Liz Helps a Friend

Liz rolled back into town after her beach vacation with Brad, her flattop still razor-sharp and pristine from Joey’s boardwalk clippers. The week of sun, tequila, and hair adventures had left her glowing—tan lines crisscrossing her shoulders, her head a perfect plane of stubble she couldn’t stop touching. She’d spent the drive home rubbing it, grinning at Brad as he teased her about turning Sarah into a bald convert. Now, back in the grind, she needed caffeine to face reality. So, the morning after unpacking, she strolled into her favorite local coffee shop, a cozy hole-in-the-wall called Brew Haven, where the air smelled like roasted beans and cinnamon.

Behind the counter was Stella, Liz’s favorite barista—a wiry girl with a knack for pulling perfect espresso shots and a wild streak that showed in her hair. Stella was known for her crazy dye jobs: neon pink one month, electric blue the next, always long and flowing past her shoulders. But today, something was off. She was wearing a slouchy beanie pulled low, hiding her locks, and her usual grin was tight, forced. Liz slid up to the counter, leaning in with a smirk. “Hey, Stel. What’s with the hat? You go bald under there or something?”

Stella laughed, but it was nervous, her hands fidgeting with a coffee filter. “God, no. Worse. I fried my hair—tried bleaching it for this platinum look, and it’s a disaster. Like, straw-level bad. I’m hiding it ‘til I figure out what to do.” She tugged the hat lower, avoiding Liz’s eyes.

Liz raised an eyebrow, sipping the black coffee Stella slid her way. “Lemme see. Can’t be that bad.” After some coaxing, Stella sighed and peeled off the beanie, revealing a mess—brittle, patchy blonde strands, some snapping off at the roots, others matted with leftover dye. Liz winced. “Oof. Yeah, that’s… rough. You’ve dyed it a million times, though—what happened?”

“Too much bleach, too fast,” Stella groaned, shoving the hat back on. “I thought I could handle it, but it’s trashed. I’m scared to even brush it. I might just wear hats forever.”

Liz set her cup down, her flattop catching the light as she leaned closer. “Nah, you don’t need hats. You need clippers. Buzz it off—only way to fix that kind of damage. Start fresh.”

Stella’s eyes widened, her hands flying to her head. “Buzz it? Like, short-short? No way—I’ve never had short hair! I’d look ridiculous.”

“You wouldn’t,” Liz said, her voice firm, a grin tugging at her lips. “Look at me—this flattop’s the best thing I’ve ever done. Feels amazing, and it’s zero maintenance. You’re a badass with those dye jobs—you can rock a buzz. Trust me, it’s liberating.”

Stella bit her lip, glancing at Liz’s head, then at her own reflection in the espresso machine. “I don’t know… I’m terrified. What if I hate it?”

“You won’t,” Liz promised, channeling the same fire she’d used on Sarah. “I’ve been where you are—scared, then hooked. Come with me after your shift. My guy Tony’ll fix you up. He’s not Joey from the beach, but he’s damn good.”

Stella hesitated, then nodded, a flicker of curiosity breaking through her nerves. “Okay. But if I freak out, you’re buying me coffee for a month.”

“Deal,” Liz laughed, finishing her cup. That afternoon, after Stella clocked out, they headed to Tony’s Barbershop—a no-frills spot Liz had been hitting up since her Gus days. The bell jingled as they walked in, and Tony, a stocky guy with a graying beard, looked up from sweeping. His eyes landed on Liz’s flattop, and he whistled. “Well, damn, Liz. That’s one hell of a flattop—cleanest I’ve seen. Where’d you get that?”

Liz grinned, running her hand over it. “Vacation find—street barber on the boardwalk. Guy named Joey. Flattest flattop ever. Still obsessed.”

“Joey knows his shit,” Tony said, nodding approval. “Looks killer. But you’re not here for a trim, are you?”

“Nope,” Liz said, nudging Stella forward. “She is. Bad dye job—fried her hair to death. Needs a buzz to save it. Short as you can go without going bald.”

Stella shuffled up, peeling off her hat again, her face flushed. “Yeah, uh, it’s a mess. I’m freaking out, but Liz says this’ll work.”

Tony inspected the damage, clicking his tongue. “Yikes, kid. Yeah, buzzing’s the only fix—too brittle to save. #1 short enough for you?”

Stella swallowed, gripping the chair arms as he draped the cape over her. “I guess? Just… do it quick before I bolt.”

Tony fired up the clippers, the buzz filling the shop. Stella squeezed her eyes shut as he ran them over her head, the fried blonde strands falling in sad, dry clumps. Liz stood by, sipping a to-go coffee, watching with a grin as Stella’s long hair vanished, replaced by a tight, even #1 buzz—barely an eighth of an inch. When Tony switched off the clippers and brushed her neck, Stella opened one eye, then both, reaching for the mirror. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she touched it. “It’s… gone.”

“And?” Liz prompted, leaning in.

Stella rubbed it—slowly at first, then faster, a shaky laugh escaping. “It’s so weird… but kinda awesome? It’s so light. And cool!” She turned her head, marveling at the texture. “I didn’t think I’d like it, but… I might love it.”

“Told you,” Liz said, smug. “You’re a buzz girl now. No more hat life.”

Tony chuckled, sweeping up the mess. “Suits you, kid. Grow it out or keep it—your call.”

Stella couldn’t stop touching it, her nerves melting into a grin. “I might keep it. Like, forever. This feels… right.” She hopped out of the chair, hugging Liz. “You’re a menace, but thank you.”

“Anytime,” Liz said, rubbing her own flattop in solidarity. They left the shop, Stella still stroking her buzz, already plotting her next coffee shop shift sans hat. Liz knew she’d sparked another convert—and with her flattop still rocking, she felt like the queen of short hair, one friend at a time.