Now that I’m actually picking it out, the decision seems so much harder. Sophia waits patiently while I stare for longer than any person should. Eventually I grab the rose gold; the change is a bit more subtle than I’d pictured but once I saw the color, I was sold.
“Yes! That will look amazing on you!” she gushes before suddenly turning serious, her eyes narrowing at the accessories lining the shelf before she starts throwing a ridiculous amount of supplies into her basket, muttering to herself the whole time. I’ve already learned to just let her do her thing, so I stand back and just watch the chaos to ensue.
“All right, ready,” she announces proudly, struggling under the weight of the basket now. I follow her up to the checkout counter, taking out my wallet but she waves me off. “I got it, I got some of my own stuff too.”
My eyes narrow playfully, but I keep a smile in place. I’m not sure how to handle the attention, especially after the last few years, but I appreciate her. It’s been so long since people have been genuinely nice to me, and not just pity nice, that I don’t know how to handle it.
“Shoot, we have to hurry,” she says, showing me her watch for a split second so I can’t even read it, then rushes out of the store.
Even though she was worried, we step up to the restaurant right in time for our reservations. I’m actually kind of impressed that we managed to waste an entire hour in just one store. Then again I spent three hours in two stores this morning.
The hostess leads us to a table in the back, rattling off the specials as we weave through the busy restaurant. As we sit down, Sophia pulls out a small notebook and pen, sliding them my way. My chest warms at how she doesn’t even flinch, glance at the waitress, or make me feel weird about it, she did it like it was second nature.
“Can I get you guys something to drink?” the waitress asks me, but I just grab the pen and write it down, and then slide it over to Sophia.
“Two sweet teas, please.”
“Coming right up!” the woman says, raising her voice. Sophia bites back a laugh and slides the notebook back to me as she walks away.
‘Thanks for bringing this, it makes it easier,’ I write for Sophia. Her eyes go wide in surprise and she leans forward so only I can hear.
“Why wouldn’t I bring a way for you to communicate?” she asks, sounding genuinely appalled, hand clutching at metaphorical pearls.
‘My other foster families didn’t communicate with me at all aside from telling me what to do. If I didn’t speak to order, I didn’t get to pick or sometimes even get anything,’ I write down and give her a resigned shrug. It’s not an issue anymore, now that I’m here, at least. Her facial expression immediately morphs into anger.
“That’s terrible. You matter, Charlie. I won’t ever do that to you,” she vows in a serious tone, staring into my eyes so I know how much she means it. I feel a tear slip down my cheek before I realize it, the emotion overwhelming me. A mix of hope and relief and grief.
The fact that she actually cares makes the walls I built around myself crack a little. She quickly wipes my tear away and gives my hand a squeeze. This is something I never expected when moving here.
The rest of our meal goes smoothly. She asks me about my interests and my favorite movies and we end up filling out several pages before we finish eating. The restaurant was as good as they both described but spending time with her was also surprisingly nice. As we stand to leave, I feel a strange sense of belonging that I didn’t think I would ever get to experience again and I find myself genuinely happy to be here as we shop for the gym uniforms.
On the ride home I pull out my phone to double check with Abby about dress code. It’s honestly just an excuse to talk to her, but I refuse to think on that too hard. We barely know each other and my trust isn’t exactly the best.
Me: Does the school have any dress code policies on unnatural hair colors?
Abby: Nope! They are really open minded for a high school. Are you dyeing your hair?!
Me: My foster mom is going to dye it for me, we got a rose gold. So nothing too crazy but my old school was strict as hell.
Abby: Send me a picture when it’s done!
Abby has a way of drawing me in, even through text. And it goes beyond just wanting a friendly face at school or being the first person my age to give me the time of day. It’s just her bubbly personality and the way she says what she feels. It’s refreshing.
“Okay, I unfortunately have to make a work call when we get back. But I vote we dye your hair after breakfast tomorrow. Find me a picture of what you are thinking and have it ready if you want a trim, too. I promise I won’t mess it up. I actually was a hair stylist before I decided on law school.” I give her a shocked look, and she laughs. “I did it to afford my own place and so I could make money on the side during law school. Stylist hours are so flexible that it was the perfect way to get through college,” she explains, and it gives me more confidence in her dyeing my hair.
As soon as we get home, I run up to my room. I turn my music on shuffle and use my tablet to find what I want. Despite the excitement I felt when I started searching, I end up falling asleep fast; all the walking and shopping wore me out. It’s the first night in a long time I don’t have a nightmare.
Sunday
Morning
Charlie
‘I’m torn between the highlights or doing it
all one color.’
Sophia looks so serious that I almost have to laugh. She’s intently staring at my hair, occasionally looking down at my inspiration photo. I’m torn, so she’s my tiebreaker. The highlights are nice, but I think all of my hair being dyed would look badass.