The Sun Is Also a Star(28)

And once they’re out, I can’t believe I said them. Is this what I’m made of? Nothing?

I’m a bigger asshole than Charlie.

I can’t look at her. Her eyes are on my face and I can’t look at her. I want that time machine. I want the last minute back.

I fucked up.

If it’s going to be Daniel and Natasha, then dealing with my dad’s racism is only the beginning. But she and I are just at the beginning, and I just don’t want to have to deal with him right now. I want to do the easy thing, not the right thing. I want to fall in love, with an emphasis on the falling part.

No obstacles in the way, please. No one needs to get bruised up falling in love. I just want to fall the way everybody else gets to.





I’LL BE FINE.

I’ll be fine waiting here. I understand. Really I do. But there’s part of me, the part that doesn’t believe in God or true love, that really wants him to prove me wrong about not believing in those things. I want him to choose me. Even though it’s way too early in the history of us. Even though it’s not what I would do. I want him to be as noble as he first seemed to be, but of course he’s not. Nobody is. So I let him off his own hook.

“Don’t worry so much,” I say. “I’ll wait.”





WHEN YOU’RE BORN, THEY (God or little aliens or whoever) should send you into the world with a bunch of free passes. A Do-Over, a Rain Check, a Take-Backsie, a Get Out of Jail Free Card. I would use my Do-Over now.

I look up at her and realize she knows exactly what I’m going through. She’ll understand if I just go inside and hand over the pouch and come back outside. Then we can just continue on our way and I won’t have to have any “Who was that girl?” conversations later with my dad. No “Once you go black” cracks from Charlie. This little weirdness will be a small hiccup on our road to greatness, to epic coupledom.

But I can’t do it. I can’t leave her out here. Partly because it’s the right thing to do. But mostly because she and I are not really at the beginning.

“Can I try that again?” I ask, deploying my Do-Over.

She smiles so big that I know that whatever happens will be worth it.





A BELL CHIMES AS SOON as we enter. It’s like every other beauty supply store I’ve ever been in. It’s small and crammed with rows of metal shelves overflowing with plastic bottles promising that their secret formula is best for your hair, skin, etc.

The cash register is right across from the entrance, so I see his father right away. Immediately I know where Daniel gets his good looks. His dad is older and balding, but he has the same sharp bone structure and perfectly symmetrical face that make Daniel so attractive. He’s busy ringing up a customer and doesn’t acknowledge Daniel at all, though I’m sure he saw us both. The customer is a boy around my age, black with short purple hair, three lip rings, one nose ring, an eyebrow ring, and too many earrings to count. I want to see what he’s buying, but it’s already bagged.

Daniel pulls the pouch from his suit pocket and starts to walk over. His dad gives him a brief glance. I’m not sure what was communicated, but Daniel stops moving and sighs.

“You need to go to the bathroom or anything?” he asks. “There’s one in the back.”



I shake my head. He strangles the pouch with his hands.

“Well, this is it. This is the store.”

“Want to show me around?” I ask to help distract him.

“Not much to see. First three aisles are for hair. Shampoo, conditioner, extensions, dyes, lots of chemical things I don’t understand. Aisle three is makeup. Aisle four is equipment.”

He glances at his dad, but he’s still busy.

“Do you need something?” he asks.

I touch my hair. “No, I—”

“I didn’t mean a product. We have a fridge in the back with soda and stuff.”

“Sure,” I say. I like the idea of seeing behind the scenes.

We walk down the hair dye aisle. All the boxes feature broadly smiling women with the most perfectly colored and styled hair. It’s not hair dye being sold in these bottles, it’s happiness.

I stop in front of a group of boxes with brightly colored dyes and pick up a pink one. There’s a very small, secret, impractical part of me that’s always wanted pink hair.

It takes Daniel a few seconds to realize that I’ve stopped walking.

“Pink?” he asks, when he sees the box in my hand.

I wiggle it at him. “Why not?”

“Doesn’t seem like your style.”

Of course he’s completely right, but I hate that he thinks so. Am I too predictable and boring? I think back to the boy I saw when we entered the store. I bet he keeps everyone guessing.

“Shows how much you know,” I say, and pat my hair. His eyes follow my hand, and now I’m really self-conscious and hoping he’s not going to ask to touch my hair or a bunch of dumb questions about it. Not that I don’t want him to touch my hair, because I do—just not as a curiosity.



“I think you would look beautiful with a giant pink Afro,” he says.

Sincerity is sexy, and my cynical heart notices.

“The whole thing wouldn’t be pink. Maybe just the ends.”