Page 155 of Tides That Bind

“Are they in your bathroom?”

“Probably,” Harper says as she follows me upstairs. “Why?”

Taking note of Lucas's door closed, I lessen the weight of my steps and quietly make my way into her bedroom and bathroom, opening each drawer on the left side of the vanity.

Harper clears her throat. “Other side.”

The drawers are empty.

Opening the cabinet, I shuffle through a plastic bin, finding a brush, an extra first aid kit, and clippers cushioned by the power cord wrapped tightly around them. I stand, handing the device to Harper.

“Cut it off.”

“What?”

I point to my wet, matted, hair. “Cut it.”

“Riley—”

I sigh and unwind the cord, plugging the clipper into the outlet. Sliding up the switch upward, it buzzes in my hand. I hold it out to Harper. “I don’t need to be a crew cut. But I do need to be…different. More put together. For tomorrow.”

In the mirror, my eyes drift between Harper’s and the buzzer in my hands that she makes no move to take.

“Who says lawyers need to have short hair?”

“No one.” I nudge the device closer to her again, before I roll my eyes and drop it onto the counter of the vanity. “I should look professional.”

Harper’s mouth twists as she eyes the clippers.

“I’d do it myself but it’ll probably be all uneven. And then—”

“Wait here for a minute.”

Harper turns to walk out of the bathroom but then spins back toward me, taking the clippers with her.

I put my palms on the countertop and rock forward. My hair covers my face as my head hangs and I can barely see Harper when she comes back in, a garbage bag stuffed in her mouth, carrying a chair with the blade of a pair of scissors stuck under her arm.

“Sit.” Her voice is muffled until I take the trash bag from between her lips.

“Good idea. Will be easier to clean up.”

Harper cuts the trash bag open to make a drape for the floor below the chair I now sit in. I watch her in the mirror as she grabs a brush. The bristles pull at my snarled ends, but Harper gently detangles the mess stroke by stroke.

“If the judge is going to make his decision on whether you have long hair or not, he shouldn’t be a judge in the first place.”

“That’s what judges do. Theyjudge.”

Harper brings the brush up the lengths of my hair and it scratches at my scalp. “Yeah, well, an important life lesson is not to judge a book by its cover, right? They should teach that in judge school.”

I snort and Harper places the brush back on the counter. When she grabs the scissors, it's then I realize when she left the bathroom before, the clippers disappeared with her. “What are you—”

“Riley.” Placing her hands on my shoulders, Harper gives them a squeeze and I lift my neck so we stare eye-to-eye in the mirror. “There’s nothing about you that needs to change.”

Harper’s words hit me like a truck and I drop my head again. Because all of my life, it’s all I’ve been told—be different and do differently.

This dyslexia is bogus. You just need to read more carefully.

Surfing is a hobby. You need to find a real job.

---