Sage Whitehead has danced for as long as she could remember--it's always been a passion for her. And when she was given a scholarship to dance at Howard University, she jumps at the chance right away. Besides, it's always been her dream. However, Sa...
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Saturday morning, at around eight o'clock, I was figuring how I was going to get my hair super straight in a matter of forty five minutes. It probably wasn't a good idea for me to have even walked out of the hotel room without some type of head protection, but that was a decision I didn't make, and couldn't keep pondering on it. Nia was in my room getting ready because Alisha per usual, had taken up all the space in the bathroom. My outfit was on, my make up was on, and the only thing left was to do my hair. I hadn't brought any wigs with me at all to college, which was a dumb idea. I've been relying on sew ins and clip ins whenever I needed the extra length, and times like this I regretted leaving my secret stash in the brown cardboard box near the closet of my childhood room.
"I say just bun it up." Nia spoke as she pushed her face against the mirror, the wand of her mascara brush moving in an up and down motion against her eyelash. I made a face at her. She was dressed to the nines in a brown/burgundy sweater, a pair of distressed jeans, and thigh high boots to match. Her hair was pin curled in a way that framed her face nicely.
And she wanted to tell me to bun it up?
I rolled my eyes at her and passed the flat iron through the small section of hair for what felt like the hundredth time. I know, I know; too much heat wasn't good for my hair, but for some reason this flat iron wasn't doing the job I wanted it to do.
"Sage, we don't have all day. Unless you're trying to wait for an Uber, we need to get going. Martina was nice enough to get us a van for the ride there, and I don't want to keep her waiting. You know how she's been lately." Nia began. I nodded--I did know how she's been lately. It seems as the semester went by, she was becoming more and more like Coach Liz. She was yelling a lot more, and she was a lot harsher when it came to telling us how we were doing in the half time routine and the different stands. I had been lucky enough to stay out of her wrath, and the last thing I needed was her on my back about being late to the meet and greet. Deciding my hair would just have to have some kinks in it, I tucked a few pieces behind my ear before spraying my face with some setting spray.
I fixed my choker, making sure it was placed nicely on my neck, and then sprayed my favorite Victoria Secret perfume all over my body.
It was too late for me to stress over the trivial stuff.
I had definitely taken Miami's warmer weather to my advantage with my outfit. Perhaps I had done a little too much for a meet and greet at the park, but being extra was my third language and I spoke it fluently. I stole one of Colby's shirt a couple weeks ago, and didn't find it cute until recently. It was a shirt he had bought from a boutique in DC with the slogan Maison Margiela on it. It wasn't necessarily long enough to be a t-shirt dress on it's own, so in hopes of not looking hoe-ish, I threw on a pair of shorts underneath it. And of course, I had to break in my damn near pelvic-high strappy heels that I ordered last month when it was slowly getting cold. I didn't expect DC to get cold quickly, so the purchase seemed logical. But with the amount of snow we got last week, it was clear these shoes would have to be broken in during a warmer time period.
