The Stepbrother // Luke Hemmings

You Dyed Your Hair

17 

You Dyed Your Hair

I'm sitting outside in the backyard, twisting the strands of my newly straightened hair around in my fingers, admiring how cool it is to see the honeyed afternoon sun glinting off the glossy brown strands and secretly plotting on a way to get Luke to take me driving again, when my mom turns to me and casually announces that we're going out to have dance lessons for the wedding.

I pause my hair twisting and the scene that I planned out in my head of playfully slamming on the brakes to scare Luke slips from my mind as I turn my eyes away from absentmindedly watching Andrew set up an old, portable fire pit that he found in the backyard to stare at her.

It takes me a minute to configure a response. "Wait what?"

"Dance lessons." Her tanned nose scrunches up slightly, and she smiles bashfully, "Don't tell him I said this, but Andrew isn't as good as he insisted." Then she turns to glance at Luke who's lounging on the couch near the fire pit, multitasking between scrolling on his phone and reading directions to his dad.

"I'm hoping not, but if Luke's anything like his father then I'm sure he could use the help, too. Plus as girls we definitely need to brush up on our dance moves, don't you think?"

My head is shaking furiously the minute the words leave her mouth and I'm sitting up in  my chair and pointedly lifting a strand of my hair to show her. "No no, I can't."

"Why?"

"I just slaved all morning in the bathroom straightening my hair, and I can not afford to let it get frizzy from sweat."

She just stares at me. I continue, "Do you know how exhausting it is to straighten curly hair? No, I don't think you do, Mom. Because if you did, you wouldn't be asking me to --" I pause, a horrified expression crossing my face, "-- go dancing!"

"Annie, it's nearly August, what did you expect?"

"Excuse me for wanting to change my hairstyle every once in a while. I mean, it's not like I'm a girl or anything," I deadpan. "Seriously Mom, I want out. If my hair gets sweaty, it gets frizzy. Which will only mean that I'll have to wash it. And what do you think happens after that, Mom? Curls! That's what happens"

She sighs, calls me a drama queen and sifts her hand through her own wavy hair. Like that's fair! She doesn't have a lions mane waiting to jump out at her every time she runs a brush through her hair. I frown at her.

"You can wear a hat if you want." With that she jumps up and heads down the stairs off the deck and towards the guys. In attempt to get her to change her mind, I push myself up out of my chair to follow her.

"Mom," I whine. "Can I please just ditch? I know how to dance!" That's a lie.

She ignores me anyway, and motions for Luke to move over before settling down besides him. She leans forward peering over Andrew's shoulder, "Does it work?"

"Probably not. I can't get Luke to look away from that screen for just a minute to help me out." On cue, the older boy laughs at something on his phone and Andrew rolls his eyes, "Luke!"

He flinches, pulls an ear bud out and then sweeps hair from his forehead before glancing up around at us. He's wearing his usual black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, and even though it's freaking blazing out here and I can't help but think that he's insane, with the way it slightly hangs from his broad shoulders, it looks nice. Really, nice.

His mouth opens as he starts to say something but when he glances over at me, he stops; blue eyes blinking. I cross my arms, "What?" A slow, shy smile crosses his face and he grins up at me; still not saying anything. I try not to huff. It's almost as if I have a 'kick me' sign on my forehead. I furrow my eyes again, dragging out my words this time, "Whaat?"