Could her life be any more perfect?


11. How

I attacked my hair with my straighteners.

How come my hair had become so unmanageable recently? The ends had gone limp and dry from my recent excessive straightening, yet other parts of my hair were wild and frizzy.

I dabbed at the prominent bags under my eyes with concealer and then at one particularly stubborn freckle, then I headed downstairs into the lounge.

Dad was sat at the sofa again, his stomach protruding from underneath his shirt, a cigarette held over the edge of the sofa. Occasionally the ashes would drop off onto the carpet.

"Dad?" I asked.

"Yes sweetie?"

"Haven't you got work?"

"No not today, I'm on a break." He strained a smile. "Why were you up so early today? You haven't got school until 8:10."

I shrugged. "Dad, can I have a haircut some time soon? My hair's a mess."

For a moment I swear he was going to frown. Instead, he grinned. "Yeah sure!" He grabbed his bulging wallet and pulled out a few tenners.


When I arrived at school I noticed a few strange looks from Jasmine.

"What?" I snapped eventually.

"Nothing." she insisted hastily.

"Blatantly it is something. Say it."

"It's just that you've started to look completely different... don't get me wrong, you look better. But you're hair's totally different and like you're freckles have vanished."

I rolled my eyes. "I was just tired with how I looked, okay?"

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