Prince Charmings (BOOK ONE)

17

The look the barber gave me was not one to inspire confidence.

Forty-seven with a thick Russian accent and burly arms wrapped in what I could only refer to as sweaters made of hair, Misha took one glance at my hair and spat out a single word.

"Girl."

Behind me, April snorted into her palm.

I spared her a glare in the mirror before returning my attention to Misha.

"I know, I let it run long–"

"Like tiny, infant girl," he said, going so far as to yank my hair to test its length. "Your hair very durable."

"Thank you..." I trailed off as Misha procured a pair of scissors out of nowhere and suddenly sliced a large portion of my hair off. April let out a small gasp as the strands fell to the shop floor. I watched them go with a frown.

"I make you like boy. Very neat, very durable." Misha announced, not awaiting my response before cutting my hair. "You will look like Misha."

The guy did have nice hair. Clean, not too short, but he also had bangs which was definitely not what I wanted.

"No bangs."

"You want bangs?"

"No, I– Jesus, no bangs, Misha. Just... make it short, please."

"You sure you don't want bangs? Might make Mom nostalgic if you came home with a bowl cut again," April piped up, wide grin on her lips.

"Don't you have boys to stalk and Billie Eilish songs to listen to while pretending to have no self-esteem?"

"Rude, Bow-Bow," she scowled, but shoved her headphones in nonetheless until it was time for us to go a half-hour later.

Misha had done a good job, not that I was an expert in hair, but the sudden coolness against my neck made me tug on the beanie I had brought along with me as April and I walked home. It was when we reached the corner store that April started to complain she was hungry.

"You can wait until we get home, April," I told her and she groaned, hugging her stomach as though any minute now her spleen would burst through.

"I'm starting to realize why you hate pasta so much. It's all we have in the fridge at home and I don't think I can make myself eat it. Plus this place looks good," she said, nodding to a storefront a few feet away.

It was only when I read the sign that I realized we had ended up outside Spencer's work.

"Beau," April called, already heading through the door. "I forgot my wallet so you're buying."

"Is there one person in this family with their own money?" I huffed, shouldering my way inside and dragging April to the counter. A girl at the till smiled up at me, though it dimmed when she caught my confused look. She wore the deli's signature white shirt, pulled taut across her chest, and her silver dyed hair was pulled away from her face, showing off wide eyes and bright teeth.

Where was Spencer?

"Hi, can I help you?" she asked and I honed in the name tag.

Debbie.

I vaguely remembered the name being mentioned before but I couldn't remember why.

"We'll take two turkey on wholewheat. No mustard on one of them and extra mayo on the other. Also half a pound of sliced beef to go," I ordered before turning to my sister. "Trust me, April, you'll love this stuff."

"I'm guessing you come here a lot?" she said as I slid my card to Debbie who cheerfully wrung me up.

"Spencer normally works here."