I was taking my sweet time putting on my shoes—the new sneakers I bought the other day while hanging out with Kaho-chan and Ajisai-san—when Haruna called, “Get a move on, Oneechan. I’m leaving without you.”
“Oh, okay. One sec.”
I scrambled to my feet so fast I almost pitched forward. Waaagh!
“What are you doing?” my sister asked. I managed to catch myself at the last second by grabbing on to her. That had been a close one.
“Falling. Because you rushed me,” I snapped.
“Well, no duh. It’s time for your appointment. It’s your fault you slept in until noon.”
The look on her face said No duh. So did her mouth, funnily enough. Looked like we had a visitor from the planet of No duh over here…
“We have a lot to do today,” she continued, “so pick those feet up and march. First, we’re hitting the salon.”
“Right.”
I followed my sister on sleepy feet as she powerwalked down the road. Our usual salon was a bit of a hike to get to. The first time my sister took me there, I remembered thinking, “Taking the train just to get a haircut? Girl, what in the…”
My sister usually had sports practice on the weekend, but not today. Therefore, she had a Lot to Get Done. Believe it or not, my sister was in the bizarre habit of getting up at 7 a.m. on weekends, so my mother woke me up at the same time for breakfast. (Mind you, I fell back asleep afterward. Hence why we were only getting out the door now.)
As I stumbled along, I asked Haruna, “Why were you up so early today?”
“Do you even have to ask? I went running, like I always do. The ordinary thing.”
“I’m pretty sure getting up to go running doesn’t count as an ordinary thing…”
“Then I had a shower, helped Mom make breakfast, did some homework, went with Mom to the dry cleaners, watched some videos, and made lunch.”
I shuddered in horror. What honest, clean living. Too clean for my tastes! “Don’t tell me you’re going to publish one of those life coach essay books.”
“Uh, no? That’s not my definition of an ordinary weekend thing.”
“Ordinary, ordinary, ordinary,” I grumbled. “Everything’s always ordinary with you. It’s because the world’s got people like you in it that it’s so gosh darn hard to be ordinary! You keep raising the bar. I wish you’d realize what a hardworking superhuman you are.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” My sister looked confused.
No! That was me being mean and nasty!
This hair salon was in vogue with all of Haruna’s friends. Apparently, every outgoing people person had her own favorite salon. (Coulda fooled me.) Once I thought about it, it made sense. I struggled to play FPS games without my mouse. Same kind of deal.
My sister switched on the personality she adopted around other people and said, “Hey there!” to the girl working the salon counter.
“Hey, Haruna-chan! Oh, and Oneesan. Nice to see you guys.”
“N-nice to see you too,” I said.
Yeah, they called me Haruna’s oneesan here. I was my sister’s accessory and nothing more—a set of free earbuds that came with your new phone. Which I liked. It let me relax.
“Your stylist will be here soon,” the salon lady told us. “Why don’t you put your things in the locker?”
I did as she said and then sat down on the couch next to Haruna.
“What’re we doing for you today, Haruna-chan?” the salon lady asked.
“Oh, just a trim for my bangs,” my sister said. “To keep things neat while I grow my hair out.”
She sounded bright and bubbly, the image of every sporty girl ever. As always, she wanted to make a good impression, so she masked her real, evil self. I had to hand it to her; it was a good disguise. She even had Ajisai-san fooled.
A couple minutes later, the stylist who always did my hair came over.
“YaaAASS, look who it is! Gurl!!! It’s so good to see you.”
Oh god. Here she was.
“Th-thanks for squeezing me in,” I said, bobbing my head as a polite gesture. Try as I might to imitate my sister, my voice was the only cheery thing about me.
“Where have you been? You look so good??? Broke. My. Scale.”
My stylist took being a girly girl to horrifying extremes. Her hair was blonde with pink tips. She had that flashy makeup, those skinny jeans, one of those crop tops that left her belly button on full display. She scared the crap out of me.
“So. WHAT are we doing for you today, queen? You wanna go for something young and cute? You feeling a more mature look? Oooh, or we could get the scizzies and chop it all off. Whaddya think? Chopper time?”
“Um. Uh. Well.”
What the heck was chopper time? The only Chopper I knew was Tony Tony One Piece. Girly girls were big into peace, right? Or, well, peace signs. But you know what I mean.
Oh, why, oh why, did I have to be saddled with this stylist? My sister asked if I wanted a particular stylist when she booked the appointment, and I was like “Nah.” Was my lack of response the cause of my current plight? What if it was my first time here, for crying out loud? How could I have asked for anyone in particular?
Wait a minute. I had my phone with me. I had notes on my phone to tell me what to say. It was a genius move, if I did say so myself. Besides, I couldn’t keep relying on my sister forever.
“Um, can I get? Um,” I began.
“Ooh, what if we hooked you up with some fun col-urrs. Yes! A balayage? Gurl, you would slay so hard. How’s your school’s dress code? Are they, like, super stricter-richter?”
“Are they—wha? Bala…huh?”
“Oh my god, we have to try it. It would look so. Cute. On you. Like it’s not very high contrast? TOTES natural. Ooh, ooh, ooh. What if we lightened your hair? With no bleach. It would POP. Hot girl summer, here we come!”
The force of her smile was threatening. Did you catch any of that, reader? Because I sure as heck didn’t.
As I was unable to think and speak at the same time, I fell into an awkward silence. A horrible cold sweat began to creep down my back. Why was she treating me like one of the Popular Girl 9000s who made up the rest of the shop’s clientele? Couldn’t she tone herself down a bit? Maybe meet me at my level? I felt like I was building an avatar in a character creator. “With over eighteen hair styles to choose from!”-lookin’-ass. Maybe that was desirable if you were a YouTuber, but it wasn’t to me!
Just then, my sister cut in to save me from my panic. “You don’t need to do anything fancy,” she said. “You can just give her the usual.”
“You got it, bestie,” said the girly girl stylist. She made the okay emoji with her fingers in a cheerful show of compliance.
Oh, thank god. I shot my sister a look of gratitude, but she never once looked my way. Instead, she and the stylist kept up a rapid stream of chatter. Whatever. Who needed her? I was safe, and that was what mattered.
“POV: You’re on your way to a major slay moment!” said the stylist.
“Uh. Thanks?”
Phew. We were now past the bit where I needed to do anything. From here on, all I had to do was sit back, relax, and let the haircut run its course. I didn’t mind the sensation of people cutting my hair, so I decided to close my eyes and let myself get comfy…
Until the stylist went, “So, Oneechan-chan. You gotta spill. How’s school goin’?”
“Huh?”
Alas, it was now conversation time. The true hell was only beginning!
“Next up: clothes shopping. Ready, Oneechan? …Oneechan? Earth to Oneechan.”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Sure,” I wheezed.
When we stepped out of the salon, I had a beautiful new haircut, but my facial muscles were dead.
“Why do they talk like that at beauty salons?” I groaned. “If only we could bring back the Tower of Babel and destroy the language of hair stylists.”
“What are you going on about?”
My sister shot me a withering glare. Eep.
“I’m just saying. Having to carry on a conversation when you’re a captive audience? That’s cruel and unusual punishment.”
“You’re literally the only person in the world who thinks that,” my sister informed me.
“Nuh-uh!” Much to my sister’s ignorance, I had tons of compatriots. Mostly online, and…yeah, okay, they were all online.
“I don’t have any talking power left in me,” I said. “I’m holding on by my fingernails here.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
My sister and I made our way over to the arcade shopping street near the train station. Our mission? Get ourselves some winter clothes.
“Wait a minute,” my sister said. “You’re the one who wants new clothes. So why didn’t you and your friends go the other day?”
“Uh. Well. About that.”
I looked away. This anxiety was another on the long list of fears my sister would never understand. But so be it. Resigned to my fate, I admitted, “I’m too embarrassed to go clothes shopping with my friends.”
“Wait, why?”
“It’s like being put on trial for my taste in clothes.”
My sister gave me an even more perplexed look. Because I was so nice to the apprentices of anxiety, the newbies of nerves, I broke it down into language she could comprehend.
“Okay, look. It’s like this. When you go buy clothes with your friends, you’re basically proving you have a good sense of style. If I pick out something utterly hideous, my whole friend group is gonna be like, ‘Oh my god LOL no no no you can’t I’M DYING is that a joke? HELP’ and then for every other article of clothing I pick, they’ll be like, ‘omg, don’t say anything to her TEE HEE HEE’ and then they’ll bully me for the rest of my life. And then I’ll die.”
“Oh my god,” my sister said. “You are so friggin’ obnoxious.”