Chapter 14

Temi POV

Isa and I arrive at the local black hair salon near campus, just in time for my appointment. The door makes a jingle sound as we walk in, alerting the hairstylists of our presence.

The salon has a black interior, with bright lights and framed photos of several black celebrities with different hairstyles. The strong familiar scent of shea-butter, coconut oil, and various other hair products waft through the air.

"Temi, so nice to see you. It's been a while," Sharon says as she appears into view. She is dressed in a long dark red dress, with sandals on her feet. A heavy pearl necklace hangs around her neck, matching the pearl earrings dangling from her ears.

Sharon is the person I come to whenever I visit the salon. She is in her late forties, and her dark skin seems to glimmer as a wide smile spreads across her face. Without realizing it, I find myself mirroring the smile.

"Sharon, I'm glad to see you. How have you been?"

"Good, good. Who is this?"

Sharon quickly brushes away my question, tuning in instead to Isa beside me.

I have completely forgotten about Isa standing next to me, and only remember her now that Sharon's eyes scan her with interest.

"This is my friend Isa," I lie, and cringe internally at the description of Isa as my 'friend.' "She's just gonna hang with me while I get my hair done."

Sharon nods, still inspecting Isa. Isa offers her a small smile, but I can make out the slight confusion present in her eyes. I bite my lip slightly to hold back the smile threatening to spread across my face. My plan is already in motion, and I can't ruin it when it has only barely begun.

"Are you going to stay throughout? Honey, this is going to take a while," Sharon says with concern in her voice as she looks between Isa and I.

"Oh, she doesn't mind," I quickly answer before Isa gets the chance to. I don't want her to have the opportunity to ask any questions.

I had only informed her of my appointment at the hair salon. I kept the details to myself. The details are something that she will soon come to find out.

"Well, alright then," Sharon says, finally averting her gaze from Isa to fix it on me. "Do you want your hair washed first or would you prefer to get straight to braiding?"

"A hair wash first, please," I answer, and follow Sharon as she directs me further into the salon. The longer this takes, the better.

Isa follows silently behind me, but I can almost feel her eyes boring into the back of my head. I'm sure that at this point she is curious as to why I suddenly wanted to come here- but it doesn't matter.

I purposely avoid her gaze as Sharon seats me at the sink before directing Isa to take a seat a little distance away.

The salon is thankfully pretty empty today, which is probably why I could even get an appointment on such short notice.

I quickly sneak a glance at Isa, who is now sitting with her hands clasped together, still studying the interior of the salon. Her hair is packed up in a bun away from her face and she's dressed in sweatpants and a plain shirt, with a single chain hanging from her neck. She never looks like she puts any effort into her outfits, but she doesn't need to. With a face like that, anything she wears looks exquisite.

Isa turns back to look at me. I am not fast enough, and there's a moment where her brown eyes hold mine. There is a curiosity in them. I glance away.

"You ready?" Sharon asks.

I nod my head slightly before I feel warm water hit my scalp.

I close my eyes and lean my head back, enjoying the feeling of Sharon's fingers as she works through my curls. Getting my hair washed by someone other than myself is always something that I enjoy. I find it therapeutic.

As Sharon's hands work, massaging the shampoo through my hair, I feel some of the tensions and anxieties that I have been feeling these past months evaporate. I feel more relaxed than I have felt in a long while.

"Okay honey, all done," Sharon says, as she rinses the final soap studs from my hair, and I instantly miss the feel of her hands.

Regardless, I stand up and let Sharon direct me towards a new chair where I sit down. Sharon begins blow drying my hair and I keep my eyes shut to avoid mistakenly locking eyes with Isa, who I know is currently looking at me.

She doesn't even try to hide it. Whenever Isa stares at me, she does so openly and bashfully. It's almost challenging in a way. As if to say: yes, I am looking at you. And what are you going to do about it?

I sigh silently in frustration. Another reason why Isa has to go. Everything she does is nothing but irritating to me, and I know for a fact that I cannot deal with her much longer. I refuse to.

The aim of coming to the salon today is to bore her. I want her to get so sick, so frustrated with having to babysit me, she resigns. I know for a fact that Isa hates staying in one position for a long time, and because that's exactly what I am about to be doing. She has no choice but to do so, too.

A small feeling of satisfaction settles over me. This is only the first step I'm taking in my grand plan to get rid of her, and a strange feeling of excitement courses through me.

Around me, the other hair stylists converse with each other, gossiping. In the past, when I had come here, I usually enjoyed silently listening in on the gossip about the lives of people that I did not know. But things are different now. And today, I have more important things on my mind.

Sharon finishes blow drying my hair and begins sectioning my hair into small sections for the box braids. I sneak a glance at Isa, who is studying Sharon's actions with curiosity. I watch as this curiosity slowly morphs into a slight look of horror as Sharon starts on the first braid.

No doubt, it is clear that Isa just got an idea of how long we were going to be in this salon. Hours. She does not seem pleased about this, but it is not a bother to me. Being black, getting my hair braided is a normal part of my routine. I am used to sitting in one place for hours unending.

Isa clearly is not, and that is exactly why I'm going to enjoy this so much.

Thirty minutes into my hair braiding, Isa rises from her seat and begins stretching her legs. She walks around the room we're in, but never actually leaves. I know she wouldn't. She's scared that if I leave her sight for a second, I'd run off again.

We're only an hour into the braiding session when Isa rises from her seat again and starts pacing the room. This time, even the other stylists start to give her strange glances. I clench my jaw to keep the smile off my face.

Not less than another thirty minutes pass and Isa is on her feet again.

"Honey, you know you can take a walk outside to stretch your legs," Sharon says this time. Her fingers never stop braiding my hair as she speaks.

Isa declines like I know she will and settles down in her seat once again.

She does not stand up again, but I can see just how uncomfortable she is from how often she fidgets in her seat, and jerks her knees upwards. This visual of Isa's unease fills me with great content,, and I close my eyes and drift to sleep.

I wake up a while later to see Isa bent over what appears to be a notebook, scribbling away at something. I study her for a while. Her hair pushed away from her face allows me to get a better view of the way her eyes seem to focus, deep in concentration. Her jaw seems tense as she writes and I find myself enamored by her facial structure. It's carved perfectly.

Isa suddenly looks up, catching me staring. At first she wears an expression of surprise, but it doesn't take long before her face morphs into a smirk and she winks at me.

I look away as I feel my face grow hot. I feel like my thoughts are exposed and somehow Isa knows what I was thinking. Then I'm even mad at myself for thinking of Isa in that way. Yes, she's attractive. But she's also a piece of shit. And I should focus on the latter instead.

I don't know at what point I drift back to sleep, but when I wake up again, Sharon is down to the last few braids.

Isa has noticed this too, and stares intently as Sharon braids, her knee jerking impatiently. The moment Sharon finishes on the last braid, Isa jumps to her feet.

"Woah, calm your horses, honey. We aren't quite done yet." Sharon says, noticing Isa on her feet.

I'm unable to stop myself from laughing. Isa just looks so comical, standing there staring at Sharon with shock spread across her face. Isa's gaze diverts to me when I laugh and there is a look of utter disbelief spread across her face.

Isa grudgingly returns to her seat, but watches with rapt interest as Sharon dips the end of my braids in hot water to seal the ends. For a moment, I wonder if this is going to have the outcome I hope for.

"All done," Sharon announces once she has applied mousse and hairspray.

This time, Isa hesitates. She waits for me to stand up before rising from her seat as well. I keep from smiling as I follow Sharon to the counter to pay for my hair.

"That took fucking forever," I hear Isa mumble behind me, and a feeling of glee passes through me. Just like I had expected, she hated every moment of it. Perfect.

"All set," Sharon says, as she hands me back my credit card I used to pay. "By the way, how's your friend doing? You guys usually always come to get your hair done together."

For a second, confusion passes through me, then I realize who she is referring to. Grace. Just like that, my heart starts pounding and I feel like I can't breathe.

"She's fine," are the only words that I somehow manage to say. It's a lie; but I'm not able to say anything else, to tell the truth.

I feel Isa behind me. No doubt, she has also caught on that Sharon is referring to Grace. But she doesn't say anything. The awkward tension is thick in the air.

"Well, thanks for coming around, don't be a stranger," Sharon says, oblivious to the mood shift. "I don't want to keep you here longer than I already have. I know your girlfriend is just itching to get out."

Shock, which completely turns to embarrassment, passes through me.

"Isa is not my girlfriend," my voice comes out harsh, and Sharon only looks at me, confusion apparent in her features, before I stomp out of the hair salon.

Isa is hot on my tail.

"Hey!" she yells, "you didn't have to be so rude about it."

"Fuck off," I retort.

The walk back to my apartment is awkward. I am filled with anger and embarrassment and pain, and possibly a mixture of every other emotion.

I want Isa to say something. To make some sarcastic comment like she usually does, so I can snap at her. So I can unleash my anger on her.

But she doesn't. And strangely, that only makes me angrier than I am already.