Chapter 4, Part 1
It wasn’t until the next morning I realized how much I really didn’t like the sound of Emilia’s words, especially now that I was seeing that they were more than just empty threats. Linda and Garth were standing in the kitchen the following morning, silently taking in the change Emilia had made over the past eight hours. My bowl of cereal sat forgotten on the bar counter top now that I had something that took all of my attention and removed my appetite.
“You don’t like it?” Emilia questioned innocently, a pouty expression on her face. She ruffled a hand through her newly cut hair, a gesture that didn’t take long because it was drastically shorter than it had been the night before. I had no idea when she’d managed to sneak off and done it, especially because I had fallen asleep before I’d heard her leave and I’d been up for a while, replaying her words over in my mind, wondering if maybe she wasn’t right, wondering what I was doing here at all if clearly I wasn’t welcome. If Emilia didn’t want my help than why should I disrupt my life to give it to her?
Those were the thoughts I had fallen asleep to but I had tried to wake up with a new attitude. Since I was here, I might as well give Linda’s plan a try and maybe, if it worked out, Emilia would be able to see that it was a good idea after all and we might begin to build a relationship. With those thoughts in mind, I had headed to the kitchen and managed to scrounge up a box of cereal for breakfast, which I had just started one when Garth had come into the kitchen with the morning paper. He had just opened it to the Entertainment section, a horrified expression slowly creeping across his face, when Linda had marched downstairs with Emilia in tow, my twin sporting a new and drastic haircut that definitely distinguished us.
Yesterday, everything about Emilia and I had been identical except for the clothes we were wearing and our attitudes. As we’d stood in this very kitchen several hours ago, I’d been able to keep from sizing up Emilia and comparing us as I went, finally being able to take note for the first time in my life how alike we truly were. The same height, a respectable five foot four, same slender build brought on by a young and hearty metabolism (though Emilia looked like she’d done a little bit more than just looked longingly at a gym), sun-kissed skin, small hands with long fingers, heart-shaped face with vibrant blue eyes, a dusting of freckles across the nose, dimpled cheeks and, of course, the mirror-reflection beauty mark. Yesterday, the last thing I had compared had been our hair: long, black and stick-straight. Today it was where my comparisons had to end.
Last night, it was clear that Emilia had snuck out of the house and not just to make her usual mischief. She had decided to reinvent her appearance by cutting her hair drastically short; once it had fallen comfortably to the middle of her back but now it just barely brushed the top of her shoulders. It had been layered to give it a little more body and substance, so that it wasn’t just a blah and boring cut. But the haircut didn’t appear to be enough for Emilia, because she had streaked it with vibrant red, which shot across her dark hair like spotlights. She seemed incredibly pleased with her new do, whereas Linda was fuming.
“What were you thinking?” Linda nearly shrieked at Emilia, somehow managing to keep her voice relatively low, though I doubted that restraint would last very long. Emilia just smirked, crossing her arms over her chest; it looked as though her pleasure in her actions would be more than enough to filter out anything Linda had to say. “Emilia…I…this is a new low, even for you. What were you thinking? How could you do this to yourself?” Linda looked like she wanted to take Emilia and shake some sense into her head.
Emilia shrugged. “I just needed a change. I figured that you wouldn’t mind, because there’s a lot of change going on here now.” She gave me a pointed look before looking innocently back at Linda. “Besides, I thought you might like to be able to tell us apart, Mom.”
“That was the whole point!” Linda shouted, her voice no longer calm or level. “We weren’t supposed to be able to tell you apart!”
I looked at Emilia, my eyes narrowed. I’d had a feeling at her hair had just been collateral damage in her attempt to get to me, something that had been made incredibly easy thanks to Linda’s plan. Anything Emilia did to herself would happen to me, just like a mirror image. I couldn’t help but reach up and touch my hair affectionately; vain, maybe, but that didn’t change the fact that I happened to be very attached to my locks. Emilia smirked, victorious.
Linda looked from Emilia to myself and back again, a tennis match to take in our different appearances. “Well, I’m sure we can get rid of the streaks.” She seemed almost to be talking to herself, trying to comfort herself in this difficult and trying time. “Hair extensions…no one will notice…” But Emilia didn’t look like someone who was seeing the abrupt end to her plan.
Garth, who had been sitting at the table, wisely remaining silent, cleared his throat. Linda looked over in his direction, her expression slightly impatient. “That might not work…” He mumbled, holding out the paper to her. I remembered the expression of surprise that had entered his face before Emilia and Linda had come downstairs and I had the feeling that we were the last to know of Emilia’s new haircut.
Linda took the paper from him and studied the page he’d handed her. I glanced at the print and wished I hadn’t. Emilia’s new style had made the front page of the Entertainment section and it was obvious that she hadn’t shied away from press attention this time. There were several pictures of her and not that usual blurred shots where her expression was a mixture of anger and pleasure, but pictures of Emilia smiling at the camera, showing off before and after shots of her hair, as well as pictures of the actual hair butchery. Every picture made it obvious that what Emilia had done was the real deal and if Linda wanted to go through with her plan for hair extensions, it would be obvious to everyone that they were fake.
There was a lengthy article (who knew that a celebrity hair cut would be such fascinating news) that wove around the pictures and it seemed as though Emilia had granted the press their first pleasant interview. There were also several quotes from the hair stylist herself, though how Emilia had managed to rouse someone to cut her hair so late in the night wasn’t answered in the article. Emilia had made sure that everyone would see her new hair, everyone would read about her new hair and everyone would know how happy she was with her new hair. Though what they wouldn’t know, was that Emilia wasn’t going to be the only one sporting the new do. I had the uneasy feeling that a trip to the hair salon was in my immediate future.
Cursing, Linda balled up the paper and tossed it onto the kitchen table. “I hope you’re proud of yourself Emilia.” Emilia did look pretty pleased, if I did say so myself. “Once again, I’m going to have to fix your mistakes.” She shook her head. “And you had such beautiful hair…”
But Emilia seemed to ignore that last part. “Or we could just call the whole thing off. I’m sure Scout wouldn’t mind.” She glanced at me with a sarcastically nice expression on her face.
Well, at least she was right about something.
However, Linda didn’t seem to be paying attention. “I’ll call up the stylist, we’ll get an appointment first thing, before the meeting with the press.”
I wasn’t entirely surprised that Linda hadn’t asked me what I thought about the whole idea. Actually hearing her talk about making an appointment with the hairdresser made me realize that I was actually going to be getting a little bit more than a trim for the first time in a long time. I kept my hair at a reasonable length, but I never went for anything drastically short, not like Emilia had done. Now it seemed like I didn’t have a choice.
Emilia seemed both disappointed that Linda was still carrying on with the plan as usual, but also pleased that I would be the one suffering for her little decision. Obviously, Emilia had taken pride in her hair as well, otherwise she never would have imagined that it would be a good way to strike out at me. I felt anger boil in my blood and I clinched my hands into fists. Emilia might have all ready cut her hair off, but I was sure I could find something else to snip at while she was sleeping.