Living With The Bad Boy [COMPLETE][VERSION ONE]

Chapter 28

Which is how, thirty minutes later, I find myself in Confiance Belle Salon, Chrissa watching smugly as the hairdresser asks how much I'd like off. "Uh- just a trim, please," I say quickly, looking at my almost-upper-hip-length red hair. I haven't cut it in years, we just couldn't afford to and had bigger things to worry about, but now it feels like a part of me, a piece that I'm scared to part with. But at the same time, I look at my split ends and the way it always tangles at the bottom. It's practically forming dreadlocks.

Okay, maybe I am ready for a change.

"No, she does not just want a trim," Chrissa tells the hairstylist, standing up. "She needs some serious help. Layers. Highlights. Maybe even bangs- I think they'd look good on her face shape."

"Chrissa!" I exclaim, turning around to slap her. I'm only half-joking.

"Come on, Sienna," she says, shaking her head. "Stop being so uptight. Now look in the mirror."

I oblige, turning away from her and looking at myself in the mirror. "What am I supposed to be looking at, exactly?" I ask, swiveling around to face her again.

Chrissa smiles encouragingly at me. "Yourself." She turns my head back so it's facing straight ahead, looking at the mirror. "Now. What do you see?"

What do I see?

I stare in the mirror, really staring this time, my eyes glancing over my skin, always paler and rosier than I'd like, the dotting of freckles all over my nose, like someone took a brown marker and liberally drew dots all over my face. My shirt is a faded orange that makes me look almost sickly, to be honest, and it's certainly not doing me any favors. My chest clearly protrudes out of it, but the rest of the shirt just hangs down, making me look... like a box. And my jeans don't exactly fit well either, too tight in my hips, practically falling down at my waist and baggy at my ankles. And my hair... my hair is long and tangled, the red enough to make the rest of me look lackluster and plain- so bright it's almost blinding. It's greasy at the top but thick and wavy at the bottom, making my head look like a bell. All together I look...

Sad, honestly.

Chrissa seems to sense my expression, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"I look... terrible."

"God, no," Chrissa says. "You've always been beautiful. I just want to help you show it to the world. Can we make that happen?"

And apparently I abandon any ounce of intelligence I had, because I nod. Chrissa squeals. "Thank god- I love makeovers!"

We finish at the salon before I even have time to think about what the hell I'm doing (and before I have time to see what I actually look like), and while this has actually been surprisingly... fun... the giant bill I just realized I'm going to have to pay is less enticing. But as I walk up to the counter, the blonde girl standing there whose name tag reads Mabel just gives us a little wave. "Enjoy your day, ladies!"

"Wha- but-" I stutter as Chrissa grabs my arm, pulling me out of the store before I can protest further. "Relax, dude, I just paid for it." She holds up a shiny gray card, grinning. "Thanks to my mom's credit card."

"Chrissa! You shouldn't have done that!" I say incredulously. "I'm not just going to spend your parents' money!"

Chrissa just rolls her eyes, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder in a move that seems too movie-star-like to be real. "Hon, you really need to relax. Smoke a joint or something. You act as if I didn't just spend triple that much on shoes in Nordstrom. And besides. It was only $170. It's not exactly a fortune."

"One hundred and seventy dollars?" I ask, my jaw dropping in disbelief. When I was little, I thought getting my hair trimmed at Supercuts was a treat. That cost $14.