How I Accidentally Become My Own Style Icon - SoGS #3

Plus, the cover art for Summer of Golden Sunflowers!

Previous snippet

I'm so happy to be sharing Emma's art for Summer of Golden Sunflowers with you this week! She is a super talented artist and I'm really grateful for her work on this beautiful painting.

If you only remember one piece of advice you ever hear in life, this is the most important one: When your stylist asks, “are you sure?” do NOT say “yes.”

Under any circumstances, do not say “yes.”

Although in my defense, I didn’t exactly say “yes.” I glanced at Ryleigh, who raised her eyebrows and nodded in that stern way of hers, and then I turned back to the stylist (who happens to be Ryleigh’s older cousin) with a tentative, “I guess so?”

But all the same, it was a mistake.

Our hair appointments ended up being a whole week after the whole picnic-blanket-duck-fiasco, and two very important things happened during that week that didn’t at all help prepare me for the emotional rollercoaster that was my hair appointment.

1. On Monday, after three more days in which I waited for Morning’s Glory to contact me – three days in which I should have been working somewhere, earning money – I finally gave up and applied for Delamore Funerals. The day I applied, Susan gave me a call and the next day I interviewed with her husband, the funeral director. Miserably, I decided to accept the job but only until school starts up again in late August. My first day is set for next Monday, less than a week after our hair appointments. I’m still secretly hoping that Morning’s Glory will call me back and I can just… switch jobs. If that’s a thing. (It must be, right?)

   
   

2. On Tuesday, Will Clemmons went into Ultimate Boba! I wasn’t there, unfortunately. Or maybe it was fortunate, considering how likely Ryleigh is to say something embarrassing about me or how likely I am to do something clumsy that makes me look like a dork.

   
   

   Anyway, Ryleigh was all-too-excited to share with me exactly what he said and did, and how he ordered an iced sweet tea, no boba. He never really struck me as a boba person (although not many guys do), so the sweet tea didn’t surprise me.

   
   

   And Ryleigh told me how she “casually mentioned me in conversation” and, once I stopped hyperventilating with fear as to what exactly she said, explained how interested Will seemed. Which, I have to admit, made my heart flutter a little. So he does know I exist.

   
   

   Of course, he’s known I exist for a long time, since we go to the same church and school and we’ve seen each other around town. I’ve just never really talked to him. So now he actually knows something about me. But with the youth event we’re likely both going to coming up this Saturday, his knowledge of my existence could make things a lot more awkward.

   
   

   The thing is, Ryleigh won’t tell me what exactly she told Will about me. Which is the scariest part, but what can I do? What’s done is done, and she wouldn’t say anything to wreck my upcoming romance with Will.

   
   

   Or lack thereof, depending on what happens when I actually talk to him.

Every day of the week before the appointment, Ryleigh sends me photos for inspiration – all of which I reject. A wolf cut would look terrible on me. There’s no way I’m dying my hair red or getting a perm. I think she’s joking when she suggests a bull cut… but I’m not so sure.

Ryleigh’s only rule is that it has to be completely different than anything we’ve ever done with our hair before. Which isn’t hard, since the only other hairstyle I’ve ever tried was a bob in middle school. I hated it and quickly went back to my usual longer style, letting my natural waves fall past my shoulders.

With each rejected idea, an idea slowly forms in my head, and by Wednesday I almost know what I want.

Well, I wouldn’t say I want it, but it’s the best I can come up with.

Finally, Wednesday comes and we’re actually feeling pretty confident. Ryleigh, whose naturally curly blonde hair bounces to her shoulders, decides to get it straightened with a U-shape cut. And balayage highlights, to add something different. Her cousin Marisa loves the idea and even shows her how to dry it straight each morning so it stays that way.

And no matter what Ryleigh may think of her new hairstyle, the deal is that it has to last all summer. We can’t go back to our old styles until school starts up in August.

Doing straight hair like Ryleigh won’t be different enough for me, since my hair is already long with a soft bend, not curly. So when I tell Marisa what I’ve formulated – with no pictures to reference – her eyebrows practically touch her hairline.

“Are you sure?” Her hands hesitate, hovering over the scissors on a table by the wall.

I catch Ryleigh’s firm gaze. This is about as different as I can allow myself to get. I take in a deep breath and let it out, but it turns into more of a sigh.

“I guess so,” my voice quavers a little, but I remind myself that it’s just for the summer. A new hairstyle isn’t that much of a change, and at least I can do this while I’m sixteen and not thirty. Plus, I only really care about my mom’s and Ryleigh’s opinions of my hair, and neither of them will judge me. If anyone, Mom will judge Ryleigh.

I watch as the floor is covered in hair clippings. I’m turned away from the large mirror, but I hope against hope Marisa knows what she’s doing. It seems like she’s chopping all of my hair off, and my head feels ten pounds lighter.

Kind of like it did when I got a bob.

Ryleigh waits patiently, chatting with her cousin for the next three hours. She leaves once to grab us coffee, bringing me my favorite latte from the local coffee shop – coconut, brown sugar, and cinnamon. That helps boost my spirits, and I join in the conversation while Marisa fiddles with my hair, doing who-knows-what.

Finally, Marisa announces she’s finished, turning me to face the large mirror on the opposite wall.

I kind of feel like Mia in The Princess Diaries, when she gets a makeover and is shocked to see what she looks like. Except, this time I don’t exactly look like a princess.

My hair falls just past my shoulders in long layers, framing my wide-eyed face in wispy bangs. Which is the best part of the whole cut. My natural wave doesn’t quite cooperate with those layers, and… I reach up and touch the pink tips of my hair. I’d chosen a color with a slightly peachy tint, but with my light brown hair, it looks almost…orange.

“Wow,” I breathe. “It looks… horrible.”

Marisa snorts. “Thanks a lot.”

“No, no! It’s my fault.” I stare at my hairstyle in dismay. I know it’s not Marisa’s fault, because Ryleigh’s hair looks amazing and Marisa did exactly what I asked. I guess I’d just imagined it different somehow. I close my eyes and think of the picture I’d had in my head earlier today.

Oh, right. That girl has waves that only come from a curling iron, and the pink tips in her hair are a shade brighter.

My eyes pop open, clashing with reality in the mirror. I look completely different, like some sort of backwards-style idiot.

“Ella!” Ryleigh’s delayed reaction doesn’t fool me. Her forced smile is a dead giveaway. “You look… gorgeous!” It comes out as more of a question though, forcing my eyes to tear up. Instantly Ryleigh’s face changes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – well, the length is beautiful.”

I just shrug, holding in my tears.

Marisa smiles compassionately, sweeping away the clippings on the floor. “It’s a completely different look than anything I’ve ever done before. But it actually suits you. Just don’t worry about how it looks right now. The color will fade a little bit, and you can use a curling iron to style your hair so the layers look just beautiful.” She faces me, setting the broom off to the side. “And even if you decide not to do any of that, just don’t care about what others think. You’re still beautiful.”

Ryleigh’s upbeat voice chimes in. “And, once August rolls around, Marisa can cut it right back to your normal style.”

I groan. “You’re going to make me keep it this way until then?”

“Well… don’t you have to keep it?”

I shrug again, not tearing my eyes from my reflection. “It’s not like I want to. Plus, you’re the one with the gorgeous cut. You don’t understand.”

Ryleigh barks a laugh, settling a hand on her hip. “I don’t understand, hm? Remember three years ago, when we decided to get a tan while we were at my grandma’s beach house as part of the bucket list?”

I can’t help but glance at Ryleigh with a tiny smile at the memory.

Ryleigh goes on. “You ended up with a gorgeous tan that lasted basically the whole summer. I just got an awful sunburn that had half the kids in the freshmen class calling me a tomato at the beginning of the school year. Plus, I don’t look good in any pictures from that summer.”

“Yeah, that was pretty bad.” I giggle. “Okay, I guess it is my turn to have the bad summer look.” I still feel the tiny pit of sadness in my chest as I glance once more at my haircut. This certainly isn’t the fun, summery activity I’d imagined. Actually, this summer hasn’t been going the way I imagined.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Ryleigh insists. “And just wait until your parents see it!”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Ryleigh, send a picture to my mom. Quick, before I change my mind.” My parents didn’t really have any restrictions, since it’s just for the summer, but I’m not sure they were expecting pink tips.

Oh, well. What’s done is done.

--

Ryleigh’s photo must have prepared my mom for seeing my hair, because as soon as I got home she told me how gorgeous I look and the length frames my face wonderfully and do I plan to keep it that particular shade of orange for a long time?

After insisting that it’s pink, I assure her that no, as soon as school starts back up I’m getting the tips chopped off.

I wake up the next day feeling refreshed and ready, no matter what my hair looks like. I don’t have to start at the funeral home until Monday, and I’m determined to get stuff done this week. I go on an early-morning run, then eat a bagel with cream cheese and get to work weeding my flower garden. I started it last year but haven’t done much with it, so I do my best to make it look more presentable. The sunflowers especially have been suffering from growing too close together, so I prune some out, placing them in a vase on my nightstand before moving on to clean my room.

The morning flies by and it’s two in the afternoon by the time I realize I should probably eat lunch. But as I pull out the ingredients for a salad, Ryleigh’s ringtone sounds from my phone.

I smile, even as I see her amazing hairstyle clash with my own on my phone screen. “Hey! What’s – ”

“Ella! Get over here! Now!” Ryleigh sounds breathless, and I can’t tell whether she’s angry or excited.

“Wha – ”

“Will is here! At Ultimate Boba! Again! You need to come, now.”

Suddenly all anxieties about my hairstyle are forgotten. “I don’t think I should – ”

“Ella.” Her voice turns stern. “If you don’t come to Ultimate Boba right now, I’ll invite Will to your house.”

“You can’t just – ”

“I will, if you don’t get over here.”

I sigh, knowing she’s serious. Of all people, Ryleigh would be the one to invite my crush over to my house simply because I didn’t want to go to the boba place.

“Fine, I’m coming. But it had better be worth it.” Without answering, Ryleigh hangs up.

I slump against the refrigerator for a moment, closing my eyes. It’s one thing to have that kind of faraway crush, when you know it could never be and you’ll probably never even meet the guy. It’s quite another to have your friend deliberately try to set you up with that faraway crush.

I’m at Ultimate Boba in three minutes, since I took my bike. And I have a feeling Will would be at my house for dinner if I took any longer.

Locking up my bike, I take in a deep breath and straighten my posture. I will not be clumsy. I will not look stupid. I can be very graceful when I want to, and right now I plan to be the most kind, serene, graceful Ella anyone’s ever seen.

The door to Ultimate Boba opens with a friendly ding! and I stride in, head held high. Under no circumstances will I consent to being embarrassed today.

“Ella!” Ryleigh practically slides across the tile floor, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the counter. “Funny that you’d show up right now. Will Clemmons is right over there!” Her louder-than-necessary voice draws Will’s attention, and we share an awkward smile and wave.

Will had better not interpret Ryleigh’s words to mean we talk about him a lot. Or I like him. He can never know that.

I turn back to Ryleigh, freezing her smile with a glare. “I’m skipping lunch for this.”

Ryleigh leans closer, her voice dropping. “Okay, but why didn’t you fix your hair before you came?”

Eyes widening, my hand flies to my head. My hair is thrown up in a messy bun from all my running around this morning, pink-orange tips sticking out of a hair scrunchie.

Ryleigh catches my look of horror and drags me to the back. “I don’t have a hairbrush with me, but we can figure something out.” She yanks the scrunchie out of my hair, combing her fingers through the unruly strands. “It doesn’t look too bad… here, I’ll braid it.”

All I can do is nod as she attempts to braid my hair. The new length doesn’t allow for much, but I’m hoping it achieves the messy-braid look without being too terrible. Ryleigh finishes it off with a smaller hairband she brought, letting my wispy bangs fall out to frame my face.

“There.” She grins. “Much better.”

I groan. “I can’t believe that happened. And it’s still orange!”

“It’s okay! The color doesn’t look bad in the braid. And your romance isn’t completely down the drain. You still have hope.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Go up and say hi.” She gives me a friendly little shove, and we emerge back into the shop. When my feet stall under me, she prods me again. “Go on! Unless you want me to introduce you…”

“No!” I roll my eyes. “Fine, I’ll say hi.”

I can feel Ryleigh’s eyes on me as I slowly approach Will’s table. When I reach him, he looks up at me and smiles, the teeniest dimple showing in his right cheek. Thankfully, he doesn’t even glance at my hair.

“Hey,” I say. “You’re Will, right? From church?” As if I don’t already know.

Will nods. “And you’re Ryleigh’s friend, Ella.” At my frozen look, he laughs. “She was kind of bragging on you earlier.”

“What?” My voice comes out breathy. While Ryleigh’s a wonderful friend and always means well, she can do a lot of damage with her hasty plans.

“Don’t worry, she just talked about what a great friend you are.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” I know it’s a lame thing to say, but my brain has refused to work. An awkward lull in the conversation (if you can even call it a conversation) has me searching for something else to say, when my grandmother’s famous saying pops into my head. “When in doubt, compliment.” I think she was quoting someone else, but I remember it from her all the same.

I glance at the floor, my gaze colliding with Will’s pristine white tennis shoes. “I like your shoes.” I promptly ignore how stupid I sound and push on. I’m not doing this for me anymore. I’m doing it to satisfy Ryleigh. “How do you keep them so… clean?”

Will glances at his feet, like he just remembered he was wearing shoes. He shrugs. “My mom makes me clean them. I like yours…” his voice trails off as he sees my feet, and I follow his gaze.

Oh, my.

Where my shoes are supposed to be are instead a pair of fuzzy purple… slippers?

I blink. Those are my slippers. The ones I wear at home because Mom keeps the house freezing cold. The ones I got from the White Elephant gift exchange last Christmas, and I kept because they were free.

The fuzzy, purple ones with pink hearts on them.

Without missing a beat, a smile grows on my face. “Don’t like them? It’s a trend.”

He raises his eyebrows, meeting my gaze again. “They’re… iconic. I didn’t know slippers were trending.”

“Oh, yes.” There’s nothing else to do in this moment, so I switch to a fake British accent, pulling a quote from the movie Ryleigh and I watched last week. “They’re terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future.”

At my Princess Bride reference, a laugh escapes his mouth, and then we’re both laughing hysterically. It lasts for a full moment before I finally catch my breath, heaving a sigh.

“I really should go back home and change my shoes. And just… fix myself.” With another laugh, I turn to leave, but change my mind and swing back to Will. “Actually…” this might be the most embarrassing moment of my life, and nothing can remedy humiliation better than the truth. “You should know something. I think Ryleigh’s trying to set us up.”

Instead of glaring or getting offended like I expect, he just laughs. “Yeah. I got that impression.”

I bite my lip. “Sorry. I guess she thinks it’s her job to… you know. Set us up or something. I promise, I tried to stop her, but… Ryleigh’s hard to stop with this kind of thing.”

He just shrugs, smiling. “That’s okay. I get it.”

“Okay. Well,” I turn again, pointing toward the exit. “See you around.”

“See you, Ella.”

I can’t tell if what I did – complimenting him, making jokes, then telling him the truth – was what I was supposed to do in that situation. Maybe I should have fled the store crying or something. But at least I still feel somewhat dignified after that. And after getting through humiliation to that extreme, I feel about ready for anything.

Even Saturday.