’t play music.”
“How are your skills?”
“Somewhere between professional salon and paper doll cutting.” Then, in answer to the worried look on his face, she added, “I’m good. I have very reliable skills.”
“You have actual experience cutting hair?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her, waiting.
“You want names and references? I’ve been cutting Maggie’s hair for years. It gets fried in the pool, so she’d be spending a fortune if she went in every time she needed her split ends tamed. And, there was this one time when the boys on my team lost a competition against us girls, and we shaved their heads as the prize.” She grinned. “I won’t shave your head unless you want me to.”
He shook his head with tiny staccato jerks.
“Got it. No baldness. I promise.” She smiled and said softly, “You can trust me. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t think I could do a good job.”
He didn’t answer at first, but then he said, “Yes. You can cut my hair.”
She clapped her hands together. “I got the job! Oh, but should you ask your mother?”
“No. It’s my hair. Like I said, it always grows back.”
After he’d retrieved the things she’d requested: scissors, a razor—with promises for restraint, no baldness—and a towel, they went into the garage, which seemed to be Cotton’s personal haven. Ria pulled out the chair from the desk. She moved purposefully. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t completely sure.
He sat in the chair and she stood behind him, looking at the mess of curls headed in every direction. “How short do you want it?” she asked. “Do you have a photo you like?”
He shook his head. He had a bored look on his face, unless it was closer to resigned.
“Let me see your phone.” She took it from him, scanned through his photos, but