“Better than mine.” I blow out a long breath, rustling the frizzy bangs hanging past my eyebrows. I should have waited to get it done. I got a fresh relaxer yesterday, and even slept with my head hanging off the bed to preserve the curls our hairdresser put in, but they’re still kind of smushy. They have frizzed and retracted with the humidity.

“Maybe Kayla can help?” Mona asks, but doubt colors her voice. We both know Kayla can’t be bothered half the time.

I wish Mama was here to do it, but she and Daddy are at an event with the mayor. As usual.

“Worth a shot,” I say and hope Kayla’s in a good mood.

I walk up the hall to Kayla’s room. Anita Baker’s “Sweet Love” floats through the door. Kayla still records the Quiet Storm from the radio to a cassette tape. She’s probably listening to one of her mixes. I bang on the door.

“Who is it?” she asks over the music.

I roll my eyes. She knows who it is. Our parents aren’t here and only the good Lord knows where Keith is. You can bet Friday’s paycheck it involves some fast tail girls and a six-pack. He’s got no business messing with either, which only makes them both more appealing.

“It’s Whitney Houston. Who do you think it is? Can I come in, Zee?”

The door flies open unexpectedly and I stumble forward, head first.

“What do you want?” Kayla asks, arms folded under her breasts barely contained in a skimpy tank top. “Is it time to go already? I thought the dance doesn’t start ’til seven.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” I take my life into my hands and sidestep her, entering her inner sanctum. “I was hoping you could help me with my hair?”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing in assessment. Anita Baker serenades us while I wait, tensed and ready for rejection, until she finally shrugs.

“Meet me in the bathroom.”

Thirty minutes later, not only has she restored my curls to their former glory, but she’s even applied a little makeup for Mona and me. Mama still doesn’t like me wearing makeup yet, but one night won’t hurt.

“This red looks good on you, Tru,” Kayla says. She pops her lips at me. “Do like that.”

I imitate her lip pop and glance in the mirror.

“Wow.” My eyes, fringed with mascara-lengthened lashes and lined with black pencil, look bigger. Darker. Older.

“Right?” Kayla leans back, studying her handiwork. “You gonna kiss it all off tonight?”

Even though I know a blush wouldn’t show through my skin, I’m still glad for the color she applied to my cheeks.

“Um, I dunno.” I shrug. “Maybe.”

“I bet Jeremy will want to,” Mona sing-songs. “He’s kissed a lot of girls in our class, and they all say he’s great at it.”