“No, not literally.” I suck my teeth in annoyance, mostly directed at myself. I thought I had at least two working brain cells, but apparently they’ve both gone on vacation now that I’m talking to Ana.

“I think it’s cool that you’re going natural,” she says. “Screw white beauty ideals.”

“Oh. Um, thanks.” I hadn’t ever thought of my hair as being a statement on race or something. It just doesn’t look good natural, and Mom likes it better straight.

“I thought I was going to, like, spontaneously combust when Mr. B was talking to you about your hair the other day,” she says, rolling her eyes. “So annoying.”

“For real.”

“Sorry I didn’t say anything to him,” she says, looking down at the tabletop. She hooks her hand behind her neck, rubbing the neckline of her fitted white T-shirt between her thumb and forefinger. I think I’m getting better at figuring out what’s going on behind Ana’s composed facial expressions because, even though her face is blank, I would guess that she’s feeling embarrassed.

“I mean, I didn’t say anything either.” I shrug. She shouldn’t feel bad about that. In the grand scheme of things, so what if we have to suck it up and ignore a few weird comments from a teacher? That’s how life works. “I was glad you were there,” I add.

“This is all so messed up,” she says flatly. “I can’t believe I cut back on dancing at my studio to do this annoying school musical.” In one smooth motion, she flips her whole body toward me and tilts her head quizzically to the side. “Do you ever wonder how far you would go to get the scholarship?”

“It’s kind of hard not to, especially when I’m watching Brittany suck up to Mr. B all the time.” I point to my hair and make a face. “Obviously I’m willing to go pretty far to impress him, though, or else I wouldn’t be trying to wrangle this disaster.”

“It’s not a disaster.”

“Um, do you need your eyes checked?”

“You’ve messed with your texture because you straighten it so much, but you just need to learn how to take care of it.” She leans toward me, examining my hair thoughtfully.

“Easy for you to say. Your hair is naturally perfect.” I catch a whiff of something sweet as she enters my personal space. Is that scentwork on her clothes? Wait, no, that’s coming from her curls. Fuck me, her hair even smells great.

“You think my hair just does this?” she says, pointing at her head. “We live in Florida, Shay. It’s humid as hell. I use a lot of potions so I don’t look like a Chia Pet.”