Page 19 of Trusting Blake
Wedged between a pretzel store and a brow bar is a hair salon. Inside, stylists are hard at work, brandishing hair dryers, combs, and scissors. They look way too busy to accept a random walk-in who has yet to decide what she actually wants to do to her hair.
Tori, bold as ever, struts straight inside, breezes past the shelves of styling products, and approaches the one stylist who appears to be without a client and is checking his schedule at the front desk. I keep my head bowed in embarrassment as we follow her.
“Hello there,” she says in a deep, solemn voice. “We need an emergency appointment to transform our friend’s hair. Super important. Can’t explain. Can you help?Lovethe quiff, by the way.”
The stylist subconsciously touches his perfect hair, gentle enough not to flatten it, and his curious gaze moves around each of us individually. “Which friend? You?”
Blake, upon noticing the stylist’s eyes focused on him, shakes his head and retreats. “No!” he almost yelps, then gestures to me. “Her.”
“Ah,you,” the stylist says, jabbing a finger at me. “Take off the hat and let me see what I’m dealing with.”
Sheepishly, I do as he asks and shake out my hair. The confusion that crosses the stylist’s face only makes me blush, because we both know there is nothing wrong with my hair. Amazed, he reaches out to run his fingers through the ends, examining the strands with an expert eye.
“You don’t even have any split ends,” he accuses as though we’re wasting his time. “Barely any root growth, and zero dryness. Feel how soft this is! What’s the issue?”
“I want something new. Something that isn’t so. . .” I shrug and shield myself back under Blake’s hat. “Me.”
“Please help her,” Savannah pleads, pressing her palms together and blinking at the stylist, her eyes deliberately wide, childlike.
“Okay! Take a seat,” he says, snatching a gown from the rack behind him and marching through the salon to an empty station in the far corner. We all scramble after him. “Oh, the wholesquadisstaying?”
“For moral support,” explains Tori.
I sink down into the padded salon chair and the stylist whips the cape around me, then removes the baseball cap from my head. As he runs his hands through my hair again, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Nerves are running high, because Ineverdo spontaneous stuff like this,but this is what normal teenagers do – they rebel; they make impulsive decisions; they discover who they are. And I don’t want to just be everyday sunshine and typical honey highlights. I want to be bold like Tori, kind like Savannah, funny like Myles, passionate like Blake.
I see their faces now, mirrored back at me from where they’re bunched up together on a couch. Savannah and Tori are riddled with adrenaline-fueled excitement on my behalf, waiting to see what the outcome of this impromptu hair switch-up will be, and Blake watches me closely with a soft gaze. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and he smiles in the most intimate way, like he’s. . . proud. It wasn’t that long ago when we kissed on the tailgate of his truck and I told him I was afraid I’d never be anything more than Everett Harding’s daughter. Who knew that my life would turn into a complete whirlwind since then?
“Well,” the stylist says, head tilted. “Do you have any ideas in mind?”
“Tori,” I call, spinning the chair around to look at her. The salon’s fluorescent lightning catches the vibrant pink of her hair, making the color shine bright. “Do you mind if I use you for inspiration?”
Three hours, a hairstyle makeover, and an utterly ridiculous shopping haul later, the four of us break through the exit doors and into the fresh air. I’m laden with bags full of new sunglasses, baseball caps, earrings selected by Savannah, and clothes picked out by Tori (which I would never personally choose for myself). Lots of distressed denim and bright, clashing colors.
“At long last, they appear!” Myles exclaims.
He’s lying on a picnic bench beneath a parasol with Bailey sprawled out by his feet, the leash knotted around the bench leg. A row of Gatorade bottles is lined up on the table next to a party size bag of chips. Bailey lifts his head at the sound of Myles’ voice, then leaps to his feet at the sight of Blake approaching. His tail repeatedly whacks the bench with uncontrollable glee, and he attempts to lunge forward, but restricted by his leash, he whimpers instead.
“Hey, Bails!” Blake calls, quickening his steps to reach him. He crouches low to let Bailey jump all over him while he scratches his furry ears in return. “Were you a good boy?”
“Do you even know how many times we have walked around the entire outskirts of the mall?” Myles asks as he stands and dramatically stretches his legs. He unties Bailey’s leash and hands back control to Blake. “Nine.Nine times!I passed the same panhandler nine times and each time he demanded a dollar. So I spent nine bucks walking your dog while you guys took your sweet time browsing sale racks, and don’t even get me started on—” The words die in Myles’s throat when his gaze finds me. His mouth falls open. “Whoa, Mila!Damn!”
“Cool it,” Blake mock-growls. He pats Bailey on the head then straightens back up, glancing over his shoulder at me. He smirks as he tells Myles, “That girl is mine.”
I blush hard and touch my new hair. The luscious scent of shampoo is overpowering, all floral and sweet, and the texture of my hair is even softer than it already was. It feels strange at first, reaching out for the ends that are no longer past my bust, and instead having to readjust to my new length just below my shoulders. I’ve never, ever worn my hair this short before, but my neck feels so muchcoolerin the sun without the extra weight of five inches of hair. Inspired by the few pink streaks in Tori’s hair, I decided to take it a step further – goodbye honey highlights, hello pastel pink. All of my natural blond is segmented with pale pink highlights, creating an overall rose-gold look that is emphasized by the beach waves the stylist finished off with. I don’t quite look like myself anymore, but I feel like a new Mila, and that’s exactly what I wanted. Tori and Savannah will not stop gushing over how much they love the look and are adamant that when I pair my new hair with my shopping haul, I’ll be a total badass.
“Tori, how does it feel to be outdone on the pink hair trend?” Myles teases, flashing her a wink.
“This pink? This pink isneon.In-your-face pink. Punk-band pink,” Tori says defensively, pointing to her head. “Mila’s shade is sweeter, like summer and pink lemonade. But you’re right, Myles. She rocks itwaybetter than me.”
“Thanks,” I say, suddenly shy, my cheeks matching my hair, and then I laugh. “I don’t think my parents will like it as much as you guys do, though.”
“Myles!” a voice yells.
We all turn, and crossing through the parking lot toward us is Myles’s. . . girlfriend? Booty call? FWB? Whatever. They were all over each other at the tailgate party and the bonfire, and I’mprettysure there was some fumbling around in the dark at the movie theater when we all went to see Dad’s latest movie. It’s Cindy, but she’s not alone. Her best friend Lacey is by her side.
Lacey, who apparently has a monumental crush on Blake.
“Hey, Cindy!” Myles greets her, then grabs Bailey’s leash back from Blake. “Bet you can’t resist a man with a puppy by his side, huh?”
