I'm sorry guys, this whole school thing is throwing off my writing schedule. This was to be written earlier, but obviously I scrawled it out today. So I'm sorry. Also, another apology. The only people I will be personally acknowledging anymore are the reviews. I can't keep up with the follows and favorites anymore! It's sorta bittersweet. But thanks to everyone who followed or favorited!
Reviews:
Lovely Unicorn: Thanks for the recommendation! And thanks for rhea positive review! Glad you still like it!
PrincessEnchilada: I like Karen too! And Gally's okay…I felt like he needed to be there! Thanks a lot!
Jenna: I'm so glad you love it! Sorry this took so long… high school is just… ugh. It's totally fine, I'm weird too!
I hope I didn't miss anyone! I love you all!
"No, Syd! You don't chop onions like that!"
After my nightmare, I woke up sweaty and alone. When I peered out of my room, I saw the sun, peeking out from the vast, blue sky. I figured I might as well help make breakfast, and now, here I am, improperly chopping onions.
"Then how do you chop onions? Last I checked, there wasn't a proper procedure!" I snap at Frypan, my early morning irritation showing through. I'm trying to help, for Pete's sake!
Frypan lumbers toward me and plucks the knife from my hand. "Like this," he says with a sigh. He proceeds to chop the onion, making the pieces more delicate and fragile, but chopping harder with the knife.
"Okay, thanks." My hands reek and my eyes water. Who wants onions in their omelet anyway?
By the time I finish cutting up all the onions that had been piled before me, I wonder if the smell will ever go away. I stumble out from the kitchen, my eyes burning. Frypan sees me and waves me over.
"Here, Syd. Just serve these, then you can have a break." I nod, grateful to be out of the kitchen, and grateful for the promise of a break.
But when I see the long line of hungry boys waiting to be served, my heart drops a bit.
"Here," I muster out, while handing the first kid a plate. The process repeats. Smile, hand the omelet. Smile, hand the omelet.
By about the thirtieth omelet, I can no longer feign enthusiasm.
"Here," I sigh, wishing I was chopping onions again.
"Why, thank you, Syd." The voice is chipper. And British. I look up to see Newt, his eyes full of laughter. "Glad to see you're enjoying your job." He chuckles to himself.
"Not. Funny." He keeps smiling. "I signed up for cooking, not being a waitress!"
"Good that," Newt says, "Don't worry. The longer you work here, the better jobs you'll get."
"Whatever," I say, glancing at the impatient boy standing behind Newt.
Newt notices my gaze, and steps aside. "I'll let you get back to your job." He smiles and whistles as he limps away. "Oh!" he seems to remember something and turns back toward me. "Meet me by the edge of the forest later! Minho and I have a surprise for you!" He turns away again, without a further explanation.
I frown, puzzled. A surprise? That could mean anything.
The impatient kid clears his throat, snapping me out of my wondering. Disgruntled, I hand him his omelet. I hope it's cold.
As I serve the rest of the omelets, I can only wonder what surprise my two friends could have in store. There's not much they could give me, I think. Honestly, I am nervous about it. I like knowing exactly what's going on.
As I plop the final omelet into the hands of a grubby looking boy, I give a sigh of relief. I never want to see another omelet again. I pop back into the kitchen, to tell Frypan that I'm heading out.
"Hey, Frypan, I'm taking my break now!" My voice is a bit too cheery.
"Good that. Be back in an hour for lunch!" he calls. I inwardly groan. Why do we have to eat three times a day?
Instead, I shout, "Okay!" and head off in the direction of the forest.
P/B
"Oi! Sydney!" I see Newt and Minho beckon me from the line of trees.
"You're in for a real treat, Greenie!" I have given up on asking Minho to just call me Syd. The boy is a worthless cause.
"What exactly is the surprise?" Ever since the maze, I've been wary of surprises.
In answer, Newt produces a pair of ordinary scissors. He's got a devilish grin displayed on his face, and I'm even more worried.
"Wow, guys. Scissors. I'm touched, really." I smile at them, my words oozing sarcasm.
"Scissors aren't the surprise, shank!" Minho shakes his head, as if he can't believe my stupidity.
"Then what is?" I ask, utterly confused.
The boys simultaneously gesture toward a tree stump. Newt opens and closes the scissors. Everything clicks.
"OH, NO. THERE IS NO WAY I'M LETTING YOU GUYS COME NEAR ME WITH THOSE. UH-UH. NO WAY, HOSEA! NOT. GONNA. HAPPEN." I may need a haircut, but not from two teenage guys.
"Aww, come on, Syd! Trust us! You need a haircut, and I mean, how hard can cutting hair be?" Minho smiles, trying to reassure me, but I back up.
"No. I'm fine. I'll tie it back or something. You'll mess it up." Subconsciously, I reach up and finger my long, blond curls. It would be inhumane to chop them off.
"We're trying to help! We won't take too much off, I promise." Newt gazes at me hopefully.
Before I know what I'm doing, I've seated myself on the hard stump and crossed my arms.
"Be. Careful." I warn them. "I don't want to look bald. I don't want to look like a boy, I just need a trim," I emphasize.
"You got it, babe." Minho smirks.
"And don't call me babe." I hiss.
"You got it, Greenie."
I grumble and squeeze my eyes shut.
"You cut, I'll direct," I hear Newt say.
I reach up and stroke my long locks one last time. Before I have a chance to second guess myself, I say
"Go," and the clicking of scissors reaches my ears.
After a few minutes of hearing,
"To the left."
"No not that much."
"Even it out here."
And, "NO! WAIT, WAIT, WAIT! Haven't you ever cut hair before?", I open my eyes. On the green grass around me, golden curls litter the ground, like rays of the sun. I risk feeling the left side of my head, the place they started. It feels very short, falling a bit below my chin. I wish I could see it.
Newt clears his throat, "Umm…" I sense worry in his voice.
"What? What?"
"Oh, nothing." He smiles. "It's just my turn for the shears." He gives a pointed look at Minho, who begrudgingly hands them over. I feel Newt resume trimming my hair, and another piece falls to the ground. Now, Minho is telling Newt where to cut, and I feel slightly reassured. I'm positive that everything is okay. We go on like this for twenty minutes.
"WHAT ARE YOU TWO SHUCKS DOING?" The voice doesn't belong to Newt or Minho. My eyes dart up to see Jeff, his eyes wide as saucers. He observes the three of us, and the pile of hair on the ground.
"Um, nothing," Newt says, snapping out of our trance first. "What are you doing?"
"I was coming to check on Sydney's arm! Someone told me they saw her head this way!" He looks in bewilderment at our little trio. "What have you done?" he cries.
"She needed a haircut?" Minho's explanation comes out as a question.
"Does it look that bad?" I ask, suddenly worried about what my hair looks like after the past twenty minutes. My hand flies up, to find my curls left in uneven, chopped pieces. I scream. I look pleadingly at Jeff. "Can you fix it?" I can only imagine how terrible it looks. I release a small whimper.
"I can try," he says, determination alight in his eyes. "And you two," he says throwing a look toward Newt and Minho, "Go tell Alby what you did."
I can tell that they don't like being told what to do.
"We were just trying to be helpful," they mumble.
Jeff looks away and picks up the scissors that fell to the ground. I hear my friends' footsteps running toward the Homestead.
"Um," Jeff starts.
"Just tell me."
"It's going to be extremely short." He trails off.
"That's okay," I say through gritted teeth. "Just do it."
I squeeze my eyes shut again, trying to ignore the click of the scissors. How could I be so stupid? I never should have let them touch my hair, no matter how much I trust them! I am such a dipstick!
While I mentally beat myself up, Jeff quietly hums and snips away what was once beautiful hair.
"Done," he pronounces. I feel the breeze on my neck, a feeling that I am not accustomed to experiencing. I hesitantly lift my right hand to feel my hair.
It is almost all cut away. Judging by what my fingers feel, my guess is, it's maybe a little longer than Newt's. It's cut close to my head, and I can't find a single piece long enough to twirl around my finger. I feel a tear slide down my cheek, as I realize what I've given away. It will take years upon years to grow it back.
Unexpectedly, a fire lights within me. This is a new beginning. I have to make my own way here, and I have to be equal with all the other boys in this glade. With short hair, I can do more. It's a new me. And hey, maybe it looks cute! This new-and-improved Syd decides that the first thing she will be doing is beating up the two shucks that put her through this. I run my fingers through my short, freeing hair. Frypan will have to wait.
Right now, I have to go beat up my friends.
Okay, I tried to make this cute. Hope you liked it! Tell me how it was! Also, do you guys care if I use personal quotes of the day (like things I've heard people say) or do you want me to just do ones from books and movies? Tell me your thoughts! Xoxo!
Quote of the day:
"GRACE HAS BOB'S DEAD WIFE'S HEART!" –Return to Me