When they were done, Tiffany’s scalp felt free. The constant tug of the rubber bands on each strand of hair was gone, and her head tingled at the lack of pressure. But even though the balls and rubber bands were gone, her hair still stuck in its sections, held together by pale hair grease and the good dark gel that didn’t flake and make other girls call her “Dan Druff.” She didn’t know who Dan Druff was, but she was glad when Mommy stopped putting the white gel on her head. “We have to go put water on it,” Tiffany said. “It’s the only way to make
it lay down like yours.” At the next bathroom break, they hurried to the sink and scooped handfuls of water onto Tiffany’s head, ignoring the way the water spilled on their matching jumpers and blouses. It dripped down Tiffany’s face and into her eyes, but it didn’t burn like shampoo. She hated when Grandma washed her hair and foamy soap got into her eyes; even holding a towel over her face couldn’t stop all of it. Also, the water in the bathroom at school was cool, like swimming. Tiffany loved swimming, but she had never thought to take out the hair balls before she went swimming. She could try that this summer, though, because it worked so well now.
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Her hair dripped onto her shoulders, but the weight of the water made her hair hang down just above her shoulders, like Kelly’s but darker, and loosely wavy. Tiffany tossed her head like a singer, or the girls in the hair commercials, flinging water across the bathroom. Kelly did too and they giggled and shook their heads until the teacher came to get them out of the bathroom. When the teacher saw them, she frowned. Tiffany grabbed paper towels. She should have known the teacher would be angry about getting their clothes wet. By the end of the day, Tiffany’s hair no longer hung down onto her damp shoulders. As it dried, it had risen, poofing out like a strangely-shaped dark cloud around her head. At the last bathroom break before they went home, she tried to wet it again, but her teacher wouldn’t let her. Tiffany was one of the last kids in the parking lot when Grandma finally came. She always had to rush over from her own school to pick Tiffany up. She hated being the last one to leave school almost as much as being the last one to get there. “What in God’s name, little girl?” Grandma grabbed Tiffany too tightly by the hand, walking so fast Tiffany had to skip to keep up. Grandma muttered out of the corner of her mouth, looking around at the last few parents there, with their daughters who could wear their hair down. “I’m going to switch you when we get home, just you wait. Embarrassing.” Tiffany wanted to apologise for getting her clothes wet. She still felt the clamminess across her shoulder blades. Grandma slammed the door, too soon, though, and when she got into the driver’s seat, she didn’t seem like she wanted to talk. The last time Tiffany talked when Grandma didn’t want her to talk, she got popped in the mouth. She knew better than to talk now. When they got home, Grandma sent Tiffany to the room they shared room to think about what she had done, embarrassing them like that. Tiffany cried into her pillow in anticipation of a thin tree switch smacking across her bottom. She hated it most when Grandma did it. She yelled at the door, promising she would never make a mess on her clothes again.