Pretty

by Justin Sayre

  Once the ice is done she turns and gives me the worst look, with, “Because I didn’t think you were going to, like, freak out about it.”

  We order the pizza after we scroll through a bunch of YouTube videos on her flat-screen TV. It’s fun, mostly, but I’m always thinking about the door and whether it’s the boys or pepperoni. When there’s a knock on the door, Allegra runs to get it, and from the way her voice changes, I know it’s the boys, not the pizza.

  Allegra is beaming when she brings them into the front room. Brian, without saying hello, flops down on the couch like he lives here, while Ryan comes over and sits with me on the floor.

  “We ordered pizza, it should be here, like, any minute,” Allegra says loudly, trying to be a good host. Brian sort of nods and mumbles out a “s’cool,” while Ryan starts to talk to me.

  “Hey, what are you guys watching?” Ryan asks.

  “Just, like, random stuff.” I’ve been trying to get Allegra to watch the new fashion show from Givenchy, but she’s more interested in making fun of people in makeup tutorials or cat videos. I think it’s also because it’s twenty-two minutes and we both know she can’t sit still for that long.

  “Have you seen the guy on the trampoline?” Ryan asks.

  Brian perks up from the couch and says his first full words in the house. “Oh yeah, sweet.” He takes the remote out of my hand and starts to type the word trampoline into the search bar, and from the thousands of videos that come up, he scrolls until he finds a specific one.

  It’s a compilation of videos of people being idiots on trampolines, none of it goes well. One girl tries to do a backflip and falls face-first into the metal rim. A couple of boys jump so hard that they get thrown off, one through a bush. I see why it’s funny, but I wouldn’t ever just look this up. It’s funny when the people in the video get up and laugh about it. It’s funny if you know they’re okay, but when one fat guy jumps on with a bottle and rolls around in pain because he knocks his front teeth out, that’s sort of gross. I am the only one who thinks so. The boys scream with laughter, Brian even does an impression of the guy, he’s watched it so many times. Because Brian laughs, Allegra laughs harder, and louder, than both of them to show how cool and likeable she is.

  Ryan sees me not laughing and stops. “It’s funny though.”

  “Sure, I guess,” I say back.

  “Next one you pick, all right?” Ryan smiles as Brian calls him to look, dude, look, as a kid flips onto the roof of his garage. The boys keep watching and hitting each other, and when the pizza shows up, I go and help Allegra grab it. There are two big pies, because she knew the boys would be hungry and she knows that Brian only likes pepperoni, so he practically gets his own pie. Allegra will grab a slice, but she’ll just end up picking the pepperoni off and eating that. Pepperoni doesn’t have gluten. Pizza was a dumb thing for her to order in her own house.

  “Are you still mad they came?” Allegra whispers to me when we get to the kitchen.

  “Leg. I wasn’t mad,” I answer loudly.

  “You seemed mad,” Allegra says, getting plates.

  “I wasn’t.” I take two plates. Allegra takes two plates, and I know it’s not a big deal, but I almost get a little mad, because I know she’s going to take a slice for Brian, and I guess I’m expected to take one for Ryan. He can get his own pizza, I don’t need to do that because, what, I’m a girl? I leave the other plate on the counter and go back with just my plate.

  “There’s pizza,” I say as soon as we get back in the room. Ryan smiles and gets up and runs to the kitchen. He would have brought me a slice, but I get mad at the thought that I have to do it. Allegra puts a plate down in front of Brian as he types in with the remote, Grill fails. Now we’re going to watch people set themselves on fire and laugh, or at least they will.

  For the next hour, we watch people fall, girlfriends get pranked all sorts of ways by their awful boyfriends. One guy even tricks his wife into thinking that their son fell down a flight of stairs. Some of it is funny, but after a while you think people have to be the stupidest things that have ever lived and are probably still stupider for filming how stupid they are.

  I laugh on and off, but I’m bored. I look at my phone a bunch and start texting with Ellen.

  Hey.

  You having fun with Allegra?

  The boys are here. Brian and Ryan.

  Is that good?

  It’s all right. What are you doing?

  Ellen sends me a GIF of a cat stuck in the toilet, and for the first time all night, I laugh at something funny. Allegra glares at me and says loudly, “Sophie, put down your phone for, like, a minute, okay?”

  She just said that to me. Allegra, whose eyes I didn’t even know were green until we hung out for three months, just told me, in front of these boys, that I’m on my phone too much. Is she joking? ’Cause she has to be joking. Almost out of, like, shock, I stick my tongue out at her.

  She wants to say something, something mean, but just as she’s about to, the front door opens and it’s Kylie, which is bad news for Allegra. She’s caught, she’s about to be embarrassed big-time and she knows it. I would usually feel sorry for her, but tonight, I’m just looking at my phone. Kylie walks into the living room, taking her earbuds out, the music still blasting from the dangling bud.

  “Where’s Mom, Spaz?” Kylie asks. “Spaz” is Allegra.

  “I don’t know. Get out,” Allegra yells.

  “Does she know you have boys over?” Kylie yells back.

  “Yes, and she’s fine with it,” Allegra shouts, getting really furious.

  “Fine, I’ll text her and ask,” Kylie says, walking out of the room and putting her one earbud back in her ear. Allegra gets up and chases her into the kitchen. We can hear them scream, but I’m the only one who laughs. Brian and Ryan look worried. Well, Ryan does, Brian is quiet now but in a different way. He stared at Kylie the minute she came into the room, or mostly Kylie’s boobs.

  Allegra comes back into the living room, totally distraught, almost like she’s going to cry. “Sorry, guys, my sister is being a total bitch!” Allegra yells just so Kylie can hear it in the kitchen. “And she says you guys have to go.”

  Ryan smiles and says it’s cool. Brian doesn’t say anything but just gets up and goes to the door. Allegra keeps apologizing, but neither really seem to care. Ryan smiles at me, so I smile back and walk them to the door. Allegra walks Brian out, but he barely looks at her and goes to grab his bike. Allegra rushes back to the kitchen to argue with Kylie. I’m left at the door with Ryan.

  “Hey, can we walk home on Monday?” Ryan asks me.

  “Sure,” I answer.

  “But, like, just you and me,” Ryan says.

  “Yeah,” I say. I don’t know what this means, but why not? I mean, it’s just walking home, right? It’s not a big deal, and I do like him as a person. Maybe I could like him as more.

  Ryan smiles a big smile as I close the door. For the rest of the night Allegra talks about everything Brian did, making half of it up or reading into the rest. Each and every thing is talked about as a clue to see if he really likes Allegra or not. I want to say yes because I know how much Allegra wants a yes. But the only thing I know for sure is that Brian likes to see people fall. I don’t tell Allegra about Ryan walking me home Monday, I know it would just make her mad, even though it’s not a big deal to me.

  To her it would be the Biggest Evah.

  CHAPTER 11

  When I get home the next morning, Auntie is already up and in the kitchen.

  “Morning, baby,” Auntie says, smiling as she comes into the hallway. “Did they feed you breakfast?”

  “No,” I say, looking tired and hoping that she’ll just let me go upstairs, but she won’t.

  “Well, you need to start the day off, don’t you? You and I have lots to do. We need to get that hair taken care.”
And with that, she walks back into the kitchen. She doesn’t tell me I need to follow her, but it’s implied.

  “How was your sleepover?” Auntie asks me as the frying pan sizzles.

  “Good. I don’t know,” I answer, not even really paying attention.

  “Well, who does know, Miss Sophie? Get a plate,” Auntie says, scrambling the eggs in the pan. Always another order. I get up, grab a plate from the cabinet, and walk over to her at the stove. She scoops the eggs onto the plate and puts salt and pepper on them, right in front of me without even asking.

  “There’s ketchup on the counter.” She smiles at me, which is my signal, I guess, to sit down and eat. “This was Allegra’s house you were at last night?” Auntie asks me.

  “Yup,” I say.

  “What’s Allegra’s story?” Auntie continues.

  “I don’t know,” I say, not even looking at her now but keeping my eyes mostly on the eggs.

  “You are just a font of answers this morning, aren’t you?” Auntie laughs to herself.

  What does she even want me to say? Why does she care about Allegra or what her story is? “Allegra is my friend,” I answer, huffing a little as I do.

  “A good friend? How come you never bring her around?”

  I don’t answer that one, because I don’t know how. So I stuff my mouth with eggs.

  “How are the eggs?” Auntie smiles. I nod and stuff my mouth full again.

  “My mama used to make us wonderful eggs and bacon, keeping the grease for weeks and weeks in a big jar on the counter.”

  “That’s gross.” I laugh.

  “It’s the furthest thing from gross, girl. It’s insurance. You use that grease, you can guarantee everything you cook is going to be good. Your mama doesn’t cook for you that much, does she?”

  “No. She’s busy.”

  “Sure.” Auntie smiles like she means more than just that word. “I love to cook, but I love to eat even more, as you can see.” Auntie laughs hard at this, but not as loud as before. “You and your mama got all the skinny, and my mama and I got all the rest. But I don’t get any complaints about it.” She laughs again. “Your mama ever talk to you about your grandmama?”

  “No, Janet never tells me anything,” I say.

  “Our mama was hard on us. Lord, hard as nails,” Auntie Amara starts. “Worse on Janet than me ’cause Janet was so pretty. Like you. She had to do well in school, bring home straight A’s, go to college, God help her, and she had to stay far away from boys, or there was hell to pay.” Auntie laughs. “And those boys! They followed her around in swarms, with my mama always waiting at home to swat them away. Sometimes with a broom.” Auntie Amara laughs again. “And there was nothing to do about it. We had to be good girls, had to be the first in our family to go to college, both of us being something, making something of ourselves.” I finish my eggs quietly and don’t tell Auntie Amara about the boys coming to the sleepover. I don’t need her getting out the broom.

  “Finish up your eggs. We need to get this hair done. Today.” Auntie smiles as she walks out of the room.

  Auntie and I ride the subway to the downtown part of Brooklyn. I don’t usually come here and I’m glad about it. It’s dirty down here and crowded with people rushing in and out of these shops that you’ve never heard of but that sell everything from jeans to vacuum cleaners. I really wish I knew where she was taking me.

  Auntie keeps stopping wherever and whenever she wants. We’re obviously not in a hurry, like everybody else. She stops at a man’s card table and buys some incense. He’s selling these bright-colored plastic bracelets that would go great with jeans or even a button-down, but I don’t dare ask for them. I don’t know where we are or where we’re headed, so I just stay close to Auntie Amara and watch. She stops to look at poster of a gray-haired man. “Oh, Billy Ocean, I should get tickets to that. Do you know him?”

  I just look at her, because I don’t and I don’t really know how she would expect me to. She smiles and takes my hand. It seems babyish, I guess, to be holding her hand, but then, I feel safe. I feel connected to her, which I guess is obvious, but it’s more than that. It’s happiness.

  We stop in front of a little storefront with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. There are posters of smiling girls with great hair, or what I’m guessing was great hair; the posters look greenish from having been in the sun too long. Inside I see lots of women. It’s a salon, but I’ve never been to a place like this before.

  Auntie pushes open the door, and all the voices and music whoosh out at us in a big gust of sound that almost makes my eyes flutter. The shop is small, with only about six chairs, but each is full, with more women waiting in chairs scattered around the place. A young girl in a really booby shirt comes over to the little desk at the front and looks at her book, then at us.

  “How you doing? Do you need an appointment?” she asks.

  “It should be under Watley. It’s for my niece,” Auntie Amara says loudly.

  “Hey, baby. You ready to get done?” the young woman asks me. I have no idea what to say. “Aww, she’s shy! Well, don’t worry, baby. Miss Chantel gonna do you right, okay?”

  “Okay,” I answer softly. Auntie and the girl laugh at me, I guess they don’t get a lot of shy girls in here. The girl says we can sit down in the front near the windows while we wait for Chantel.

  It’s not that I’m scared to be here, I’m not at all. It’s just so exciting; I never get to come to places like this and it’s a different world. The women in the shop talk loudly, but it never feels like shouting as much as reaching out to the person they’re talking to. It seems like they all know each other. They’re interested in each other and want to talk with and about each other. They seem happy, and happier still to be together, but there’s also a feeling like it’s a show. There are jokes and stories that are told not to one person but to the whole room. Everybody’s involved, it’s like being at a club, and even though we have a lot to catch up on, we’re instantly part of the whole thing. Barely anyone says hello to us, but we are welcome. The older woman with her head in a towel sitting next to Auntie tells her how beautiful I am and smiles at me.

  “Say thank you, Sophie.” Auntie nudges me. And I do, but I’m still a little nervous. It’s not nervous, it’s a feeling like holding in a laugh. It tickles your throat being so close to something that you want but don’t know how to finally have. These are all black women, beautiful black women, and besides my mother and now my auntie, I don’t really get to be around too many. It’s a strange thought that hits me as I sit there, but it’s the truth. Most of my friends are white. I don’t notice it all the time, but right now, as I’m sitting there clinging to my auntie, I think how out of place and yet totally at home I feel. I live in a different world, but this one seems so wonderful. Even to get my hair done, Janet takes me to a little shop in Park Slope where this white girl named Leslie, who’s covered in tattoos, does my hair because she has a daughter from Malawi.

  Janet wouldn’t want me to come to a place like this. She’d be mad and call this some ghetto beauty shop. She’d make any excuse to stay away from here, but the biggest one would be me. “You’re not like that, Sophie. You hear me?” But sitting here, I want to be. They’re laughing real laughs and cursing, which makes me smile, especially as they try to correct themselves in front of me, thinking I’ve never heard worse.

  Auntie starts a conversation with the women sitting next to her and hands me one of the magazines on the small table in front of us. I have never seen a single one of these “rags” before. They have names like Black Hair and Hype Hair and Trendz. They’re so different than any of the “rags” in our house, and they all have black women on the cover. There’s not a copy of Vogue or Harper’s anywhere in here. I leaf through the first magazine, looking at all the different kinds of hair and different kinds of women.

  Chantel, who’s doing my hair I gues
s, waves me over to her chair as the woman before me gets up to let the dye set.

  “Hey, baby. How you doing today?” Chantel smiles at me in the mirror.

  “Good,” I answer.

  “She’s great with one-word answers,” Auntie yells over to Chantel, who laughs. I should be embarrassed but I laugh too.

  “What do we want to do to this pretty little thing today?” Chantel calls to Auntie.

  “Let her decide,” Auntie yells back.

  “Your mama’s brave, girl. I still have to tell my two girls what they’re doing and when, and they more grown than you. So what you want to do?” Chantel looks at me in the mirror.

  “She’s not my mother. She’s my aunt,” I say, trying to still be nice, but also correcting her, which I don’t think she expects. But Chantel just smiles.

  “Then you must be one very lucky girl to have so many good females in your life. So what’re we doing with this hair today?”

  I think of all the faces on the magazines I saw today and all the possibilities of things I want to do but probably can’t. Or can I, and when I think for just a second longer of what I want to do, I blurt out only one word. “Braids. Like in this picture.” I get up and go over to the table and pick up the copy of Black Hair I was last looking at, turning to the page with Gabrielle Union on it.

  “Okay. I feel you. But that’s gonna take a while. You and your auntie got the time for that?” Chantel smiles into the mirror and looks over at Auntie. Auntie nods and sees the smile on my face beam from across the room. I’m thrilled. A new look, a look I’ve always wanted but never had, and more time here. Hours more time here.

  Chantel spins me around in the chair and says, “Well, sit tight, little miss. You about to get done.”

  It takes hours to get all my hair braided. It’s a long and tiring process. Chantel takes breaks, but then so do I. We talk a lot. Auntie and the woman next to her, who I find out is named Nancy. She works at the hospital a couple blocks over. She’s going to the Dominican Republic next week with two friends, and she wants to have her hair perfect for the trip. Kendra, the girl who checked us in, keeps offering me water or a Coke. Latrice has a little mini fridge near her chair that she always keeps fully loaded, but I’m fine. At one point, Kendra runs and gets hamburgers for everybody, because we’ve all been there so long. Chantel works hard on my hair, and as the braids take over my head little by little, I feel closer and closer to the room. She has a daughter my age. “Though not as sweet as you.” The ladies all laugh at that. My auntie does, too, but then launches into a list of nice things about me.