“Oh. Yeah. Of course. I um—”

Connie stood us and stretched out her arms before reaching down to pick up her bag. “You don’t have to walk me out.”

“No, I—”

“Relax, I know my way.” She smiled stiffly.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You fucking better.”

“I hope I do,” I whispered back, but she was already in the hallway. I waited and listened for her footsteps retreating before the slamming of the door echoed throughout the house.

I switched the record off before I finally exhaled, and spent the rest of the evening lying on the couch in silence.

Chapter 7

June 1994

“Are you gonna do something with your hair?”

“Hardly.”

“Come here, let me curl the ends of it or something.”

“What’s the point? You know I don’t—”

“Alex,” she whined, pouting as she set the curling iron down to cross her arms. “Come on. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn,” I snarked, but then Connie reached out and touched my wrist and the argument was won, just like that.

I sat in her desk chair and she began to comb her fingers through my hair, occasionally scraping along my scalp. And I liked it, liked it so much that I probably would have let her do anything she wanted—a princess braid or a fancy updo or a mullet, if she really set her mind to it—absolutely anything at all, so long as her hands stayed right where they were.

My own hands were shaking as I reached over for my glass.

“Stay still. I don’t wanna burn the back of your neck.”

“Hurry up then. I’m thirsty.”

In the mirror, I saw her frown back at me. “You’re so bloody impatient.”

“I’m bored.”

She rolled her eyes before combing through my hair one final time, letting it fall in loose waves around my shoulders. It looked almost in the same style as hers, I realized, if my hair was just a little longer. And strawberry blonde. She bent down, studying us both up close in the mirror, and my heart skipped when a small smile spread across her face, lighting up her eyes—small, but genuine. She squeezed my shoulder lightly and I almost reached out to touch her, to stop her from pulling away. I wanted her to stand over me, as she was, for a little longer. I wanted to look at us both, our reflections quiet and contented.

“You know, you don’t look half bad tonight,” she mused as she stood up, and I clenched my fingers to keep from reaching out. Instead, I snorted.

“Was that a compliment from the great Connie O’Reilly? Do my ears deceive me?”

Connie took one last look in the mirror, checking for at least the sixth time that her makeup, hair, and clothing were in place. Her locks curled around each other, flowing over her shoulders and back. The lipstick she wore matched her red jacket, paired with tight black jeans. Those startling eyes shone brightly against her dusty pink eyeshadow.