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from Lula's Luck by Michele L. Medlyn

Copyright © 2020 Michele L. Medlyn

Chapter 6
How Was The Movie?

Just as I went into my room, Megan called.

 

“How’d your hair turn out? How do you look as a blonde?”

 

“It didn’t work. I used the peroxide wrong and it burned my hair. Mom had to cut it off. Now it’s an awful shade of brownish-red and it’s all frizzy!” I told her, my voice a notch higher reliving the nightmare. I sniffled loudly and brushed my nose on my sleeve.

 

“Aww, I’m sorry, Lu. It’ll grow out. Anyway, I bet it’s cute short. How about if we go to a movie this afternoon to take your mind off it? We can call Alli.”

 

“I don’t know if I want to be seen in public. Can I wear a paper sack over my head?”

 

“Lu, you’re so funny! And no, you can’t!”

 

“Hold on and I’ll ask my dad. I could be grounded after the day I’ve had so far.” I ran downstairs and found him in his office reading a book, enjoying the peace and quiet he missed earlier.

 

“Hey, Dad.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Dad,” I said to him quietly, “can I go to the movies?” Dad thought about it for literally like two seconds.

 

“YES!” he blurted out. “I mean yes,” he repeated much more calmly, and he handed me a wad of cash. “Go, have fun.” I think Dad just wanted to get me out of the house. I can definitely understand why.

 

As I ran upstairs, I yelled into the phone, “Meg, I’m not grounded, and I can go!” We put Alli on a 3-way call and made plans to walk to the theater just a few blocks away. We used to ride our bikes to the movies, but we’re older now. I ran up to my room to get ready.

 

My closet was stuffed with clothes. I admit, I have way too many clothes, but I’m not ready to give them up yet. My chose my favorite red t-shirt and pulled it on over my not-quite-red hair. I looked into the mirror in the bathroom, tiptoeing across the soaked towels. I couldn’t brush my hair because of all the frizz, so I combed it the best I could.

 

“Arrgghhhh!” I growled in frustration. Mom poked her head around the corner. She always seems to appear when I need her.

 

“Want some help?”

 

“I doubt anything will help,” I pouted, handing her the comb. She left to get her own curling iron.

 

“I’ll buy you a new curling iron today,” she said like a loving, caring mom, not mentioning the frizzy mess on my head or the still-smoking curling iron on my counter. A few curls in just the right places and lots of smoothing made my hair look a thousand times better. Maybe I could go to ...






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