Page 36 of Dreaming About the Boy Next Door

I stared at my reflection in the mirror Sunday afternoon with a growing horror, one that built as my forehead progressively got pinker and pinker. Rachel, who was freely wielding the hair dye brush, couldn’t care less about precision. It wasn’t her friend. That’s why my forehead, the tops of my ears, and the white sink counter before us were all splotched in pink hair dye. It looked like a unicorn had been assassinated in the Jack and Jill bathroom.

“And you want to be a hairdresser after high school,” I muttered, fully knowing that the quip would earn me a punch to the shoulder.

And it did. She also lifted the hair dye brush up threateningly. “I can leave a massive dye-free spot on the back of your head. I’d be nice to me.”

I readjusted the towel around my neck, making sure it fully covered my top. “I’m sure this is all a part of your…creative process, oh wise one.”

She punched me again.

The smell of hair dye was enough to burn a third nostril, probably because we had the doors shut. She’d fought me against it, but the idea of Reed walking in while I looked like an Easter egg was not my idea of a fun time. I wasn’t sure there was a less attractive version of me if I tried.

And then my thoughts supported up my craziness with logic.Not that he finds you attractive, anyway!

I was still self-conscious, Thoughts. Sue me.

“This is going to look so good, you know,” Rachel said reverently, parting my hair to the side. “It’s going to be the perfect refresh for homecoming. What color is your dress again?”

“It’s white with gold sequins.” I tilted my head to the side, trying to imagine my hair in its final state. “You don’t think it’ll be too vibrant?”

“Nah, pink and white will look perfect together. Here, grab my phone from the sink and send a picture to Maisie. See if she wants to swing by.”

With nothing to do but obey, I followed her orders. When I picked up her phone, a text was waiting for her. She had the settings where the texts only loaded once she unlocked her cell, since Reed used to have a bad habit of snooping, which meant I only could see who the sender was.

And it caused me to frown. “Josh texted you?”

“He had a homework question.” She nudged me with her hip. “Don’t worry, I won’t steal your man.”

“He’s notmy man. I’ve spoken to him once.” I rubbed my shoulder absently. “And I don’t really mind. He just hasn’t texted me yet.”

“He’s probably nervous,” she murmured, flipping over to the last section and coating it with the dye. “You weren’t exactly your warm and bubbly self when you two met.”

“Yeah, because my best friend brought up kissing him within minutes of me learning his name.”

Rachel just rolled her eyes.

I watched her work in the mirror, and I thought of the first time we tried this a little over two weeks ago. It’d been a spur-of-the-moment impulse, one that came about during a two-day sleepover with both Rachel and Maisie. We’d relied on the poorly written instructions on the box as well as a few YouTube tutorials, and miraculously my hair ended upnotfried to high heaven with the bleach, and it held onto the hot pink we’d gone with.

She didn’t let the Josh subject go. “Maybe you two should get lunch or something. Get to know each other a little, and thenbam!” She gave a dramatic air kiss.

“I still can’t believe you actually asked him to be my first kiss.”

“I’ll always be your wing woman, girl.” Having finished up the last little bit of dyeing, Rachel pulled off her plastic gloves and tossed them in the trash. “So, do you really think Jannor broke up?”

Brentwood’s hottest couple, Jannor—Jade and Connor. “Who’s to say?” I murmured, tapping my cell. “I got a lot of tips, but no concrete proof. They were together Friday night.”

The tips I’d gotten were vague to say the least, but all surrounding an argument that seemingly went down at the Wallflower diner in Jefferson. From what I saw—and what my armchair reporters sent me—they hadn’t spoken today, but he did sit by her at lunch.

Rachel waggled her eyebrows at me. “Maybe I’ve got a chance.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Keep those fingers crossed.”

“Does it feel sad that this is your last year reporting on Babble?” She swiped up her cell phone and began typing on it. “The last year reporting on Jannor, the last year talking about the Most Likely Tos. It feels strange for me, so I can’t even imagine how it feels for you.”

Using the edge of the towel, I wiped at some of the pink dye on my forehead. “I haven’t thought about it much. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

I didn’t feel like getting into the whole divorce talk again, the mere prospect weighing me down. “School and web designing and stuff. Nothing too major.”

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