Bobcutlover
Allie sat on the edge of Jaime’s bed, long legs crossed nervously, her thick chocolate-brown hair cascading like silk down her back and over her shoulders. The late afternoon sun filtering through the window made her strands shimmer. Jaime sat behind her, comb and scissors in hand, trying to contain the mixture of jealousy and excitement bubbling inside her. Allie’s hair was perfect—long, silky, glossy—and ever since Jaime’s mom had chopped her own blonde locks into a sharp shoulder-length bob without warning, she’d dreamed of what it would feel like to take scissors to hair like Allie’s. Allie had only agreed to a “tiny trim,” but Jaime had a different plan.
Jaime tried to sound casual as she combed Allie’s heavy brown curtain forward, sectioning it from the crown and letting it drape down over her friend’s face. “Just so I can see the ends better,” she said sweetly, hiding her smirk. Allie couldn’t see a thing now—her hair was like a thick veil, and she blindly reached out to feel for the edge of the mattress. “Uh… I can’t see anything,” she said, a little uneasy. “That’s the point,” Jaime reassured her. “Trust me. You’ll love how clean it looks.”
Jaime began with the back. She held a thick lock of Allie’s hair between her fingers, letting it fall straight and heavy. With one quick snip, six silky inches dropped to the floor. Allie flinched slightly at the sound but said nothing. Jaime’s hands were shaking—not with nerves, but thrill. She took another section, even larger, and cut again. The blades of the scissors sliced crisply through the mass, severing another foot of rich brown hair. She gathered the fallen locks like trophies, setting them aside quietly, then took more—section after section—working higher up, closer to Allie’s scalp each time.
Soon Jaime was shearing hair straight from the root of Allie’s nape, making thick, horizontal cuts that left behind a shelf of dense, blunt hair that curved sharply around her head. She gripped one long chunk that fell from just behind Allie’s ear, lifted it with both hands, and snipped it clean at jawline level. The hair swung as it dropped, brushing Allie’s shoulder before hitting the floor with a muffled thud. Jaime giggled softly. This wasn’t a trim—it was a transformation. A secret one.
By the time she’d reached the crown, the back of Allie’s head was already rounded and dense, the cut shockingly blunt and severe. Jaime wanted it to be perfect, so she reached under her bed and retrieved the item she’d been saving for this exact moment—a plain white plastic cereal bowl. “I’m just going to use this to make sure everything’s symmetric,” she said lightly, not revealing its true purpose. Allie, still blinded by her own hair, laughed awkwardly. “A bowl? Seriously?” Jaime didn’t answer. She just placed it on Allie’s head, pressing it down until it rested snugly right above her ears.
With the bowl in place, Jaime began slicing away everything that stuck out beneath it. The scissors rasped loudly as they cleaved through thick handfuls of hair. Long silky sections dropped onto Allie’s lap, the floor, and across Jaime’s legs. She paused to admire the rapidly forming mushroom shape, the way the blunt line curved all the way around with precision. The bowl shifted slightly, and Jaime adjusted it, then hacked more. She didn’t even bother angling the scissors—she wanted it brutally even, thick, and heavy.
“Allie, close your eyes—I need to do your ends up front,” Jaime said. “I don’t want bangs,” Allie replied quickly, her voice muffled beneath the veil of hair. “Nothing blunt or weird, okay?” Jaime hesitated only a second before lying. “I’m just cleaning the tips—promise.” She lifted the hair covering Allie’s forehead and held the curtain tight. Then with deliberate, confident pressure, she opened the blades and snip—a thick, perfect slice of bangs fell onto Allie’s lap. It landed with a soft puff of weight, startling her. “Wait—what was that?”
Jaime froze, but it was too late. Allie’s hand shot up to her forehead just as Jaime made the second cut, carving another blunt swath across her brow. “Jaime!” she gasped. “Are you cutting bangs?!” Jaime panicked. “Just the ends! I mean—it’s just a little cleanup…” But Allie was already brushing her forehead, feeling the strange, thick line above her brows. “This feels blunt!” she said, panic creeping into her voice. “What are you doing?! Stop!”
Allie bolted upright and reached for the vanity behind her, her fingers scrambling across the desk until they landed on the hand mirror. She yanked her hair back—and froze. Her face was framed by dense, shockingly short mushroom-shaped layers, and across her forehead lay a thick, straight wall of short, blunt bangs. Her eyes widened. “What the hell, Jaime?!” she shrieked, standing as the last few cut strands slid off her lap. She turned toward the mirror in disbelief, running her hands through what little remained of her once-silky cascade. “You gave me a bowl cut?!”
Jaime stood behind her, still holding the scissors, her expression a mix of guilt and satisfaction. “I just thought it’d be… fun,” she mumbled. Allie turned slowly to face her, the weight of the mushroom cut bobbing slightly with the motion, the sharp edges refusing to move. “You lied to me. I said no bangs. I said trim.” Jaime swallowed hard, knowing there was no undoing what she’d done. Hair surrounded the base of the chair like a fallen curtain—and Allie was stuck with a cut even more extreme than Jaime’s own.
