Chapter 7June 1994
“Are you gonna do something with your hair?”
“Hardly.”
“Come here, let me curl the ends of it or something.”
“What’s the point? You know I don’t—”
“Alex,” she whined, pouting as she set the curling iron down to cross her arms. “Come on. Don’t be stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn,” I snarked, but then Connie reached out and touched my wrist and the argument was won, just like that.
I sat in her desk chair and she began to comb her fingers through my hair, occasionally scraping along my scalp. And I liked it, liked it so much that I probably would have let her do anything she wanted—a princess braid or a fancy updo or a mullet, if she really set her mind to it—absolutely anything at all, so long as her hands stayed right where they were.
My own hands were shaking as I r
