Elena
Paula, one of my roommates, was around when I got home. She flashed a cheerful smile at me, and her inquisitive self couldn't help but ask what I had in my hand.
"Is that box dye?" she asked, pointing at the white plastic bag in my hand.
Unable to hide it, I smiled back and gave her a short "yes." "Well, why do you want to dye your hair?" she asked, pushing further.
"I just want to change my look," I told her, lying through my teeth.
"You have such beautiful hair in… hm…" She looked at me for about a minute before concluding, "I think black would be nice on you. Your face, your skin, everything—it would pop."
She held up her hands as though she was about to take a picture of me, and then I remembered she was attending fashion school.
Her actions made so much sense now. I had a
