bites her tongue. “I don’t trust this story. With that rock, she can do pretty much anything. How well you know this Alex? You know she’s not a cheat?”
Sam shrugs. “I like her. But I’m not sure of anything.”
“Uncle! Here you go!” Callie tosses the packet of moss through the window. Sina rises to pick up the package. She inspects the gooey, moldy leaves in the light.
“All right. This ought to keep Miss Mary out of debtors’ prison,” she says, gently putting the moss into a small tin container.
“Let’s hope so. It’s the last Miss Lee is allowing her. Guess she wants to teach a lesson.”
Sina whistles. “That woman best be careful she don’t cause an insurrection.”
“Long as they pay their bills, it’s not our problem.”
“True.” Sina gathers her purse, the new green mojo bag, and the jar of moss. She pauses and then smiles craftily at her brother. “Well, I’ve got to go to town now, anyway. You know what? I think I might just check in on Miss Alex and her new friends.”
Sam frowns, puzzled. “I thought you didn’t care about her.”
“I don’t,” Sina says, heading for the door. “But I care a hell of a lot about that buzzard’s rock.” Waggling her fingers at her brother, she leaves, tossing a handful of salt at the children as she passes. They roll over on the mattress swing, laughing, to thank her for the good luck.
12
I know it’s lame and this night doesn’t mean anything, anyway, but by the time the girls show up to take me to the party, I’m seriously nervous. I’m sitting on the bed wearing this dumb shirt they told me to put on, looking at my dreads in the mirror, and I’m ashamed to say I’m tempted to take them out.
This hair wasn’t totally my idea, anyway. Reggie and I were hanging on the picnic tables one day watching the college kids, and he kept staring at this one girl with long blond dreads.
“She is so hot,” he said.
“She is?”
“Yeah. I really dig her hair.”
“You do?”
“Totally.”
“Because,” I lied, “I was, um, thinking of dreading my hair.”
“That’s an awesome idea,” Reggie said.
And so: dreads. Not that Reggie noticed, but then again, he’s never said much about how I look. And he thinks I’m in Florida.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings.
“Alexandria!” Josie calls. “Your friends are here!”
Friends. Suuuuure. I give myself one last look in the mirror. Hayes was right; the red shirt I bought today does look good. It manages to cover my fat and tastefully makes the most of my boobs—the only parts of my body that look sort of okay. I walk to the bottom of the stairs, where Hayes is waiting. She’s wearing jeans, too, and a halter shirt that looks like it’s made of liquid silver.
“Oh, you look darling,” Hayes says. “I knew the red would play up your tan. Here, I got you something.” She hands me a black thing that looks like a claw, carved with tiny magnolias.
“What is that?”
“It’s a mahogany hair clip. One hundred percent vintage and the answer to your hair crisis.”
“What hair crisis?” Hayes gives me a patient smile. “And harvesting mahogany is an unsustainable practice that’s destroying the rain forest.”
“Hush,” she says, and takes me by the shoulders, firmly turning me around. The gesture reminds me so much of something my mother would have done, I get tears in my eyes. I can’t even protest when she pulls my dreads back and clips them. She turns me around again and looks me over, then tucks a stray one behind my ear.
“Perfection,” she says, and she squeezes my shoulders, letting her hands linger for a minute. Suddenly, I feel a strange, electric tingle all over. It must be a new form of sadness I haven’t experienced yet.
“Oh—I almost forgot—one last touch,” she says, opening her enormous leather purse. She takes out lip gloss, glittery powder, and some kind of herbal perfume. It smells familiar, but I can’t quite place it. Finding myself at a loss for words, I just stand submissively as she adorns me. When she finally steps back and looks at me, her expression is filled with pride. “Oh, I like you much better this way!”
“I’m so glad,” I grumble.
“Okay, Madison’s in the car, and she’s not getting any happier. Let’s go.”
We walk out to the Prius. Hayes doesn’t stop talking. “I’m really into this thing,” she says. “Although I can never tell if it’s on or not, because it’s so quiet. I sort of