Page 29 of Louder Than Words

14

Allie

A blonde, pin-straight wig.

Red pleather pants that practically blind you if the light hits them just right.

And a black leather jacket that looks like it came straight out of a 90s thrash metal music video.

“Alright,” I say, slapping my arms against my sides. “I’m officially lost.”

Ana throws her hands in the air, spins dramatically, then stops to arch a perfectly sculpted brow at me. “Oh, come on, Allie.Think.”

She lifts a stick in her left hand like it’s supposed to mean something to me.

I blink, eyes bouncing between the tree branch and the look on her face that says I should’ve figured this out ten minutes ago.

She just keeps staring, burning holes straight into my eye sockets, and I can’t tell if she’s pissed or impressed. But honestly? I havenofreaking idea what she’s supposed to be dressed as.

In my defense, there wasn’t much sleep happening in our hotel room last night. And the breakfast-bar coffee this morning wasn’t strong enough to wake up a single hair on my body. Now the sun’s down, and my eyelids think they should be too.

Ana studies me for a second—not like she’s analyzing me, just… noticing something I haven’t caught onto yet. Then she tips her chin. “Let me do your hair,” she says.

It’s more of a statement than a question, but either way, my brain freezes just the same.

A simple offer, but somehow it still catches me off guard.

I blink, caught somewhere between confused and… oddly touched.

In almost twenty years of friendship, Ana’s never asked to do my hair. We had singing competitions, always went trick-or-treating together, but we never did the things most girls grew up doing. There were no late-nights talking about boys, no matching outfits, and definitely no playing with each other’s hair.

Back in school, no one really paid us much attention. We were always tucked away at the back of the cafeteria, reading whatever vampire romance novel we could get our hands on. Just Ana and Allie. Also known as the Double A’s—which, in high school, naturally turned into the world’s easiest joke about our boobs.

Ana nudges my shoulder, snapping me out of it. “Come on,” she says, tilting her head and already giving my hair a once-over. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head—which is terrifying.

I pull the inside of my lip between my teeth, chewing nervously as I think about it.

It’s not that I don’t trust her. It’s just new territory for us.

Then she breaks out the puppy-dog eyes. Pouty lower lip included—free of charge.

I sigh dramatically but can’t help smiling. “Alright. Fine. But no cutting,” I say, pointing at her so she knows I mean it. There’s no way in hell I’d let her do that. My hair is basically a security blanket at this point.

In a matter of seconds, she’s pulling me by the elbow into her room and shoving me onto her queen-size bed. She plops down behind me, legs crossed, with a paddle brush, some hair ties, and about four different bottles of products already spread out across the comforter.

No scissors in sight, though, so we’re already off to a promising start.

As Ana sections and sprays my hair, the cool mist smells faintly like lavender, calming me more than I expect. I sit quietly, picking at my fingernails to keep my hands busy and to stop myself from reaching up to touch my hair.

I feel like a kid again, having my hair brushed by my mom. The longer she goes, the more soothing it becomes—so much so that my eyes start to droop, and my fingers finally stop fiddling.

“So,” Ana says suddenly. My eyes snap open, not even realizing I’d been drifting off. “Are you doing okay without the girls this year?” she asks carefully, like she’s testing the waters.

I blink, still a little thrown by the fact that I actually fell asleep for a few seconds. “I mean, yeah, it sucks. But I can either sit around and dwell on it, or tell myself they’re having fun and that I should be, too.”

She starts twisting a strand of my hair around her finger. “I’m proud of you, you know? You’re handling everything a lot better than I thought you would.”

I shrug. “I just know it’s part of his game. He wants to control me, and he’s pissed that I’m not giving in. If he had a reasonable argument, none of this would even be happening. But it’sJax, for crying out loud.”