My statistics teacher prefers that those of us who sit in the front row wear nice shoes. I sit in the front row. I’ve worn the same old pair of gray and white size 10 New Balance sneakers to class just about every week since August. You’d think I didn’t care about my grade, but after Statistics class it’s a ten-minute hike across campus to my ceramics class, where the mud tends to fly. I do try to mix it up a bit with interesting socks, such as my always popular Frida Kahlo socks. The 17 year old who sits next to me regularly sports a fresh pedicure, a turtle tattoo and fancy flat sandals upon her pretty little feet. She’s getting an A.
Enough about feet, let’s talk hair. Sunday was a big hair day for Ivan.
The afternoon found me in the kitchen with vapors of ammonia, a bottle each of Lusty Lavender and Midnight Black, and two 9th graders; Chloe and Ivan. First we bleached his thick, wavy, sandy brown hair down to orangey yellow, then we separated several chunks from the rest, slathered them with purple, wrapped them in tin foil, and painted the rest black. After the final shampoo and conditioning, at his request, I smeared shaving cream on his upper lip and sideburns, and a razor touched his sweet face for the first time ever.
Whaddya think about that?