Читать книгу The Bump - Lauren Castleton - Страница 8

Chapter 2

Riley drives me to the drugstore, having decided she wants to dye my hair. Although I’m still not sure what I’ll say to my parents. They’d agreed to let me come to this school after everything that happened last year with Morgan, but they also warned me that if I wasn’t doing well, they’d put me back at Daphne. I figure this might not go over well, but I feel the pull of wanting to get closer to Riley and get in with her whole group, so I don’t protest.

She sings along to the music blaring from the radio and sways to the beat. I sit watching out the window at the blur of stores streaking by. Suddenly, Riley veers down a side street I’ve never felt comfortable going down.

“Aren’t we going to the drugstore?” I ask a little alarmed.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I have to stop at Dale’s.”

“Wait; who’s Dale?”

Riley smiles, her eyes heavy with thick black liner, her pink hair piled on top of her head with clips. I love that she’s so bold and doesn’t seem to care what other people think about her. I wish some of that would rub off on me. “Yeah. You’ll see,” she nonchalantly remarks.

Unfazed, Riley zips by graffitied bars and a hookah lounge. She pulls into a parking spot behind a mess of Harley Davidsons. She hops out, and I climb out timidly behind her. My parents never approved of me being in the tippler district of Daphne, so I’ve never been here before. I feel on edge and keep my eyes glued to the ground as I follow Riley into an unmarked shop. The inside is dark and clouded with cigarette smoke. A middle-aged man with tattoos wrapping around his biceps and webbing across his bald head greets Riley warmly, exposing a double-pierced tongue. They make small talk as I anxiously look around.

“Viv?” Riley suddenly asks.

“Huh?” I jump.

“Dale wants to meet you,” she says.

“Oh.” I walk forward and extend a shaky hand. “I’m Vivian. Nice to meet you.”

Dale shakes my hand with a firm grasp and peers into my downcast eyes curiously.

“Well, you wanna come back and watch?” Riley asks me.

“What?”

“I’m getting a nose piercing.” Riley smiles and tilts her head, the collar of her torn tee shirt slipping off one shoulder.

“Oh,” I muse and walk behind her as Dale leads her into a back room. A table like the one at a doctor’s office is set in the middle, and a tangle of tools is piled on a counter to the left. Riley hops onto the table as Dale pulls on a pair of latex gloves and digs through the mess of tools.

“Do you want a ring or a stud, hon?” he asks. She looks at me as she thinks it over.

“A stud,” she decides. I look away as Dale pierces her nostril. All I see is a bloody tissue, and I cringe, feeling woozy.

“What do you think?” Riley asks, hopping off the table and angling the diamond stud toward me. It looks different. Not bad, but different.

“Want one?” Dale unexpectedly asks me. “I’ll give you a discount since it’s your first time in the shop.”

“Uh . . .” I say, not knowing how to react. I have nothing against piercing; it’s just that I don’t even have my ears pierced.

“You should do it!” Riley encourages. She smiles and raises her brows suggestively. But I just see the redness and irritation around her new piercing.

“Um . . .” I mumble as Riley nudges me forward to the table.

“I don’t know if I want it on my nose . . .” I finally manage.

“It can be anywhere, hon,” Dale says, as he pulls on a clean pair of gloves. “Ears, brow, tongue, nipple. You name it.” I lie on my back, taking a deep breath. I search my mind for a location.

“Belly button?” I ask timidly.

“Sure. Ring or stud?” Dale says nonchalantly.

I look to Riley for help.

“Stud,” she answers for me, then looks to me excitedly.

“It’s gonna be so cute! I’ll even pay for it.”

“No, really,” I protest. “It’s OK; you don’t have to.” Riley shakes her head in refusal and holds my hand as the needle pierces my navel with an aching pinch. There’s a lot more blood than there was for Riley, and I actually pass out. When I come to, Riley is standing over me, repeating my name and waving her hand at my face. “It’s all over!” she says and helps me sit up.

Dale brings me a paper cup filled with water and leaves us alone. I take a few minutes to recover as Riley goes up front to pay. I peer down at my belly button and gently run my finger over the swollen skin and stud protruding from the indent. Riley comes back and fetches me, helping me out to her car. I’m too distracted by the dizziness filling my head to worry about our surroundings. I roll down the window and rest my head against the inside of the car as Riley drives us to the drugstore.

Inside, Riley directs me to the aisle with the hair products and shows me the best dye brand. I choose purple over red, thinking it will not be as noticeable. I already have a belly button ring to hide from my parents, and now this. I’m thinking I can tell my parents it’s for a character I’m working on in drama class, but I’m wondering if maybe I should tell Riley I’ll pass.

Before I can open my mouth, Riley chucks the dye on the checkout counter. A woman is adjusting the Joe Camel poster hanging above the variety of lighters on display, and Riley whistles at her. I look at the candy under the counter uncomfortably.

“Hey, Bet!” Riley calls to the woman, who turns and recognizes Riley with a glare.

“You,” the woman hisses at Riley as she settles behind the register and straightens her vest.

“Make it fast, Bet,” Riley says, snapping her fingers. I look up to see the woman’s reaction. It’s sour and tight. Her nametag reads Bette. Bette finishes ringing us up, then shoves the box of hair dye at Riley.

“Thanks, Bet,” Riley calls over her shoulder as we walk out to the car.

“She hates it when I call her that,” she tells me proudly.

“Then why do it?”

She thinks about it for a second. “Her reaction amuses me.”

We head to Riley’s house to color my hair, and it turns out she only lives a few blocks away from me. It’s a quaint two-story with a lawn full of dying grass and a sidewalk with shattered pavement. She pulls crookedly into her driveway and opens the garage door. She shows me to her bathroom, which is cluttered with makeup and clothes strewn everywhere. Riley decides to just highlight my hair with the violet dye, claiming my brown hair is too pretty to be completely concealed. I’m relieved. And after a messy two hours, I look like a new person. Standing in front of the fingerprint-smudged mirror, I lift my shirt to reveal my piercing and gaze at the overall picture of myself. Riley leans on the doorframe, watching me.

“I like it,” she says.

My formerly mousy, brown, shoulder-length hair looks fun and funky. Even though I don’t usually wear makeup, I feel like the highlights give me some edge. I guess now I can see why Riley colors her hair and tries to look different. Where I didn’t feel like I fit in before, at least now I look interesting. I stare down at my Converse sneakers and my torn skinny jeans for a moment. Then I say, “Me too.”

“Well, let’s not keep you locked up in here. Let’s go show the world the new you!”

Riley grabs her Polaroid and drags me down the street to Denny’s to get a soda. She snaps pictures of random people passing by and then rushes over to give them their stills. Finally, she finds a person who offers to take one of us. We pose in front of a “For Sale” sign hanging in a vacant store window. When the photo develops, Riley hands it to me and tells me that I should have it. I stare at the picture of us and recognize Riley, but not me. It opens up a new feeling I’ve never experienced before. Like I’m a part of something, that I’m accepted.