Preston's Honor(5)

I sighed and shrugged. I didn’t have the words to explain it to Preston and even if I did, I wouldn’t have used them. “I don’t know.”

He sighed, too, and then stared at me for a few long moments. “You like it?”

“No.”

He nodded once, chewing at his bottom lip, his braces glinting in the sun, and then took my hand in his, pulling me along behind him. “What—?”

“Just come on. We’ve gotta fix that.”

“Hey, where are you guys going?” Cole called.

“We’re gonna fix Lia’s hair,” Preston said back. I stumbled over a rock on the ground and Preston’s hand tightened, gripping me so I didn’t fall.

“Why? We could put some clown makeup on you and go scare some people.”

I shot Cole a glare over my shoulder and then turned back quickly.

“Aw, Annalia, I was just kidding around,” he shouted. “Preston, we’re supposed to help Dad.”

“Cover for me,” Preston called. He picked up his pace, causing me to have to jog beside him, his expression determined. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Cole had hopped back over the fence and was jogging in the opposite direction, off to do whatever they were supposed to be doing for their dad.

“What are you gonna do?” I asked Preston.

“Wait here,” he said, letting go of my hand and leaving me near the side of his house by a pretty row of lilac bushes that filled the air with sweetness. He ran toward the back door, going inside and closing the screen quietly behind him. I tied the bandana on, tucking my hair inside once again. A few minutes later he was back out and he nodded his head again for me to follow him.

“Where are we going?”

“Into town. My mom’s hairdresser, Deirdre, works right on Main Street.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“I do.” He patted his pocket.

“I’m not going to let you pay to fix my hair, Preston Sawyer.” The very idea filled me with shame.

He picked up his bike and nodded his head at the handlebars. “It’s not really for you. It’s a selfless gift to the residents of Linmoor.” His lip quirked up slightly and his eyes squinted.

Despite myself, I laughed a small laugh.

His eyes moved to my upturned lips and his grin widened. I was so unaccustomed to seeing Preston grin that way that for a moment it stunned me and made me forget what we’d been talking about. “Hop on,” he repeated softly, swinging his leg over the bike.

I looked suspiciously at the bike wondering where he wanted me to sit. He patted the space between the handlebars and though I hesitated, I trusted Preston. I finally climbed up, squeezing my butt into place. I’d never ridden a bike by myself, much less balanced on one as someone else pedaled. Preston teetered a little as we started off, and I let out an alarmed laugh, but then he picked up some speed and began pedaling quickly.

We turned out of his driveway onto the dirt road that led to the main road, the dry, hot wind blowing in my face. I felt like I was flying. I leaned my head back and laughed up at the wide blue sky. My bandana flew off and I let out a yell as I looked behind Preston’s bike, watching it blow down the road and off to the side. I sighed, turning back around and tipping my head up again, this time feeling my orange hair streaming behind me.

Preston left his bike leaning against a tree outside the hair salon on Main Street and I followed him into the shop. A small bell jangled over the door and the smell of chemicals and various hair products wafted in the air. A woman in a pink smock was sweeping hair into a dustpan and looked up when she heard us enter. I stood slightly behind Preston.

“Well, hi there.”

“Ma’am.”

She smiled at Preston as she straightened up. “You can call me Deirdre, honey. And tell me which one you are. I never can tell you handsome Sawyer boys apart.”

“Preston.”

“Well, hi there, Preston. What can I help you with?” she asked with another wide smile.

“This is Annalia.” He pushed me in front of him and her eyes grew wide when she saw my hair.

She walked toward me and picked up a frizzy strand. “Well, child, what have you done to yourself?”

“I tried to go blonde.”

“Huh. Honey, you didn’t even get in the ballpark of blonde.”

I looked down, biting my lip in embarrassment.

“What’s the real color of your hair?”

“Black.”

“With highlights that glint sort of coppery under the sun,” Preston said and then cleared his throat. His cheeks reddened as if he was embarrassed, too. Of what I wasn’t sure.

Deirdre glanced over at him and her eyes seemed to soften, her lips turning up into a warm smile. She pulled my hand. “Well, come on then, let’s get you fixed up. Just so happens I have an opening.”

She plopped me in the chair and then went to the back where I heard her humming. Preston sat down in a chair by the front window and picked up a Time magazine.

A minute later Deirdre was back, mixing something in a white dish as she stood behind me, taking me in in the mirror in front of us. “Now why in the world would you want to be blonde, child? With skin like yours and those eyes.” She made a chuffing sound.

“I don’t know. I just thought it would . . . be better.” Make me better. I thought it would make me look like Alicia. She went to a different school, but I’d seen her in town, surrounded by friends, beautiful and laughing and carefree. I thought it would make me feel pretty, help me to blend in with all those girls at my school who giggled together in the yard at recess, the ones who lived in big houses like the Sawyers. The ones who brought lunch boxes to school filled with cups of Jell-O and bags of ruffled chips and sandwiches cut into little triangles. Maybe if I at least looked more like them, I’d blend in and they wouldn’t notice my old clothes and the free lunch I was given because my mama couldn’t afford to feed me three meals a day.