Senior Year; or, Her Little Game

Preface: Hello there. Long time reader, first time poster. Hoping to get back into the swing of writing, including some material for this site. Nothing veering into the darker or smuttier side of things, generally; that’s not really my thing. But hopefully some of y’all enjoy what I can share. Now on with the show.

Senior Year; or, Her Little Game

The summer before senior year is always an interesting time. There are feelings of expectation, trepidation, consternation, and just the tiniest hint of fear. Some spend the final month making sure they have the perfect hair, perfect outfits, and perfect circle of friends. Some spend that time wishing it would hurry up and get to the start of the school year so that it can be over. And then some, like our two protagonists, spend that time working on the halftime show in band camp.

He played in the pit, usually on the higher end of the grand marimba. This year’s show was themed to Latin influences, so he was going to get to have some fun in the percussion feature. She was on the color guard, second in command. She honestly preferred it that way. Less stress, but still in a position with some authority. They’d been in band together for the last seven years, so there was the sense of camaraderie that went along with the small group that remained from the first year of band classes to the final. Despite this, they were never really great friends. They always waved and said hello when they passed each other in the hallways, and he had often helped the color guard with blocking the front of the field so that they didn’t accidentally hit one of the pit over the head with a flag. But they didn’t hang out independently.

The first day of band camp came, with all the baby freshmen huddled in the corner looking scared and all the upper classmen gathering on the practice field. Among these, there were the exchanges of heys and hellos, comments on new piercings, removed braces, and changes in color or style of hair. Of this last group, none were quite so dramatic as our heroine. Her hair was thick, fairly curly, dirty blonde, and had ended the previous year somewhere around her shoulder blades. She showed up today with just a few inches hanging down loosely, pushing the front back with a headband to keep it out of her face for practice. She’d unfortunately also broken her foot, which would still be in a cast for the first two weeks of band camp. She could still work on the flag movements, and she was always a quick study at formations, so she wasn’t worried. She was also fairly stand-offish with the comments on her drastic reduction of locks.

The first day began as it always did: introductions of the freshmen with their sections, the director giving a welcome speech, the drum major giving theirs, and then marching lessons for the freshmen plus some memory refreshes for the upper classmen. While this was happening, the pit was off to the side to audition the freshmen for their instruments. Since she couldn’t do the marching practice, our leading lady decided to hang out with them. After lunch came music run-throughs, and the first day wrapped before too long. While most people filed out quickly, our main two volunteered to stay behind and move their section’s equipment indoors.

“The flags look really cool this year. They ought to really drive home that olé feel,” he said to her. They’d set some of the flags on the marimba to make them easier to move.

“Thanks! I think we came up with a good design,” she responded, happy that all the back and forth with the sketchbooks getting the designs ready was appreciated by somebody.

Moving around marimbas, xylophones, and vibraphones was fairly slow work, so she decided to keep him company. She couldn’t move quickly or help push, but at least she wasn’t slowing him down. She also liked that he seemed more talkative than usual. His reputation was for being remarkably skilled at using as few syllables and facial expressions as necessary in any conversation, so seeing him more animated was refreshing. She also couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to look over at her even when he was struggling with a faulty wheel or a particularly unhelpful patch of grass catching the brakes of the instruments.

As they locked up the flag cabinet and percussion room, she took her headband out, which let the front part of her hair spill into her face, leading to a flinch.

“Still getting used to it being in your face?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said rather tersely as she failed to tuck it behind her ears.

“I get the feeling you didn’t choose this look yourself.”

“No, I really didn’t.” She had given up and just put the headband back in.

“How long will it take to grow back?”

“God knows. Too damn long. And I plan on being as annoying as possible to my mother that she made them leave this much until I can pull it back again properly.” She didn’t mean to say that last sentence with quite so much force, and she noticed him react to it.

“Ah, so you planned on shorter?” She couldn’t be sure, but she was fairly certain that there was a level of hope in his tone. This was also the longest any guy had ever talked to her about her hair.

“Yeah,” she said, now paying more attention. “I wanted it completely out of my face.” She decided to see if she could get a more particular reaction out of him. “I had so much trouble with it the morning before the appointment, I told the stylist to just shave it if the curl would be a problem short.”

She was now realizing that his famous poker face was likely just a lack of interest in most conversations, because he was doing a poor job of hiding how interesting he found that last sentence.

“Do you think she should’ve?” she asked him, playing with this new knowledge.

“If that’s what you wanted, then yeah.” He was trying to reign in his reactions, suddenly aware that he might’ve let too much of his feelings show through.

“Well, I don’t think I would’ve wanted to go quite that far. But my mom completely overreacted and suddenly the cut that I was considering was far too short for her liking. So this stupid bob was the compromise, which neither of us were happy about.”

He just made a non-committal grunt while nodding to this. That was the guy the whole school knew. But now it was too late for him to hide behind the disinterested mask. She took stock of him. He was smart, not in line for valedictorian, but usually on the high end of the bell curve. He always pitched in to help whenever he saw someone in need, so she knew he was at least not a total asshole like most of the guys. Certainly not one of the more handsome boys, but then again she didn’t consider herself one of the prettiest girls. She wondered what he thought of her as he very clearly tried to make it look like he wasn’t suddenly picturing her sporting the Felicity crop. She also wondered how much of that false reserve would’ve broken down if she’d gotten her way to begin with.

Remembering that his mother was a hairdresser and that he’d said earlier that she was out of town visiting family, she decided to play a little game. While he was in the bathroom, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he actually had to go or if she should be feeling equally offended and flattered, she called her parents and told them that she was going to hang out with friends that night. When he came back, she put her game into motion.

“Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

“I figured I’d watch a movie. Why?”

“My parents are going to be at a work think for my dad, so I wondered if you’d like some company?” She liked that he was squirming a bit.

“Uh, sure. I’ll, uh, I’ll go pull my car around so you don’t have to walk over to it.” He had a terrible parking spot since he hadn’t been able to pay for it until a few days ago, and he was such a creature of habit that he’d already started using it. She got in the car with him, and they drove over to the apartment complex where he lived. He helped her up the stairs, which she had to admit probably didn’t do much good for trying to set a mood. But as soon as they were inside, she threw on a bit of charm.

“How about you give me the grand tour?”

“Yeah, sure.” He looked around as if he suddenly forgot where anything was, which he had. He wasn’t used to girls in his apartment, and he really wasn’t sure if this was just friendly or something more. “This is the living room. That’s the kitchen over there, hence all the appliances.” He led her off to the side, opening a door. “This is my mom’s room.” She tried to glance around to see if anything she was interested in happened to be visible, before realizing that would’ve been highly unlikely. He closed the door and led her to the other end of the apartment, opening another door. “This is my room.” Classic rock posters, unmade bed, a surprisingly large CD collection, and a shelf with several books that she hadn’t heard of. Maybe he was a normal guy after all.

“Nice,” she said, not sure how to gauge a room with several copies of Rolling Stone strewn around it.

He stood there awkwardly before some semblance of social programming seemed to kick in. “Do you want a soda? We also made some sweet tea last night, if you’d prefer that.”

“Tea would be good. Probably slightly better after the sun all day than a Coke.”

“Yeah, true.” He poured her a glass and handed it over. As she took a drink, he stood there holding the pitcher. She smiled a little watching and determining that this poor boy really did have zero skills for this. He finally realized that he was being weird and put the tea away, closing the fridge. “Do you want to sit down?” he finally asked.

“Sure.” They went over and sat down on the couch. He looked at her again, still not sure what exactly was happening. She decided it was probably time to make the next move in her little game.

“Your mom is a hairdresser, right?”

“Yeah…” he was looking confused.

“Well, I was thinking maybe you could do me a favor. My mom clearly won’t let my usual stylist do what I want her to, but she wouldn’t have a choice if I came home and my hair was a choppy mess.” He tensed up at this.

“My mom isn’t here.” Maybe she’d overestimated how smart he was.

“No, but maybe her stuff is?”

“I mean, yeah. But she hasn’t really shown me much.”

Now she was surprised. “Wait, shown you? Like, she’s taught you how to cut hair?”

“Not really, no. Just stuff like keeping a straight line. She doesn’t always like to go in for a cut herself if she’s busy.”

Suddenly she had even more confidence in her plan. “So then this is perfect. I don’t even really need a straight line. Just something that has to end up short.”

He really didn’t look comfortable. Maybe she’d miscalculated.

“Okay.” He pulled a chair from the dining room into the kitchen. “Neither of the bathrooms are really big enough, so we’ll have to do it in here. Are you okay with not having a mirror?”

“Sure. It’s not like you can really screw up too much. The goal is to get it fixed anyway.” She sat down in the chair while he went into his mother’s room. He came back with a little bin, which he put on the counter. She looked over as he pulled out a comb and scissors, and then noticed a large zipper pouch. “What’s in that?” she asked him.

He picked up the pouch and opened it, showing a set of clippers and guards. “Don’t need that unless you were serious about shaving it.”

She laughed. “No, I don’t think we need to go that far.”

He suddenly seemed a little more open. “Of course, if you want something that’s going to stay out of your face all season, something really short would help give you more time before it grows out.”

She looked up at him a bit surprised. “Yeah, that’s true. But I don’t think I’m ready for anything too extreme yet.” He seemed rather excited about the possibility of getting to use the tool in the bag in his hand. Maybe she’d consider going shorter if everything worked out today.

“So, what were we thinking, then?” He asked, turning around and setting the pouch down behind her with the other implements.

She suddenly felt nervous. Planning out a game is one thing; executing it was very different. This was the beginning of senior year. Maybe she should exercise a bit more caution. “How about we start with an inch to see how I feel about it?”

He nodded. “Yeah, an inch would be a good start.”

She heard a popping sound behind her, followed by a buzzing. Suddenly, the clippers were at her front hairline and working their way back. Her eyes widened and she let out a loud, “WHAT THE FUCK?” She jumped up out of the chair and turned around, seeing him holding the clippers in one hand and a lock of her hair in the other.

“What?!” he asked, clearly confused.

“I SAID AN INCH!”

“Yeah, this guard leaves an inch!” He waved the clippers at her.

Definitely not as smart as she gave him credit for an hour ago. She ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, seeing a patch of hair at the front of her head now only an inch long. The slight curl and thickness made it stand up, which really showed her the difference between what she walked in with and what she would now have to walk out with. He had clearly spent all afternoon confused; she realized that she should have been more explicit. She looked back at the mirror. This wasn’t really much shorter than she was thinking he’d cut it before she got nervous. Without knowing it, he’d actually played her game almost perfectly.

She walked back into the kitchen, where he was sitting looking deeply distraught. “I’m so sorry! You were talking about wanting it really short, and I didn’t know if you were joking about shaving it, and then you said start at one inch, so I figured you’d meant to go this short.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t really want it much longer than this anyway, so it’s not that far off. I was just shocked at the clippers.”

“So what do we do now?”

She pushed him to get out of the chair, and then she sat back down. “We finish what we started.”

He turned the clippers back on, which still made her jump a little. If her mom thought the longish pixie she’d wanted before was short, she was in for a hell of a shock now. He placed the clippers next to the first patch and pulled them back. She closed her eyes and sat back. No point in worrying now. It really wasn’t too much shorter than she’d planned, so might as well enjoy it. The hum was louder than would’ve been pleasant, but the vibrations were actually nice. Maybe this wouldn’t be a one-time thing.

After he finished the top of her head, he moved to her right side. Folding down her ear, he moved the clippers around it. This was way too loud for her, but she just focused on the vibrations. It was a nice little head massage, that’s all. Sure, it was taking nearly all of her hair, but at least it wouldn’t be a bother for a while. He moved to her left side, and then the back. Feeling the vibrations on her nape, she shivered. That was a really good spot.

Not long after it started, he’d turned off the clippers. “Alright, ready to go look?”

She got up and went into the bathroom, with him following behind her. She looked in the mirror. It somehow looked both shorter and longer than she’d expected it to. As she turned her head, her main thought was how even the sides stood up under the thickness of her hair. She tried brushing it down, but it just stood back up. She really did not care for that.

“I don’t suppose you know to make it lay down, do you?” she asked.

He looked her in the eye in the mirror. “Unfortunately, no. As far as I know, this is just kinda how it’s going to sit.”

She kept turning her head forward, backward, left, right. The length really wasn’t the issue anymore. “Okay, so this isn’t much better.”

“Well, there’s always one thing we could try.”

“And what’s that?” She looked up at him behind her.

“Well, it wouldn’t necessarily lay down, but at least it wouldn’t look quite so sticky-uppy if we used a shorter guard.”

She looked back in the mirror. She’d been freaking out a few minutes ago, and now she was considering going even shorter. Forward, backward, left, right, left, forward, right, backward. Whichever direction she looked at it, she knew she was willing to try anything.

Without saying anything, she went back to the kitchen and sat down in the chair.

He looked at the guards, trying to decide what would be best. “Do you want me to take it down in stages and stop when you don’t hate it, or just go for short?”

“Just go for short.”

He grabbed the #2 guard and attached it to the clippers. This time, she didn’t jump. She just sat back, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the massage. They did feel a bit funny on the top of her head. She’d never really felt anything that close to scalp except a brush. She certainly would need one of those for a while. She still didn’t like the sound of the clippers near her ear, but at least they felt better on the sides of her head than on the top. Once he’d gone over the right, then the left, it was time for the sweet spot. “Make sure you get it all even back there.” She really didn’t see how he could miss anything, but feeling him take his time running the clippers slowly over her nape felt wonderful.

Soon, he turned the clippers off again. She opened her eyes and reached up her hand. It was prickly, but softer than she’d expected. She got up and went back to the bathroom. This time, as she turned her head, everything seemed much better. Still sticking up, but not nearly as awkward. She wasn’t looking forward to the grow out.

He walked in behind her, and she looked at him in the mirror. He lifted his hand and began to lightly run a finger up and down her nape. She closed her eyes and leaned her head into this touch. He got closer, and she could feel him breathing. She reached her own hand up and dug her fingers into his hair. He took the hint and leaned in to lightly kiss her neck. She turned around, leaning against him, and pulled his lips down to hers as his hands began to rub against the back of her head. Maybe she didn’t need to worry about the grow out.

The next morning, as she got out of his bed, she reached up to feel her hair again. She went into his bathroom and looked in the mirror. She may have started this game, but they both definitely won it. He followed her in, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing the base of her neck, moving up to her nape with each kiss. She smiled and thought, “I’m really going to like senior year.”