MEGAN. TIME TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT.
“I’m gonna have to… I’m going to have to consider that,” Megan said, her voice barely there. “Could we… change the subject?”
“Sure. Seems reasonable,” Angie said, her voice sounding sad. Then, less sad, as she looked at Megan with widened eyes, she said, “You have so much hair now!”
“Your hair’s all goooone!” Megan wailed, letting her sorrow at that fact show in her voice. She’d been mourning Angie’s hair since she’d learned it was gone.
“Yeah,” Angie said, her voice cool and sad again. “It started feeling like a burden after a few months. I mean, it was past my butt. It was pretty crazy to realize how much work you and Beth and Cali[1] and—” She shrugged, pausing, then said, “Just, like, without our constant sleepovers I went from having a bunch of people whose idea of a good time was to brush and style and take care of my hair to…” She shrugged again. “Ryan and Evan tried to help Cali for a while, and did a good job, but they just couldn’t maintain much enthusiasm for it. After a couple of months I decided the time had come for a change, and I chopped it all off. Been rocking hair shorter than Ryan’s ever since.”
[1] California Cadell. Age 13. She’s not Evan’s little sister. Evan is her older brother.
A couple of months?! The same sinking, flipping sensation in her stomach she’d felt seeing Angie’s profile pics the week before hit Megan all over again. Angie’s hair had been short since seventh grade? Asphodel hadn’t been that big a middle school! How hadn’t Megan realized this?!
And further, Megan hadn’t at any point thought about how much work Angie’s hair must have been. Because her own hair wasn’t that much, really. Then, she considered whether she might be able to jump into the sun, as she realized she was about to have the Hair Conversation, which she always hated, with Angie, and with the worst possible lead in. “Ah,” she said, her voice, at least, appropriately hollow. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize either.”
Angie quirked the corner of one lip up, her eyes still sad. Here it came. “Yeah,” she said. “Powers though, your hair looks amazing!” she continued, slowing her pace and gazing over at Megan’s tumble of hair. It wasn’t past her butt, but it was close, and would be well past if it was straight—a voluminous mass of wide looping curls pinned and tied back out of her face into a cascading pile which more or less engulfed her backbag entirely. “You really went all out for the first day, huh? It’s like you’re ready for prom, or the shitting Silver Spheres. Did you and your mom get up at like three AM to do all that? Is that a really good perm? Do your parents shell out to get it charmed to maintain that for a while?”
“Eh heh,” Megan said, doing her best to not let her smile look as fake as it felt. “Um. Well. You know, um, so honestly I just, you know, just wash it at night, I mean I use pretty nice alchemical shampoo and conditioner, my mom springs for Glindason’s Gilded Curls, from Glindason’s Apothecary? It’s a little place down in south Bellevue, Lauren introduced me, she buys the highest end stuff but we can’t afford that, not that she needs that much, she only washes her hair for real twice a season, but anyway what I get, it’s for curly blonde hair even though my hair’s just wavy, it isn’t proper curly like Beth’s or Nisha’s, but it’s not for getting curly blonde hair, you know? It’s just designed for real curls and I just get it because it, um, works good.
“But I um wash it at night because it takes too long to deal with in the morning and then I towel dry it and run a little leave-in conditioner through the ends and put it into a few big tight buns so that I can sleep without drowning in it, you know, and then um I take a second shower in the morning to wash off the night—I mean, that’s a weird way to put that I don’t know why I said it that way—with the buns under a shower cap? And um then I release the buns and um. This kinda pops out. Um. Like fake snakes from a trick nut can? Like your cousin had when he visited that summer?”
Angie’d nodded along slowly as Megan babbled. “Megan,” she said after a moment. “I think you just told me you kinda put it up in buns overnight and then let it down and it just does that. And you don’t use magic to make it do that.”
“I mean, I don’t actually have proper curly hair, I just use the shampoo and conditioner for people with curly hair?” Megan said. “It is alchemical, though.”
Angie nodded, slowly, again. “Megan, that’s ridiculously unfair. Before I was hurt, now I’m just angry.” Then she stuck her tongue out, startling a peel of laughter out of Megan, and picked up her pace. “Come on. Ryan’s probably bugged my phone and has started listening in by now to figure out what’s taking me so long.” Heart ringing in relief, Megan matched Angie’s pace.
Six or so meters up ahead, from behind a low retaining wall which held back someone’s garden where the street they were on intersected a tracked avenue—a wall which might barely conceal Angie if she were behind it, but anyone taller would be visible—a male voice said, “Hey!”
Angie flashed a quick grin at Megan: Megan’s favorite grin, the one that back in the day Angie’d only used rarely, and almost always only for Megan and Evan, and Ryan when he came along. Joyful and full of mischief. Megan knew it must be more about Ryan than her, but she felt a thrill even so.
A few more moments and steps brought them around the corner. There, Ryan d’Maughn, a short, slim, sharp-faced boy with hair so blonde it was nearly white, leaned against the wall, one foot up against it. He had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, resting on his hip, held an Information Phone[1] in one hand, and wore black jeans, a tight black t-shirt, and a pair of gray Vans. There was no sign of a gun on him anywhere, which was curious. Megan would have thought that he and Evan would be all over carrying sidearms now that they were firstagers and were permitted (or, for some people, forced) to have them in public.
[1] It looked like the latest model!
As they approached, he pushed off the wall and all but tossed his phone into his pocket, starting to speak as he did so. His tone was dry, and the tenor in his voice was foreign to Megan, clashing with her memories of him in primary school. “If I were to do something so déclassé as—”
Stolen story; please report.
Angie cut him off by saying, "Pay up," and holding out her hand as they approached.
For just a moment, Ryan’s narrow jaw dropped and he, well, his expression must have been what the word ‘boggled’ was invented to describe. “Wait,” he said, “She genuinely seriously didn’t KNOW we—”
Angie cut in, her voice not loud, but emphatic enough it silenced Ryan: “Doesn’t.”
Ryan snapped his mouth shut, and took a breath, said, “Let's put a pin in this,” miming using a pushpin with his thumb on... whatever you'd use a pushpin on. A cork or bulletin board. Angie nodded. Ryan looked at Megan and asked, “Do you mind?” Megan shook her head numbly. She'd stood frozen the whole time, simply trying to process the exchange.
“So, if I were to do something so déclassé as to listen into a private conversation of yours through your phone,” he said, his tone the same as he’d started, as if he and Angie hadn't just had that exchange. However, even as he spoke he reached into his bag and pulled out a small coin purse. “I would simply need to hack it,” he continued as he poured out a handful of golden finches, four or five at least. A lot of coin for a firstager, particularly Ryan. “It’s the sixteen teens,” Ryan finished, handing the coins to Angie. “There’s no need for anything so complicated or gauche as actually physically modifying someone’s phone. And I just heard you guys, anyway.”
“Your hearing’s so good it eeries me right out sometimes, Snow,” Angie said, as she unslung her backbag from one shoulder and deposited the coins in one of the pockets. She then stepped forward and wrapped one hand around his upper arm, allowing Megan to determine that he still stood shorter than Angie by at least five centimeters—Megan must still be taller than him, even. This had been the case the whole time she’d known him, of course, she’d just expected it to have finally changed at this point.
“I’m sorry, Matchstick,” Ryan said, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.[1] He wore mascara and perhaps a touch of other makeup, though if so it was applied skillfully enough Megan couldn’t be sure. The mascara was black or perhaps dark blue—his eyes were just as startling a shade of robin’s egg blue as Megan remembered. “I suppose I could stab my eardrums with a pencil or screwdriver or something to help you out there, but I feel like that’ll just lead to bigger problems.”
[1] Despite the circumstances, a big part of Megan wanted to squeal for joy and jump up and down in delight. She restrained herself.
[2] Surveys indicate that approximately 63% of Fredonics who identify as male, 77% who identify as female, and 71% who identify as something else use personal cosmetics on a daily basis.
Angie rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah, that’s not an optimal solution, you twit,” and returned the kiss.
Ryan turned his gaze on Megan, one eyebrow arching up, up, and up even more. “Hey Megs. Been a minute. You gonna close your mouth or what?”
Megan’s jaw must have dropped when Ryan had kissed Angie. She closed her mouth, instead grinning at Angie with joy and delight in her heart. “You did it! Good for you!”
“Yeah, I really knocked it out of the park,” Ryan said, grinning, before Angie could respond. “I managed to score this smart, tall, lovely redhead as my girlfriend. She’s way too good for me, and eventually she’s going to wise up and realize it. ‘S weird, she’s pretty bright otherwise.”
“I’m sixteen and a quarter.[1] Just being taller than you doesn’t qualify me as tall,” Angie said, rolling her eyes. “And she was talking to me.”
[1] Decimeters. Or 162.5cm, if you prefer, but that’s not how Fredonics think of their heights.
“I know,” Ryan said, his eyes focused about two feet in front of him as he wagged one finger back and forth, as if trying to choose beside two invisible somethings floating in the air. “I think, fiiiirrrrst...” His grin redoubled—this was the slick, confident Ryan he’d become by sixth grade. “What’s shakin’, Megan?”
A giggle chimed its way out of Megan’s lips. “Oh Ryan,” she said with surprise, chuckling more, “You really still...?” The grin started to fade from his face, and one of his eyebrows started climbing up, and Megan let loose another jingle of laughter, as something unknotted in her belly, and she said, “Ha! Okay, we’re doing this! My butt! My butt’s what’s shakin’!” and she did a shimmying, butt shaking dance, a dance she’d not done for years. Once, this had been the way Ryan had routinely greeted her, and her routine response. It felt a little silly doing it as a firstager, but at the same time, immensely comforting.
Laughter burst from the other two teens and it took all three of them more than a few moments to quell their giggling.
“Powers Above, Megs, have you been practicing that?” Ryan asked, wiping one of his eyes and grinning wide. “Those were some moves!”
Angie stifled another giggle and bumped him with her hip. “Don’t tease!”
“I am absolutely not teasing,” Ryan said, fully sincere.
“Okay then, don’t be too appreciative. She ditched us for literally years!” Angie said that, but she still sounded happy. A shining motorcar rolled by them, the well-dressed lady inside glancing at them curiously, a trio of young distractions on her way to work in her unnecessary toy.
“It was middle school, Ange. And shit was fucked,” Ryan said. He wasn’t looking at Angie, though—he was watching Megan, his odd blue eyes steady. “It’s you and Evan,” and at that he did glance at Angie, one brow slightly raised, “That are mad about it. I’ve always understood.”
Megan found herself blinking back tears again. “You don’t mean that.”
“Sure I do,” Ryan said, smirk spreading into a wicked grin. “I understand you’re a coward.” Megan winced. “Besides, I had so much more free time than I would have with you getting in our hair all the time. Oh!” He reached up into the air and mimed pinching and pulling something with his index and thumb. “Let’s unpin now. You don’t know? How could you possibly not know?”
Megan winced once more. “I don’t know, Ryan. I don’t know how I don’t know, because I don’t know it!”
“Yeah, sure, but it’s wild,” Ryan said, his tone almost admiring. “Makes sense I guess, though. If you’d known earlier and hadn’t immediately come crawling back, you certainly wouldn’t have done so today.”
Megan closed her eyes. “Gods, you guys are killing me.”
“Try feeling like that for three years,” Angie said, knocking a fresh chip out of the rim of Megan’s heart. Angie started walking again. “Come on. Evan’s waiting.” To Ryan she said, “He going to be surprised by Megan?”
“He’s going to be a smug bastard over winning the bet,” Ryan said, sounding annoyed.
“You guys had a bet,” Megan said, her voice coming out hollow. “Evan too?”
“Duh,” Ryan said. “How could we possibly not?”
“I don’t know, Ryan!” Megan said, her voice instead coming out hysterical, which she didn’t think was better. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Ryan glanced at Angie, who walked on without acknowledging it, her face blank and her narrow eyes hooded. Then he looked back to Megan, and said, “You will soon enough. I’ll bet good money that first bell won’t ring before you’ve figured it out.”
Megan ruminated on that a moment. Then she looked at Angie, and asked, “Hey, does he have a gambling problem?”
Angie burst out giggling, and Megan smiled through her fear at her long-lost friend’s delighted laughter as Ryan scrunched up his nose and puckered his lips at them, as a child might.