What's that? Jake leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. Can't hear you over all this improvement happening. Chase's grip tightened as she instinctively tried to pull away. "Better thank us, " he sneered.
"This stuff ain't cheap. " Logan zoomed in with his phone, capturing every detail of her humiliation. His silence somehow felt worse than Jake's taunts or Chase's laughter. The burning intensified. Bleach dripped down her face, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut.
Her carefully maintained braids done by her grandmother's loving hands just last weekend, now hung heavy and soaked with chemicals. There, Jake said, shaking the last drops onto her head. Now maybe you won't look so. What's the word I'm looking for? Chase.
Ghetto, Chase supplied, finally releasing his grip. That's it. Jake tossed the empty bottle into a nearby trash can. Consider this a public service. He stepped back, admiring their work.
Come on, boys. Our good deed is done. Logan lowered his phone, but kept recording as they backed toward the door. "This will make a great addition to the collection, " he said, his first words since entering the room. Don't worry, Jake called over his shoulder.
That burning means it's working. Their laughter echoed down the hallway long after they'd gone. Ariel stood frozen against the lockers, bleach dripping onto the floor around her feet. The chemical smell burned her nose, and her scalp felt like it was being stabbed with hundreds of tiny needles. Moving slowly, she grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and tried to blot the worst of it.
But the damage was already done. In the mirror, she could see patches of her dark braids already starting to lighten, the bleach eating away at the color. The late bell rang, its sharp sound making her jump. She had to get out of here. Had to get home.
Had to. Ariel gathered her things with shaking hands. Her shirt was soaked through in places, and every movement sent fresh waves of burning across her scalp. She pushed through the door and into the empty hallway, keeping her head down as she made her way to the school's exit. The walk to the bus stop felt like miles.
A few students lingered outside, their conversations dying as she passed. She could feel their stares, hear their whispers, but she kept walking. The bus arrived right on schedule. Ariel climbed aboard, the familiar steps now feeling like a mountain climb. She slid into an empty seat near the back, gripping the edge until her knuckles turned white.
Other students filed on, filling the seats around her. Some glanced her way, taking in her wet hair and the strong chemical smell, but they quickly turned away. No one sat next to her. No one asked if she was okay. They all just pretended not to see like they always did.
The bus lurched forward, and Ariel pressed her forehead against the cool window, trying to focus on anything except the burning in her scalp and the shame burning in her chest. The front door creaked as Ariel stepped into her grandmother's small but tidy house. The familiar scent of lemon furniture polish and fresh laundry usually brought comfort. But today it couldn't cut through the harsh chemical smell that clung to her. "Baby, is that you?
" Ms. Thelma's voice called from the kitchen. "You're home early. " Her words cut off as she stepped into the hallway. The dish towel she'd been holding dropped to the floor. "Oh, Lord Jesus, what happened to you?