My hair is blonde, and it's weird.
For whatever reason, I hear Caine's voice in my head. "Your hair is brown," he'd said. A mere observation, not even a compliment, but for a second I mourn my generic brown hair.
"The toner helped with the brassiness, but it still isn't perfect." Lyre runs her fingers through my hair with a soft click of her tongue. "Virgin hair is so nice to work with. It's so soft even after lightening."
Andrew scratches at his cheek, his eyes darting everywhere except my face. "It, uh, looks pretty good."
"Thanks," I mutter, uncomfortable with his awkwardness. His crush doesn't seem completely gone if he can't meet my eyes over a simple compliment.
My attention drifts back to the mirror on the camper's bathroom wall.
A stranger stares back at me. The blonde frames my face differently, catching light where shadows used to be. I twist a strand between my fingers, still damp and smelling of chemicals. My reflection looks alien.
