Making Pretty by Corey Ann Haydu Read Free Book Online

starts to look tired when he has been adventurous and free-spirited for over two hours. His eyelids look heavier and his voice has a new grumble in it, on the edges.
    I grin at him and he half smiles back.
    Bernardo is a guy who never grins.
    â€œOn it,” Roxanne says. She has a pack in her purse; she picked them up with the hair dye because she knows how to have the best possible afternoon. We each light a cigarette and I open the window wide so that the four of us can gather around it and blow smoke out onto West 12th Street. Arizona gives up after half a cig, so I stand in between Roxanne and Bernardo and thrill at Bernardo’s shoulder against mine and how quickly I’ve mastered the art of casual smoking. I still hate the taste, but right now I’m enjoying the shape my lips make when I exhale and the grace of bringing my fingers to my mouth. It’s like a ballet move.
    â€œDad’s gonna kill you, he’s gonna smell it all over you,” Arizona says. She coughs but doesn’t leave.
    â€œDad’s gonna kill me anyway,” I say. I shake my almost pink hair in her general direction and take another puff. “Besides, his new girlfriend smokes.” I know this is true because when he’s been out with her, he comes back with the smell of someone else’s cigarettes clinging to his blazer.
    â€œSounds like none of us are going to make it out of today unscathed,” Bernardo says, a little more gravel in his voice.
    Bernardo is a guy who says funny things but doesn’t know they’refunny. Bernardo is a guy who doesn’t laugh but watches me when I laugh.
    I really like a guy named Bernardo , I text Karissa even though she hasn’t replied to my first text and I’m paranoid that we didn’t actually bond like I thought we did. I didn’t think Bernardos could be hot .
    Is there anything better than liking someone you never thought you could like? Karissa says, and it’s perfect and I’m left wondering why I can’t say these things to my sister anymore.
    Bernardo’s hair ends up being way brighter than mine. My dirty blond is still partially visible under the veil of color. Bernardo’s hair, on the other hand, is a brilliant, deep pink, since we stripped it of all color before re-creating him. He is all neon insanity. Mine is a brown-blond-pink-beachy-messy color, but his is a statement.
    â€œYes,” I say, in answer to nothing, because there’s no other word for how it feels to look at him.
    He doesn’t cry or anything, looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t gasp. He doesn’t blush.
    â€œWell, here we go,” he says.

June 6
    The List of Things to Be Grateful For
    1   When Tess moved out three months ago, she left her blender, three pairs of silver shoes, a fancy Pilates machine, and the so-ugly-it’s-pretty painting of roses hanging in the living room. These will be placed, as always, into the Closet of Forgotten Things.
    2   Knowing that the pizza at Ben’s on MacDougal has the perfect ratio of melty cheese to doughy crust. The ratio being: mostly melted cheese, minimal sauce, thin crust.
    3   Boys with pink hair. Boys with pink hair. Boys with pink hair. (Boys who dye their hair pink because of me.)

six
    A couple of days later, getting a bagel, I’m on high Bernardo alert. It’s summer in the way it’s only ever summer in New York for about three days a year, so everyone’s in the park. I slow to a stroll and hope he appears. I’m expecting him and his buddies, draping themselves over their bench. One of the guys always has a harmonica. The other talks so loudly that people walking by get uncomfortable. So they’d be hard to miss if they were here. I could text and ask him if he’s in the park.
    I have Bernardo’s number, but he doesn’t have mine.
    â€œI dyed my hair pink,” he said before he left my place. “So you know where I stand.