Yellow (editing)

Paint Me a Maroon Me

"What you want?" The lady yelled into my ear. I flinched.

"Um..."

"You want movie star? Wrestler? All off? Undercut?"

"Um..."

My mom suddenly appeared beside me and put her hand on my shoulder. "Finnegan, honey, just say you want it to look nice."

"Um..."

"ALL OFF?" She demanded.

"NO!" I cleared my throat. "No. Just, the one you do the most for the, uh, men. You know, just make it look nice."

My mom pat my shoulder and went back to her magazine.

"Okay. I improvise." The very old lady with a very thick accent said, unsure. I had to put a lot of trust I didn't have to her.

Anyway, after all that, I got home with a slightly less heavy weight resting on my shoulders and a very happy and bubbly mom, who kept telling me how it was a good idea that I start to care about my image. 

"I went for a run with Egan this morning, as well," I added onto her speech.

She squealed and kissed my cheek, "Finnegan, I'm so proud!"

"Thanks mom," I wiped her lipstick off my cheek and trudged inside the house, kicking my shoes to the side. My mom said that she was proud again and then went off to vacuum, so I went to my room, shutting the door tight so that the droning sound of the vacuum wouldn't drive me crazy. 

Almost immediately, I heard a small peep of Orenda's voice and I ran to my window, pulled up the blinds, opened the window, and took off the screen.

"Wow, you're getting good at this," Orenda said. I just sighed and stood back, ready for her to tumble in.

"Can you help me?" She asked. 

"Me? Help you go through my window?"

"Yeah. I'm a little tired from listening to you. Please?"

I reached out my hand and her freezing cold hands grabbed it, and then I pulled her in as quietly as I could. Our feet pattered quietly on the floor and I told her to tiptoe.

"Wow," she suddenly said in awe, as if she we looking at some sort of monument.

"What?"

"Your hair! You cut it!"

"Um, yeah. You uh, you like it?" I asked cautiously.

"It looks really good. Um, like a mix of Leonardo DiCaprio, early season Joey Tribbiani, and the alive James Dean."

"Thanks, I heard they're cool. So... where we going today?"

"My house?" Orenda blurted out.

"Orenda... I just got home," I drawled.

"Fine! Then we're painting at your house. I brought my bag and everything." Immediately her stuff was flying into my hands, and I was doubled over with painting supplies, paper, and maybe even an easel. No wonder she was tired.

"Orenda!" I hissed.

"Oh, shut up. This is for school."

I set all the stuff she had thrown onto me on my bed, and adjusted my glasses. "You want me to help you with your homework?"

"Sort of, actually. I have to paint a portrait of someone that I spend a lot of time with, in order to capture familiarity and stuff. And well, you're photogenic, and easy to paint, and you sit still a lot of the time so..."