Pink Hair and Other Terrible Ideas by Andrea Pyros

Author:Andrea Pyros
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Casptone Editions; fiction; 9781684460281; 9781684460298
Publisher: Capstone
Published: 2019-01-13T16:00:00+00:00

14

When Mom and I get back from our outing, I head inside while she gets the mail out of our mailbox. I’m busy staring at my cute nails and trying to take the perfect photo of my hands around my cup of iced coffee when something in the hallway catches my eye.

At first I’m confused. I think there’s a funny reflection from my phone or maybe a car drove by outside and flashed its lights. But then my heart jumps as I realize there’s a strange person with short, bright-pink hair standing in our house.

I scream at the top of my lungs. An insane clown is in our house, waiting to kill me, just like in every scary movie ever!

It’s only when the clown turns around and faces me that I realize it’s my brother.

I do a double take. Chance’s shaggy hair has been transformed into a super-short buzz cut, and his once-blond strands are now glow-in-the-dark neon pink. It’s the brightest color hair I’ve seen in my whole life on anyone.

“Hey,” Chance says nonchalantly, taking a sip of his orange sports drink. It clashes with his head. “Why are you screaming?”

“What happened to you?” I yell, my hands shaking. “You scared me to death! I thought you were a robber.”

Mom comes in behind me. “What are you yelling about?”

Speechless, I can only point to Chance, who looks confused. It’s like he’s completely forgotten about his head.

Mom does a double take. Then a triple take. Then she gasps and puts her hand over her mouth.

“Is that a wig?” she asks quietly, her words muffled because her hand is still covering her lips.

“Yeesh, both of you, calm down, it’s just hair,” Chance says, rubbing his head self-consciously. “I like it.”

“You look like an Easter egg,” I say.

“Where is your actual hair? Please tell me that’s a wig.” Mom steps forward, reaching out two fingers to yank on his shorn hair.

“Ow!” Chance pulls away from her hand. “Mom, it’s not a wig! This is my hair!”

“You look so weird,” I say. “What happened? Did you fall into a vat of Pepto-Bismol?”

Chance ignores me.

“Did you do this here? In the bathroom?” Mom looks nervously toward the bathroom door.

“What? No way, I’m not stupid.”

I snort.

Chance continues talking. “Last night when we were driving back from Spirit Night we went past Joe’s Barbershop. They had a sign outside their door about a special they’re running until the end of October for Breast Cancer Awareness Month.”

Neither Mom nor I say anything.

“You pay them thirty dollars, and they cut your hair and dye it hot pink and donate the profits to a cancer charity. It’s called Pink Hair for Hope. Get it, pink? Pink ribbon? Pink for cancer?” Chance continues. “I used some of my birthday money. Thirty dollars is a decent deal, right? For all this?” He gestures to his head happily.

Mom looks at Chance, then at me. Then back at him.

Then she starts to cry.

“All that beautiful blond hair!” she sniffles. “I can’t believe you did that.

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