Page 53 of Stay Toxic

That leaves exactly twenty-five bucks in my hand, and no access to more until I comply with whatever Senator Cole demands.

Fuck this shit.

“I have something to do. I’ll call you after your show, okay?”

“It’ll be late, don’t bother. I’m off tomorrow if you want to do something after classes.”

I kiss her cheek, and make my way to the convenience store where I picked up some beer the last time I was in town.

I spotted something back then. Something I looked at wistfully, before putting it back down, because I’m Hestia Cole, and I obviously just can’t buy myself a box of cheap, home hair dye. That wouldn’t be proper. Mother wouldn’t approve.

I head straight to it, grab it, and stride to the counter, slapping it down.

Fuck this shit so hard.

23

“Help me,” I shamelessly beg. “I made a grave mistake.”

To her credit, my roommate doesn't laugh, as she watches the terrible, spotty, blotchy mess I made out of my previously blonde waves.

Ari's probably too horrified to mock me.

Somehow, the dye that was supposed to make my hair pitch black made it a faded sort of blue-gray. And not even a nice, even color, because some of the locks are fully colored while others remain completely blonde.

"Oh. Erm. Yeah. How…what…"

"I used this," I tell her, thrusting the cardboard box into her hand. "I wanted to say a great big ‘fuck you’ to Mother. She doesn't approve of drastic hair changes, you see. And, well…" I sulk.

"It's not the best brand," Ari tells me diplomatically.

It was ten bucks. She can say it sucks.

"And there wasn't nearly enough of it for all your hair. Like, it goes to your ass when it’s wavy; I bet if we straightened it out, it'd reach your damn knees. You’d need at least five of those boxes to go black. Which would…not be the best color on you, I don't think. Not with the length, anyway. You know what? Grab your coat. It's getting a little chilly."

"You want me to go out like this?" I squeal.

She rifles through her cupboard until she finds a black woolly hat with a fluffy pompom, and tosses it my way.

I stare down at the hat in my hand like it might bite. There's no way I can fit all that mess in there.

"You go out like this, or you stay like this,"she reminds me.

"Right. Perspective."

I stuff what I can in the hat, lower it down to my eyebrows, and put my jacket on before following her out of the dorm, and into the parking lot.

Ari drives a little red Beetle that has seen better days, but it suits her somehow.

Once we're on our way, driving toward town, but then turning left instead of right, toward the riverside on the crossroad, she says, "Now, a word of warning. She's Lauren, not Mrs.Stewart, and if she offers you a martini, be careful. They pack a punch."

"Mrs. Stewart…we're going to see your mom?" I glean, remembering her surname.

"Duh. Do you know many hairdressers who'd help an emergency situation at eight on a Sunday night?"

Oh. That makes sense. "I…don't have access to money right now. I will," I'm quick to add, "but not right this second."

I twiddle my thumbs, feeling awkward as fuck. I'm the girl who has money. That's my position amongst my friends, always. I can take us to restaurants and shows, do things they can't afford. Without that, who am I? What use do I have, really?