Imp was seventeen now, much too old to be wearing braids day in and day out. And so it was time for them to go – despite them being her trademark, despite them being comfortable and – and reliable, despite her having perfected the art of braiding either half of her hair, neatly, in under twenty seconds.
She unwound the ribbon, twining each inch that had been wrapped around her dark brown hair around two fingers. The shiny green material felt cool against her skin, and slowly, the braid on the left side of her head began to untwist of its own accord. Carefully, she took the ribbon from her fingers and placed it in a drawer that squeaked in protest as she shoved it closed.
The mirror, despite its warbled imperfections, showed her with half a head of frizzy, crimped hair; the other half, though still slightly frizzy on its own, was still kept in the confines of a long braid tucked behind a small ear. Imp sighed. When she was done looking, she took that braid out as well, put the ribbon away, and went to wash her hair. The water plastered her locks to her head; the frizziness was smoothed away; the strange itchy, tingling feeling on her scalp disappeared. She sat outside on the fire escape, propping her elbows on her knees and cupping her chin in her hands, and sighed quietly at the setting sun, whose progress was hardly slowed by her lament.
There was a faint smell of roses or daisies or violets in the air, perhaps from the flower boxes on the roof of the neighboring building. Plants of an undeterminable species grew slouched against each other, leaves entwining and supporting each other. Those with the most flowers hung limply, as if the combination of the heat and the burden of so many buds was too much for them. Imp stretched out, enjoying the cool coming over the city after a hot summer day. She studied her palms, frowning to discover a faint hint of newspaper ink still clinging to her sink. Without hesitating, she spat in her hands, rubbed them together vigorously, then wiped her hands on the knees of her skirt. One of the boys snorted with laughter from inside, but she ignored him, quite deliberately.
To her amazement, when her hair dried, it dried straight. Blinking, examining random long pieces, she stared at herself in the mirror. It was…straight.
“What are you up to, Imp?” A familiar voice made her turn around, and she grinned sheepishly, trying to cover up the fact that she, of all people, had just spent five minutes of her day staring at her own reflection. But at least it was Verity – Verity who never made fun of her, despite having at least a million and a half opportunities to do so in the seven or eight years they had known one another. The older girl went to her bunk and put down a new book, probably one she had borrowed temporarily from the bookstore.
“Nothin’. How was work?” She tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to get used to the feel, and went to sit down. The mattress creaked slightly under her weight.
And finally, it came up – so subtly that Imp was compelled to think that only Verity could pull it off so smoothly. “Has Cody seen you with your hair down?”
She blushed furiously, then berated herself: You’re seventeen and you still go red every time someone brings him up! “UhhhIdunno,” she blurred the words together, staring at her hands which itched to braid all that hair and finish each off with her favorite green ribbons.
“He should. It’s very becoming.”
Imp climbed down from her bunk to sit on Verity’s, moving books aside to make enough space to curl her short legs under her. “So what’s yer new book?” She half-listened to the response – something about a girl and a city – and only perked up again when the words ‘ice cream’ hit her ears. Instantly images of frosty tall glasses heaped with strawberry ice cream and chocolate syrup filled her mind and her mouth watered.
“Spreckler’s? Shoah,” she grinned, tucking her hair behind her ears again. “I’ll be right dere.” As Verity went downstairs, Imp stopped briefly at her dresser, furtively pulling open the top drawer. Her hand closed around the two worn green ribbons and she pocketed them, just in case.
She heard Verity’s footsteps start back up the stairs. “Imp?”
Slamming the drawer shut, she skidded out of the room, nearly falling over in her haste (as she had done many times in the past). “I’m comin’!” With that, she bounded down the stairs, patting her pocket to ensure that the ribbons were still there. Just in case…
more to come...
