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“What?”
“He could be your rebound guy!”
“No. Ken? He’s so not my type. He doesn’t drink or smoke or have tattoos or anything. He’s probably never even been arrested.”
Juliet’s stylist chuckled. “Girrrl, you need a new type.”
Juliet looked up at her. “What she needs is a rebound. Everybody knows the best way to get over a man is to get a new man.”
“And new haaaair!” André returned with a bowl full of purple goo and abruptly swiveled my chair away from Juliet, severing our conversation.
As he worked his magic, my thoughts kept drifting to Ken. I had to admit, the only time in the last six weeks that I hadn’t spent reliving every traumatic detail of my breakup with Hans were the few moments I spent with Ken the night before.
But could I actually date him? I mean, it was Pajama Guy. We had nothing in common. And besides, I barely knew him. Okay, so I knew most of his friends and where he worked and that he had gone to the same high school as me and that he’d quit the football team because he refused to be yelled at by the coaches. I also knew that he’d been backpacking through Europe and been to all my bucket-list museums and already knew more about Egyptian art history than I did when he offered to help me study for my midterms. And I was very aware of the fact that Kenneth Easton didn’t drink or smoke or do drugs or eat chocolate or celebrate holidays or acknowledge birthdays or hug or do committed relationships or even say, God bless you, when someone sneezed because he was a stubborn, joyless atheist.
So, why couldn’t I stop thinking about him?
Three hours later, Juliet had a headful of long, tight black braids; I had a sleek, angled burgundy bob; and everyone in the salon was probably dying of cancer, thanks to the number of chemicals it had taken to tame my frizz.
Juliet and I hugged goodbye in the parking lot and hopped into our separate cars—mine a ten-year-old black Mustang hatchback that I used to race for money before I was even old enough to buy cigarettes, hers a hand-me-down minivan her mom had given her when she got knocked up by her drug-dealing boyfriend at the age of sixteen.
Ah, the good old days.
Now, we were just a couple of stressed-out, single women who spent all our free time working to put ourselves through college.
But at least our hair looked amazing.
Juliet and I pulled out of the salon parking lot in unison, matching smiles on our faces and Camel Lights between our fingertips. She turned right onto the highway, heading back toward her mom’s house where she lived with her four-year-old son. I turned left, heading back toward the opium den my hippie parents called home.
With every passing mile, I could feel the depression I’d been battling since my breakup with Hans beginning to gnaw at the periphery of my mind.
Look at BB, all gussied up with nowhere to go, it taunted.
I turned on the radio.
What a waste of money.
I changed the station from pop to hard rock.
Who are you trying to look pretty for, huh?
I turned up the volume.
Your parents? They’re the only ones you’re going to see tonight.
Just as I was debating whether to crank the volume knob all the way to the right or yank the steering wheel instead, the universe intervened.
“Cirque du Soleilhas announced that its trademark blue-and-yellow Grand Chapiteau will return to Atlanta this spring withVarekai, its latest live production.Deep within a forest, at the summit of a volcano, exists an extraordinary world—a world where anything is possible.A world called…Varekai. Varekaiwill premiere on March 6, but tickets are on sale now.”
Before I had time to formulate a plan or so much as a thought, I had my cell phone out of my purse and pressed against the side of my head.
“What’s u—”
“Jason!” I squealed. “I need you to call Ken right now and give him my number and tell him that he’s taking me to Cirque du Soleil!”
“Your haaaair!” my mom yelled as soon as I walked through her front door. Waving me into the kitchen, she proceeded to pet and smooth my new purplish bob with her hands. “Oh, it’s so pretty and shiny and straight. Promise me you won’t shave it all off again.”
I laughed. “If I can keep it looking like this? Yeah, I promise.”
