Page 20 of Snake

Knox

Where the hell is Nim? We’d been walking to the cafeteria together when she said she had to get something from her roommate. That was over ten minutes ago. Now I’m standing in the hallway outside the cafeteria like a fucking dweeb waiting for her to come back.

I run my hands through my hair. I never really bother to style my hair. It does its own thing and looks fine doing it, but I have a feeling it’s a little messier than usual after Nim’s massage, because whenever someone comes down the hall, they take one look at me before something weird happens to their faces.

Jude Dearth gives me a double take when he sees me, his girlfriend or sister or whatever the fuck gaping at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“Going for a new look?” he asks dryly, and then tugs his girl’s hand until she follows him into the cafeteria.

Fuck this, I’m not going to stand out here like an idiot. Nim knows where our table is.

When I step into the cafeteria, a silent version of the Mexican wave hits the place. The students nearest the door who are looking in my direction go stiff and silent, like someone pressed pause on a video. That reaction spreads from table to table, students turning around in their seats to look at me. Some near the back even stand up to get a better view.

I instinctively tousle my hair as uneasiness spreads through me.

“The fuck are you looking at?” I snap at the guy nearest the door, a freshman who honest-to-God should know better than to even consider looking in my direction.

I walk past, and he hurriedly drops his gaze, but his eyes are still locked on me.

I’m halfway to our bench when the murmurs and giggles start up. As I walk, I hear snatches of words that make fuck-all sense.

“—absolutely ridiculous—”

“—my cousin did that once in—”

“—was he thinking?—”

“—do that for the dance or—”

“—should ask Butterface to the—”

Mason looks up as I sit on the bench opposite him. His mouth falls open. “Dude...what the fuck?”

I give my hair another irritated tousle. “Is it really that messed up?”

Mason sits back, glancing around at the students who’ve turned to stare. “Depends what the fuck you were going for.”

“I didn’t have time to brush it.”

Mason barks out a laugh. “That’s the least of your worries.”

Mason’s always had an infectious laugh, but nothing like this. Around us the hushed whispers suddenly transform into gales of laughter. Everyone’s looking at me, and for the first time—possibly ever—I feel my cheeks going hot.

“The fuck is going on?” I mutter, dropping my head to block out as much of the cafeteria as I can behind Mason’s wide shoulders.

“Jesus, what did you think was going to happen?” Mason asks. His eyes go to my hair. “It’s not exactly subtle. Did you even look in the mirror before you left?”

Growling under my breath, I take my phone out of my pocket and unlock it. I open the camera app and turn it onto selfie mode.

My phone clatters onto the table, fallen from nerveless fingers. “What. The. Fuck?” I spit out breathlessly. “Why is it orange?” Even as I’m saying the words, I’m putting it together.

Nim’s smug little smile.

Her strong fingers as she massaged my head.

The overwhelming scent of peppermint—no doubt what she used to cover up the chemical stench of bleach. That tingling? That was the fucking peroxide reacting with my scalp.

Horror wells up inside me. Now it’s impossible to misinterpret the stares, the snide remarks, the laughter. I pick up my phone again, blood draining from my face as I stare at my badly bleached hair.

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