Chapter: Straight Hair

Emily sat on Alison's bed, her fingers combing absently through the strands of her freshly straightened hair. The scent of the heat protectant still lingered, mixing with Alison's signature vanilla perfume that filled the room. Alison was at her vanity, brushing through her own golden waves, glancing at Emily in the mirror every so often.

"You know," Alison said, tilting her head as she examined Emily, "your hair looks really good like that."

Emily glanced up, caught off guard by the compliment. "Oh—thanks." She tucked a strand behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious.

"I mean it," Alison continued, turning around to face her fully. "It suits you. You should wear it straight more often."

Emily's stomach flipped at the casual suggestion, the way Alison's voice carried that effortless authority that always made Emily want to agree. She had straightened her hair that morning mostly because she had time, but now, hearing Alison say it like that, it felt like a rule—a new standard she suddenly wanted to meet.

Alison grinned. "You almost look like a different person."

Emily forced a small laugh, but something about that statement stuck with her. She wasn't trying to be different—was she?

That week, Emily found herself reaching for her straightener every morning, running the hot plates through her naturally wavy hair until it fell sleek and smooth around her shoulders. She barely noticed how it became routine, how she started waking up earlier just to make sure it was perfect.

The other girls didn't comment at first, but Hanna was the first to notice. "Okay, Em," she said one afternoon at lunch, stealing a fry from Emily's tray. "What's with the new hair obsession?"

Emily shrugged, pretending it wasn't a big deal. "Nothing. Just… trying something new."

Hanna raised an eyebrow. "Mmm-hmm." She exchanged a knowing glance with Spencer, who smirked but said nothing.

It wasn't until a few days later, when Emily caught herself checking her reflection in a store window, making sure her hair was still pin-straight, that she realized how much Alison's words had taken root.

She ran her fingers through the smooth strands, her reflection staring back at her. Was she doing this because she liked it? Or because Alison did?

And if it was the latter, did that even matter?