Braids
Every morning, after she got up and had her breakfast, she would ask her mother to braid her hair. At the beginning of the year, they were just two short little tails that hung from her head. They were scraggly little things, tiny and limp. She loved them nonetheless. She would skip off to school, her braids bouncing against her backpack, whipping through the air.
She'd twirl them between her fingers and chew on the ends during class. They rested comfortably on her shoulders when she wasn't fiddling with them. And when she went back home, she'd undo her braids and go to sleep.
Rinse and repeat.
By the end of third grade, her braids hung down to her stomach. She loved her long hair. It swished around her neck and swept over her shoulders, like a beautiful curtain. She swore to herself that she would never cut it off.
On a day that was just like any other, a new boy appeared in her class.
"We have a new student in our class today. His name is Drew. Please make him feel welcome, kids!"
He was seated directly behind her.
Drew was the type of boy who enjoyed a bit of trouble. He was a trickster and a joker. He stirred up drama, then weaseled his way out of a punishment with a heart melting smile. Adults loved him for his innocent smile, and the students loved him for his troublemaking antics.
She couldn't stand him. His dishonesty, his teasing remarks, everything he did maddened her. He couldn't stand her either. She was too rule abiding and closed off for him. Her smile was reserved for special people, and his was shared for the world.
When paired together to do an assignment, the two would huff and puff at each other until they were assigned new partners. They simply couldn't get along. Every day was a struggle. Another argument, another fight, another trip to the principal's office, another call to their parents.
Months slowly trudged by, and Christmas came. The class was making little paper snowflakes to decorate the classroom. The teacher demonstrated the proper folding and cutting technique, then set the kids loose.
The classroom floor was soon littered with paper scraps and snippity sounds. The scissors sliced through the paper and soon snowflakes started to pile up on desks, each with a different pattern and shape. The students chatted and laughed.
Drew was the first to finish.
Bored, he spun the scissors in his hands. There was nothing to do.
His eyes scanned the room until they fell on the back of May's head, right in front of him. Today, her hair was in braids. Just like every other day. They were tied with a black hairband with little bells on them that jingled with each step she took. Almost like a cat collar.
Braids were so boring, he thought. Why did she keep wearing her hair like that? Other girls in the class had long outgrown them, yet May stubbornly refused to change her hairstyle.
They were awfully ugly.
He decided to do her a favor, and get rid of them. He could see her flushed, angry face already. His hand darted forward, and with a single snip, one of her braids tumbled down onto the floor.
At first, it was quiet.
May swiveled around in her seat, confused. She patted the back of her head, and felt the nothingness where her hair used to be. Slowly, she shifted her eyes to the floor, where her hair lay in a lump. Her eyes widened. She looked up at Drew, who was trying to stifle a laugh, and failing.
She was at a loss for words. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She felt the wetness in her eyes, and willed her tears not to come out.
Then, she started to cry. Shoulder shaking sobs, tears dripping down her rosy cheeks. Droplets clung to her eyelashes and blurred her vision.
Drew's laughter subsided. He looked at her, in shock and slightly scared. May didn't cry. She was tough and could handle anything. It was just hair, just a joke, so why was she crying like someone had died? It wasn't funny anymore. Now, he just felt guilty.
The teacher noticed. She rushed over in her high heels, saw the tangle of hair on the ground, and immediately sent them both to the office.
She was still crying. Even on the walk there, her tears wouldn't stop. He didn't know what to do. Was he supposed to pat her shoulder? Would that be weird, since he was the one who caused the crying? It was just a stupid joke, he kept saying to himself. It was her fault for taking it so seriously. So why did he still feel bad? He was tired feeling so horrible. He didn't do anything wrong.
"Stop crying," he told her.
She paused for a moment, then looked up at him, her eyes still wet and red.
"Crying is useless. It won't get you anywhere," he continued.
"You're useless," she retorted, then sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
He sighed dramatically. "Why are you making such a big deal out of this? It's just a braid."
After all, braids were just strands of hair. Why someone would be so attached to their hair, he couldn't understand.
"I love my braids.." she murmured under her breath. "I'm sure you'd cry if you lost something you loved too."
He scoffed.
"You don't love anything?" He felt her eyes on him.
"Not really," he responded.
"What about your mom and dad?" she persisted.
"I guess."
"It must be sad, not to love," she said softly.
He had no response.
The rest of the day passed in a dull blur. They talked to the principal, he wrote a half hearted apology letter, and they went home.
She stayed up all night staring at the girl in the mirror. Her uneven, choppy haircut looked ridiculous. She couldn't wear it down, in her trademark braids, or even a single, thick braid down her back. There was nothing she could do, but to try to even it out. The scissors sliced as her brunette locks fell to the floor.
Her hair didn't even reach her shoulders now.
Night fell and morning came. She got up and had her breakfast, but her mother didn't braid her hair. She didn't skip off to school. Her braids didn't bounce against her backpack, and they didn't whip through the air. They didn't rest on her shoulders during class, and she didn't chew on the ends.
She stayed home that day. She didn't bother changing out of her pajamas and watched cartoons until her eyes felt sore. Her hands would float to her shoulders to toy with her braids, only to realize that they were gone.
At one o clock sharp, the doorbell rang.
She reluctantly left her spot on the couch and swung the door open.
There stood Drew, still dressed in his school uniform, face flushed, holding a small Roselia plushie.
"It's for you." He shoved the plushie into her hands, as he avoided her eyes.
She looked at the little Roselia. It was awfully careworn. One of its eyes had fallen off, and someone had sewn a black button on where it's old eye should have been. Its seams were ripping and the stuffing had started to fall out. One of his roses was missing as well.
"Why?" she asked.
"Something I love. In exchange for taking away something you love," he explained.
"Thanks."
She handed the plushie back to Drew. "But I can't take it."
"I want you to have it." He passed it back to her. "You need something else to love."
Her mouth slowly curled into a small smile. She hugged the Roselia to her chest and kissed its forehead.
She didn't miss her braids so much.
Oh gosh. Sorry they're so out of character. Please rate and review!