“No.” She tries to pull away.

“Yes.” I tighten my grip.

“What can I do ya for?” The perky purple-haired girl asks.

“Her hair is falling out. I need you to make it stop.”

“No!” Avery’s fight comes back.

I still don’t let go of her hand.

“I’m not doing this.” She looks around, using her whole weight to try to pull away from my hold. “What is this place?” Her head shakes continuously.

“Savvy Savings Salon.” Purple Hair smiles.

“No. Hell no! I can’t let you touch my hair.”

I grit my teeth behind my smile, getting in my fucking annoying little princess’s face. “Here’s the deal. You get a haircut right here, right now, and I take you all the way to California. You have another ridiculous meltdown and I leave you here. No ride. No money. No phone. What’s it going to be?”

Another sob escapes Avery. I’m so numb to it at this point.

Purple Hair sticks out her lower lip. “Oh, no … it’s okay. I’ll get you fixed up. I promise.”

I drag Avery toward the chair. She shuffles her feet like the death row walk, eases into the chair while hiccupping on another sob, jerking her hand away from me while Purple Hair puts a cape around her.

“Looks like someone hasn’t been taking care of her hair extensions.” Purple Hair sticks her lower lip out again, giving Avery puppy dog eyes.

“It-it’s h-his fault.” Avery shoots me a scowl. “We’ve b-been camping.”

“It’s okay. I’m going to fix you right up.”

“Great. You do that. I have a dog to feed and walk.” The bell at the top of the door jingles when I push my way out of the cloud of estrogen and sheer male hatred.

An hour later, the door jingles again. I look around for Avery. No Avery.

“She’s in the bathroom … with my nail polish remover.” Purple Hair grimaces. “She’s been in there awhile. I had to take quite a bit off. I told her short hair is in. I think she looks really cute.”

Avery’s locked herself in the bathroom again. Just great.

I drop $40 on the counter.

“I’ll get you change.”

I shake my head, walking to the ladies’ room. “Keep it. I’m sure you deserve it at this point.”

“Avery?” I knock on the door.

“All … most …” Her voice sounds strained. “… done.” The door swings open.

No more tears.

No more fire breathing.

Just Avery with layered, chin-length hair. No makeup. No polish on her fingernails or toenails.

Just. Avery.

She stares at my chest, but I’m not wearing a special shirt for her. What is she staring at?

“Much better.” I smile, but she doesn’t look up at me. “Let’s go.”

She follows me, still scuffing her mismatched flip-flop clad feet along the ground. I open her door for her.