One West Keep twin sobered, touching the front of her hairline. “It’s really not all that funny. I had to take off nearly a foot of hair.”

“Oh please, it wasn’t that much,” Covington scoffed.

“Who cares about what came off,” the other twin said, wiping her eyes. “Do you remember what was left? It wouldn’t curl back! It just hung there, straight as a sting, no matter what we did.”

“She had to wear that scarf for three months,” East Keep added. “Like an old-world movie star. What color was it?”

“Yellow. It was yellow,” West Keep said, still fingering her injured scalp.

Her sister leaned over and gave her a hug. “But remember how Covington almost got caught by Jones when she tried to get you another color?” she said.

They smiled at each other. “Yes. She brought back every color of the rainbow, two of each shade.”

“So we could both wear them,” they said together. They’d told this story before.

I glanced at Covington. Her eyes, still red-rimmed, glowed as she surveyed the twins. “Eventually they forgave me,” she said. “But now, no one trusts me anywhere in the line, except at the front.”

Everyone laughed and the air in the room shifted, gently—to welcome me. Because it pleased her to boss me, I let East Keep choose my style for the next week.

“You’ll see. A chignon will be perfect,” she said.

My brow lifted. “How can you tell?”

“Well, first, it’s simple and classic, like you.”

I smiled.

“And also,” she said, making a face, “it’s low maintenance. Let’s face it, after today, you probably won’t even look at your hair until it needs twisting a month from now.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Covington rolled her eyes. “Arika, you’ve literally had the same hairstyle since the first day of school. Neat braids pulled back into a giant, angry bun.”

“So?”

“So,” she went on, “that was ten years ago. None of us are as in vogue as East Keep, but you’re off-the-charts nutty.”

Everyone laughed.

I smiled good-naturedly. She had a point. “If it’s that easy to do,” I said, “then you should be able to fix it.”

Covington paused, surprised. “I can do your hair?”

To prove I meant it, I scooted my chair so it was positioned in front of her.

The other girls sat frozen, looking between us. By my trusting their leader, we were all on the verge of a tentative truce.

I took a page from Covington’s book. “What are you waiting for?” I said. “Shift!”

They jumped and adjusted themselves around in a circle.

“What if your hair knots?” one twin said.

“You’ll have to cut it off!” said the other.

I shrugged one shoulder. “Bangs aren’t so bad.”

“But, what if you have to cut it all off? You’ll look like a field hand.”