The Seat Exchange

Chapter 3

Sweat built on every inch of my body as I made my way across campus. Tacky moisture stuck to the back of my neck from allowing Alex to use her curling iron on me right before leaving the house. I had tried to get out of visiting the seat in front of the vanity she had set up in her bedroom–her salon as she liked to call it–but she had wrangled me in.

"You know I never wear my hair natural unless I've taken a shower before bed," she reminded me once she cornered me by the kitchen.

She was telling the truth. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen Alex sport our natural, barely wavy hair. If she didn't come back from getting a blow-out, she was wearing effortless, beach-y waves that rolled down her back. Which led to part two of why she wouldn't let me leave the house without doing my hair; extensions.

Compared to Alex, my hair was much shorter. Blunt strands that barely brushed my shoulder blades. I had been getting the same, low maintenance cut ever since high school from the moment Mom didn't force us to match anymore. It was short enough that it didn't cause a lot of hassle, but long enough that I could throw it up and get it out of my face–which was ninety percent of the time.

The clips of hair were snapped tight against my scalp. It was excess weight I wasn't privy to and, in all honesty, it was starting to give me a headache. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought she was using this opportunity to get back at me for every bad thing I did to her growing up.

A tendril of hair bounced against my forehead. I brushed it behind my ears, my fingers skimming the metal of the fake piercing Alex had helped me clip on as part of my transformation. When we were around the age of nine, our parents had brought us to get our ears pierced. I backed out a second before the burly lady with the gun had placed the needle to my ear. Of course, Alex took it like a champ and now had two stylish piercings on each lobe.

"God, what am I doing?" I muttered to myself as I made my way into a building.

The hall was swarming with college students trying to get to their next destination. It was only the second week of classes and most people were still trying to get used to their schedules. I stumbled around a horde of guys as I hoped people didn't register how lost I seemed.

Being that most of my classes were in one building, it was very rare that I left my little pocket of campus. My peaceful, and quiet, part of campus. But after a couple minutes of wondering, I ended up finding the cramped classroom on the second floor.

The classrooms were so much different than the wide open spaces of the studios. There wasn't a single window in the small concrete room. Artificial light poured down from the ceiling, adding to the throbbing in my head. What we were left with were stark white walls and ceiling tiles. The best word I could use to describe it was sterile.

I fidget in the stiff plastic chair, tugging at the crisp collar of the dress shirt under my pewter blue sweater. The fabric constricted around my neck in a cotton chokehold and I wondered how Alex could dress like this on a daily basis. It made me miss the oversized t-shirts and leggings I had stashed in my dresser back at the house.

I didn't have too much time to wallow in self-pity as other early-birds soon started filling the empty seats. I offered anyone that peered in my direction a tight, but pleasant, smile. Kind, but not open enough for a conversation. It wasn't the Hollywood grin they would have received from Alex, but I was treading on thin ice.

Alex had given me fair warning before I had left not to draw attention to myself. Especially when class started.

It was a simple rule, one that should have been easy to follow, especially for someone who avoided social situations like the plague. It was the same reason I picked a desk against the far back wall. But for once, I was actually trying to garner the attention of someone in particular. I clicked my pencil against my desk, scanning the room and hoping I didn't spontaneously combust.