Never Always Sometimes

“It’s working,” Dave said, and the two of them smiled at each other for a second until Gretchen was called up by one of the stylists. He watched her lean her head back into the shampooing faucet and close her eyes as the water washed over her blond locks. She played with the book in her hands, flipping the cover over. Her nails were flecked with baby-blue polish.

Dave waited for his turn, trying not to get caught looking in Gretchen’s direction as she got a trim. The two guys waiting next to him were still on their phones, occasionally glancing up at his hair. Dave was pretty sure one of them took a photo while pretending to search for a signal. But the embarrassment he’d felt only a few moments ago had faded some.

When it was his turn, the only open spot was once again right next to Gretchen. She was reading and this time she didn’t notice him right away. The hair stylist—tall, black, wearing a tight shirt that showed off his sleek muscles—draped one of those protective sheets over Dave and then Velcroed it at the back. “What are we doing with this?” He asked, bravely running a hand through Dave’s hair.

“For the love of God, take it all off.”

“Wise choice,” the stylist said. He grabbed an electric razor from his tools on the counter. “You kids never learn to let a professional do it.”

Gretchen stopped reading and smiled at Dave through the mirror. Dave had never understood why people associated cheekbones with beauty, but now that he noticed Gretchen’s, he got it. “You should save all of the hair in a bag,” Gretchen said. “I don’t know exactly what you’d do with it, but there’s a prank in there somewhere.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to be the guy that collects hair in a bag.”

Gretchen laughed in a way he hadn’t seen before, this goofy laugh that showed off her front teeth and sounded like it came from a cartoon character.

“When I hit rock bottom, that’s when I start collecting hair.”

“What do you think people who collect hair do with it?”

“I don’t know if those people actually exist. I think that’s just something TV shows and movies made up for the creepiness factor and to get some laughs.”

“Oh, they exist. I’m sure of it.”

“You think?” Dave said. Just then, the redheaded hipster girl who’d been cutting Gretchen’s hair brushed off the clippings from Gretchen’s shoulder and said they were all done. Dave found himself thinking, Don’t go.

Then his stylist turned on the razor and kept his head still, and Gretchen disappeared from Dave’s sight. It was an abrupt and disappointing good-bye. Still, it was a little thrilling having a good conversation with someone who wasn’t Julia. It was a little liberating, truth be told, to think of someone else for a while. When Dave stood up to pay, now sporting a completely shaved head, he saw that it hadn’t been a good-bye at all; Gretchen was waiting for him at the front.

“I don’t know if you drove here,” Gretchen said, “but I can give you a ride home, if you want. Since we live so close.” Without waiting for an answer, she reached up and ran a hand over his shaved head. “This feels nice.”

“Thanks,” he said, wondering if she could spot the goose bumps she’d given him. “I’d love a ride.”

“Good.” She smiled, then motioned with her head. “It’s this way.”

PARTICULAR SHADES (#ulink_1adc19b3-5f5e-5b83-b7f0-ba4d1dd45eba)

ANOTHER PERFECT CALIFORNIA day. There were plenty of them throughout the year, so many that they were nearly indistinguishable, a string of blessings that were mostly taken for granted, except for when there were three or four chilly days in a row and everyone suddenly longed for perfection again. So when Mr. Patch, Dave and Julia’s AP English teacher, decided to have class outside, it was less an impulse to take advantage of the weather and more of an excuse to allow everyone to waste an hour.

They were supposed to be working on practice essays, but even Mr. Patch was lying against the tree where most of the seniors gathered for lunch, pretending to keep an eye on things. Some people from class were sitting at the picnic tables near the cafeteria, their notebooks (paper or computer) nowhere to be seen. A handful of people had put in their earphones as soon as they’d stepped outside. Julia and Dave separated themselves from the class immediately, and they laid out at the edge of the soccer field, where a little hill faced out at the blacktop and the rest of the school. Julia was resting her head on Dave’s stomach, her pink hair just as bright as when they dyed it. The weight of her against him was like warmth added to the day. It quieted everything, as if the touch of her head on his stomach was a mute button, and all that existed was the two of them.

In the days since the hair coloring and the shenanigans with Marroney in the Chili’s bathroom, Julia had been in a fantastic mood. All she wanted to do was plan out the rest of the Nevers, starting with Dave’s prom king campaign. It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement. Yes, he’d sat next to Gretchen during their last two classes together, and walked with her to her next class, even though his was on the other side of school and he’d arrived late. She was fun to talk to, and the more he found out about her, the more colorful she seemed. But this was Julia, and a maybe-crush could not compare.

Another class joined the unofficial festivities. An art class, judging from the large sketch pads the students carried with them. The teacher was reading a paperback as she walked, smug in her knowledge that if anyone could get away with having their class outside it was the art teacher. Dave spotted Gretchen among the art students, a dark green sketchbook with a pencil in the spiral binding tucked under her arm. She was talking to Joey Planko, a junior soccer player who, from what Dave had heard at the Kapoor party, was already getting scholarship offers. Frankly, he looked like he could receive scholarship offers solely for having muscles. He looked like the human version of a sports car.

Dave watched them walk across the blacktop, passing in front of where he and Julia were lying. He kept preparing his arm to wave at Gretchen when she noticed him, but her eyes were turned in Joey’s direction. The two of them and a couple of other people made their way across the lush soccer field to the far goal, none of them casting so much as a glance in Dave and Julia’s direction, and Dave was somewhat thankful to not have to explain to Julia his newfound friendship with Gretchen, or whatever it was.

“Debbie’s been trying to kill the pink spots on her tail. Sometimes I catch her looking at my hair and I can just tell her brain is whirring, making the connection. She’s going to come after me soon.”