Page 101 of Badd B*tch

"Jax, you shouldn't be moving around."

"Just…fuckin'…" I wrenched myself out of bed, hissing and chanting "fuck-fuck-fuck" until I hit my feet. "Just fuckin' stay here, please. I'll be right back."

I clamped my arm to my side and went downstairs to the half-bath off the kitchen, where I knew Mom kept hair stuff. I flicked on the light and rummaged under the sink and in the drawers until I found a little round spray bottle full of water, a hairbrush, and a yellow hair tie fuzzed with Mom's blond hair. I took my supplies upstairs, closed my door, turned on the light, and lowered myself to the bed, sitting up against the headboard.

"Jax," Tea said. "What on earth are you doing?" She was peering at me squinty-eyed. "And can we do a less bright light?"

I stared at the light switch across the room, which, honestly, now felt about a mile away. "Nope."

She sighed. "I got it." She trotted across the room on her tiptoes, holding the hem of the sweatshirt down as if it would fly up. She stood at my side of the bed, eyes on me skeptically. "What are you doing?"

I spread my legs open and patted between them. "Sit."

"Woof."

"Please?"

A sigh. "Jax."

"Tea?"

Another sigh. "Fine. I just don't know what you think you're doing."

She climbed onto the bed and shifted over in front of me, twisted to sit with her back to my front, tugging the hem of the sweatshirt out from under her butt, giving me a flash-fast glimpse of pale blue brief-style underwear. She sighed, lifted her hands and let them fall with a slap to her knees. "Now what?"

“Now I braid your hair,” I said, with a soft laugh. "What do you think, goofball?"

“I’m not a goofball."

"You're a secret goof," I said, hosing down her hair perhaps a little too aggressively. "Your goof is buried deep. I'll teach you my ways, oh serious one."

"Gonna need a fuckin' excavator for that job," she said, deadpan. "Maybe one of those giant tunnel borers they used for the Chunnel from England to France."

I laughed. "See? You're getting it."

She patted her hair. "I think that's wet enough, Jax."

"Oh right." I'd kept spraying, so now her hair was…very wet. “Been a while."

I pulled her hair through my fist to squeegee out some of the water, then wiped my hand on her shoulder. She gave me an amused frown over her shoulder for that one.

"Jax, do you even know how—”

"Yes. Hush." I dragged the brush carefully through her hair. "When I was a kid, there were these Sunday afternoons in Anya, Ella, Kieran, Merrick, and Dakota's basement, along with Nina and Delia and Emerson, and sometimes a few other cousins. The adults would be upstairs hanging out, which meant we kids had to be in the basement or outside, and half of us would go downstairs and the other half outside; I was always part of the downstairs crew, so I always got roped into playing house with the girls. It gets convoluted from there, but I always, always somehow ended up either being a hair-and-makeup guinea pig or having to be the stylist for the girls. But I could never do it right, because duh, I was a straight boy with a buzz cut and no sisters."

"A buzz cut?" Tea asked, giggling. "Ew."

I laughed. "I'm so glad you think so, because so do I. It was awful. But in the summer, it was just easier for the moms to buzz us."

"The moms?"

"Yeah, we tend to collectivize certain groups. The uncles, the moms, the dads, the kids, the cousins. Every year after school got out, the moms would get all of us boys together in Uncle Bast and Aunt Dru's backyard. There were way more boys than moms, though, so the moms would form a row with a chair in front of her, and we boys would line up in front of a mom. Didn't have to be your own. That was part of the fun. You got to pick whose line you wanted, and it made a difference. The winning team got first crack at the lemonade and ice cream after."

"Your family had a yearly hair buzzing competition?" she asked, amusement staining her voice.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Wild."