Page 88 of Bad News Babe

ALEXIS, AKA THE HUMAN BLISTER

I’m a little terrifiedabout going to the spa. I fear what the chemicals will do to my sensitive skin. But when West gets his mind stuck on an idea, there’s no knocking it loose.

Seeing me hesitate, he sweetens the pot—and guilts me into agreeing—by also offering to pay for Juno and Zelda to get pampered. How can I say no when none of us have gone to a highfalutin spa before?

“Has West always been a goofy lovebug?” Juno asks Tuesday as soon as our asses hit the spas seats.

“Good Lord, no. He’s super sweet on our ma. But he never even had a girlfriend before going gaga-rama-ba-roomba over Alexis.”

“She thinks it’s her hair.”

Nodding, I explain, “The ginger thing is hot for certain men.”

“Well, there’s one way to test it,” Edith says as she wraps her long, straight brown hair into a bun. “Get a spray tan and wear a dark-haired wig. Blonde one might work, too.”

“I tried going blonde a few years ago. It was horrific.”

My cousins nod despite them never seeing me with blonde hair.

Tuesday shrugs. “Somewhere in the pit of my closet, I have a black wig from a Halloween party I went to years ago. I’ll get that, and we’ll spray tan you up and see if West still goes gaga-rama-yaya for you.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I ask as the spa woman pulls back my hair and applies “refreshing” gunk to my face.

Edith considers my question before shrugging. “Then, you’ll know he’s in love with how you look, so you can never look any different.”

“I’m a ginger. I’m not ever going to look any different. Even with a spray tan, I’ll still be covered in freckles.”

“True,” Zelda says as she flips through a fashion magazine. “No hiding them.”

“I don’t think it’s your hair,” Tuesday says. “It’s just you. West has options. He isn’t suffering a weird crush. He’s met redheaded chicks before. It’s just you. Accept that and enjoy the ride.”

Embracing her words, I relax as the spa woman cakes green shit on my face.

“It’ll leave your face clear and vibrant,” she tells Zelda when my cousin complains about it smelling weird.

Soon, we’re all enjoying our peach ice tea and the invigorating facial goop.

“I’m thinking about moving out of West Virginia,” Tuesday announces.

Edith immediately rolls her eyes as I ask, “Why?”

“Cubby thinks Florida is the place to be.”

“Isn’t he in a club here in West Virginia?” I ask, recalling how last night West complained about his sister’s terrible taste in men.

“Yeah, but they have a small chapter in Florida. He thinks his talents would be more appreciated there. Plus, he tans well.”

“You’re a moron,” Edith replies.

“I want love. You don’t. That’s why we’re not twins. That and your monster eyebrows.”

The cousins and I turn our gazes to Edith, whose dark eyebrows are perfectly sized.

When Tuesday notices our interest, she explains, “Edith waxes and plucks and begs the eyebrow gods for help. Everything to keep them under control, so they don’t mimic the Groucho Marx shit her mom has.”

I recall Journey’s dark, thick eyebrows perfectly framing her pretty blue eyes.

“Wait, is this a fake problem that you blow out of proportion to give yourself something to talk about?” I ask as the cousins still stare at Edith’s eyebrows.

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