Page 23 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Nothing drastic, of course – things in her life were going well at the moment, which meant that there was no need for services such as The Great Lopping ($50) or Bang, Bang, She Shot Me Down ($30) or Every Fucking Colour in the Pantone ($300, multiple sessions), of which she’d availed herself after her breakup with Kit. And then again, vicariously, after Ainsley’s breakup with Celeste. No, today she just needed something that would deal with the minor blender-mangling aftermath and would have her looking fabulous ahead of her imminent night out with Nick at this evening’s First Thursdays art walk event.

It was not a date, of course. They were just scoping out the event to see whether it might be worth setting up a booth. That was it, and nothing more. Just like how the other night’s stroll around the Laurelhurst was to gauge competition from the street vendors. And to stretch Alice’s legs.

Except for the moment when he’d dropped her back that she’d been certain he was about to kiss her. He’d been so close she could make out the individual lashes on his dark eyes and the soft smile lines around them. The lightest dusting of freckles on his tanned skin. The tiny scar on his upper lip. Until he’d gently pulled back, wishing her goodnight and disappearing into the summer night.

Oh, cruel world. Cruel, horny world.

Anyway, here she was outside I’ll Cut Ya, a tiny salon squeezed between Fuggs and Kisses, a boutique specialising in ironic knitted attire, and Just the Tip, a shop that, well, Zoey wasn’t quite sure about, but had heard was some sort of Silicon Valley-backed eCommerce tipping-software thing. She hoped, because the other possibility was even less appealing.

The salon was not only a quick stroll from the smoothie shop, but boasted some incredible local sticker art, together with privacy windows covered top to bottom in old cut-throat razors. This particular design feature was the brainchild of a stern interior decorator from Berlin who went about in raver pants and was constantly headbanging to imaginary industrial music. (These things were pluses in the world of interior design.)

Zoey pushed the door open to reveal the familiarly horrifying space, which was big on blades and halogen lighting. Nova, her hairdresser, glanced up from the zine she’d been reading, called Frogs are the OG Ogs. Another excellent purchase from Sticky, Zoey’s next-door neighbour.

‘Zoey, babe!’ Nova had the kind of voice so infused with vocal fry that you half expected it to come with a side of ketchup. ‘I see we’re rocking the ponytail of shame.’

The ponytail of shame was apparently the undeniable sign that not only had your hair escaped your control, but that you hadn’t washed it in at least three days. But Zoey thought that bit was fair. If you were going to pay for a wash, you might as well get your money’s worth.

Zoey tugged apologetically at her ponytail, which did look shameful next to Nova’s perfect hot-pink waves. ‘Things have been wild at the shop, and I … have a …’

A what exactly? A business meeting? A friendly outing between friends? A hot date for the ages?

Apparently her hesitation was plenty descriptive.

‘Ooh, I want to hear all the details.’ Nova shot Zoey a grin so large and white that Zoey visibly recoiled. Had she always had those teeth? They looked like the fake gummy ones you put in during Halloween.

Nova grinned wolfishly into one of the razor-blade mirrors, tapping at an incisor. ‘They’re not too much, are they? I figured if I was going to drop all that cash I should go big. And bright. What’s the point if no one’s going to notice?’

Fair, Zoey supposed.

‘So, what are we thinking?’ Nova ran her intensely long fingernails through Zoey’s hair. They were so sharp that Zoey wondered whether she was related to Edward Scissorhands.

‘Um … a trim?’ suggested Zoey. She’d learned the hard way that this was the safe approach. Hairdressers basically did whatever they wanted anyway, so if you suggested a trim, you’d at least get something visually consistent with what you currently had, instead of a mullet or a pixie cut.

Nova untied Zoey’s ponytail and made a hmm sound that suggested that a trim was beyond the bounds of her capabilities. Still hmming, she rolled Zoey over to a sink, jammed her neck against it, and began blasting her with lukewarm water that trickled down her collar. Ouch, Zoey was going to need a massage after this. She wondered whether Nick would oblige her. He seemed like the massaging type.

The door swung. An opulently moustachioed barber came in, setting down a giant green cup from The Smoothie Maven next to the sink, then plonking down on a barber’s chair. A nameplate in front of the chair declared that he was Opal.

‘I know you’re still anxious about chewing,’ he told Nova. ‘So I figured that would do the trick.’

‘That’s our newest Brain Freeze recipe.’ Zoey’s neck ached as she tried to make eye contact. How was the hair-washing sink still the standard? How was it still legal? ‘It’s been a surprise hit.’

‘You’re so sweet, babe.’ Nova sipped at the smoothie. ‘Oh, this is good. Really refreshing. I’m getting hints of those savoury body washes all the boutique hotels are using these days. I’m thinking … sage and oyster mushroom?’

‘That’s actually pretty close.’ Zoey tried to ignore the lukewarm water that had made it past her collar and was now under her bra. ‘The mushrooms are from a farm just outside Vancouver.’

Opal twirled a comb. ‘Hang on, that hot guy with the lumberjack vibes? The one who was at the market the other weekend, with the dog? I would pray on the altar of Evil Kermit to do that man’s hair. And that beard. Sweet baby jelly bean, that beard.’

Zoey smiled to herself, mostly because she agreed with every word, right down to Evil Kermit.

‘Look at you grinning away there,’ said Opal, as Nova splashed away at Zoey’s hair. ‘I take it that you have carnal knowledge of Mr Mushrooms?’

Not yet.

But her imagination certainly did.

She shrugged.

‘Ah, so this is an I’m in love haircut, not a Help, I need a change haircut.’ Opal twisted the ends of his moustache approvingly. ‘Are you … all right there, Nova?’