chapter twelve
CHARLIE
Two weeks of teaching and my hair is beginning to grey. I actually have one strand of grey hair.
I’m twenty-three. Why is my hair changing?
I point it out to Trey when we meet up on Monday afternoon. It’s week three of Auto mechanic class and I’m depressed.
And getting old.
“Look at it,” I shove my hair beneath his nostrils.
He laughs and pushes my head away.
“Your hair smells like coconut oil.”
I sit back and nurse my offended mane.
“Coconut oil is high in nutrients, sir. Don’t hate.”
“I’m eating. I don’t want your scented head anywhere near me right now.”
I roll my eyes and set my own food aside to search through my hair for the one strand that has deserted me.
For the past few weeks, Trey and I have forged a tradition of meeting up to eat lunch. We’re
