Sixteen the Hard Way -15.2 - Styling (Patreon)

One of the salon workers called out, “Joni?” and I raised my hand before starting toward the chair she indicated.

“I’m Buffy,” she announced as I turned to sit down.

“Buffy?” I asked, not sure I had heard right. It sounded like a name out of a sitcom.

“Yup,” she agreed, though I hoped she hadn’t heard my internal comment. “It’s a nickname for Elizabeth.”

I couldn’t resist. “What? Betsy wasn’t cute enough?” I winced, wishing I could take that back.

She waved a hand, smiling. “I do have scissors,” she pointed at the chair with them.

I giggled as meekly as I could and climbed into the elevated seat.

“You’re supposed to be the tomboy?” she asked, proving that Mom had spoken with her, and that I didn’t have a monopoly on risking offense.

“I’ve had to give that up,” I admitted, with a glance at my chest.

She nodded. “So, no crew cut?”

I giggled again, wondering if it sounded as silly to her as it did to me. “Can you just fix it, so no one recognizes me?”

That got a real laugh out of Buffy. “I doubt it. You’re sort of—distinctive.” And she glanced at my chest, too.

“Umph,” I said, just for the sake of making a noise. “Did you see my sister?” I asked.

“Blonde girl, about your height? Yeah,” she pointed at where we had been sitting. “You two look a lot alike, almost twins.” Another glance at my chest.

“I’m sort of a set of twins, all by myself,” I said, ruefully.

Buffy snorted. She moved the chair around to get a look at my head from different angles. “So what are you thinking?”

“I think I need my own look, something to separate us besides my recent growth spurt,” I suggested. “We’re not actually twins, but there’s less than two years between us. And I’m older, even though she’s taller.”

She nodded, looking thoughtful. “I’m getting some ideas. You both have this nearly-white hair. It’s not platinum because it has some gold in there. But yours, at least, is very fine and mostly straight.” She nodded again, agreeing with her own opinion apparently.

“Could you dye it, maybe red? I have a red-haired aunt, and she’s got the same coloring as me other than her hair.”

She shook her head. “You need some shape, some volume; I’m thinking a body wave, and your hair is so fine we really can’t perm and dye it at the same time, unless you want to end up looking like a cancer patient.” She grinned. “You’d be cute, but I think we want to avoid that.”

“Argh,” I grumbled. Donna had made a similar comment.

“Not to worry,” Buffy assured me. “We can do a color-rinse instead of permanent dye; it will wash out over a half-dozen shampoos unless you renew it, but I can give you the product to maintain the color until you come back.”

“That, that, that sounds good. Perfect, even,” I looked up at her and smiled.

She laughed. “Whoa! Killer smile,” she said. “What color red are we talking?”

I put a hand up to my hair, thinking. “Aunt Hilda calls her hair color strawberry, but it is really more of a peachy sort of pink, golden, uh….”

Buffy produced a color chart from somewhere and held it out to me. I pointed at the one I thought looked most like Aunt Hildy’s color, labeled Dawn Red. It wasn’t quite the same, but close.

Buffy nodded again. “I’ve got that in a rinse and in a stable dye for when your hair recovers from the permanent. I’m thinking soft, open curls around your face, not the kind of piled-up wavy stuff your sister had.” She showed me a sketch, not a photo, of what she meant.

It looked good, but this was my head, and I would end up wearing that hairstyle for weeks, if not months. “Uh…” I said. Make a decision, I told myself. If it turns out terrible, I can shave my head and get on a telethon somewhere. Please donate to help this poor girl buy a wig. Did I just refer to myself mentally as a girl? “Yes?” I offered.

She laughed. “I guarantee that your tomboy days are going to be behind you.”

“That part is not the big problem,” I said, pretending to look over my shoulder, and she laughed again.