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A Boy With Girly Hair - Part 8
🕑 Added 2020-11-16 07:07:39 +0000 UTCNailed it.
More than a week went by before anything of importance happened in the Sammi Jaclyn saga. I can confidently say that I didn’t get any more questions or insinuations that it could in fact be me in the pictures. Perhaps the decoy worked?
I was getting more and more settled into high school life. I was even beginning to make good acquaintances with a bunch of people. Nothing really led to hanging out per se, but definitely some people I could have good conversations within the class.
Both Jenna and I were keeping in contact with Daisy on a regular basis, and she mentioned there were a few girls she overheard talking about the school uniform, but there wasn’t necessarily a huge commotion. Those who did speak of it were certainly intrigued by the anonymous girl from St. Matthew’s on Instagram.
I was beginning to really excel in my math class. Jessie, Hannah, and Haley (the three girls who messed with my hair and put mascara on me) hadn’t really conversed with me since aside from the occasional compliment on my appearance (despite not putting any effort into it).
The Instagram account had now reached 22,000 followers, clearly aided by the Fashion Expo’s plug. Jenna was relishing in this growing audience, though she accurately read my feelings and thought it best to slow the posting down for a little while.
A lot of that short period’s excitement had halted for a bit, and I was hanging around the house a lot more.
“Hey hun, can you help me out for a second?”
It was my Mom calling me to the kitchen. “I need you to chop some of these vegetables,” she said.
I was happy to help. She was soup for dinner—tons of vegetables, beans, beef, and everything you could think of was in this. Her specialty “everything soup,” she called it.
She was also cooking a roast for dinner. That part I didn’t help with, and it takes over an hour to cook.
“You know, usually, I’m chopping vegetables and preparing other meals while the roast cooks, but with your help, I’m done so early. Thanks, sweetie.” She kissed the top of my head.
Mom poured herself a glass of wine and sat down in the family room. She turned on an HGTV show and began to relax. I sat with her.
A few minutes later she pulled out a tube of nail polish and began to apply it to her fingernails while she watched the show.
For some reason, my attention diverted from the show to her fingernails. It was a soft lavender/purple color she was applying. Tender, delicate strokes on each nail.
“You like it?” My Mom said, laughing. She had caught me in a stare.
“Oh, sorry, I was zoning out. I guess the Property Brothers aren’t doing a good job at keeping my attention.”
“It’s a pretty color. I picked it out just a few days ago.”
Her nails were already neatly shaped and quite long. Her hands looked well-manicured even without the polish, but the lavender color really made her hands pop.
“Did you file them recently?” I asked.
“Yeah, I let them grow out a little bit. That way you can more easily shape them.”
“Well they look very nice, Mom,” I said.
“Thank you, sweetie,” she responded endearingly. “They—oh my!” Mom looked shocked all of a sudden.
“Honey! Your nails are a mess! I can’t believe I didn’t notice!”
“I guess they are sort of long…” I agreed with her but didn’t really care. “I actually like them longer. It’s easier to grip stuff.”
“You can’t be walking around with nails like that. Girls aren’t attracted to that kind of stuff. Here.”
She stopped painting her own nails and grabbed a nearby nail file. She scooched over to my part of the couch. I recoiled just a little bit.
“Mom, I don’t want my nails filed.”
“Ohhh hush,” she calmed me. “If you’re not gonna cut them, at least have them look presentable.”
She immediately got to work with the file. I held my hands over the table so the nail remnants didn’t get all over the couch. With each movement, my nails looked nicer.
It was actually kind of relaxing. I got back into watching the show as Mom kept her attention on my nails, taking intermittent sips from her wine glass. I actually somewhat enjoyed the pampering.
Within 10 minutes she was finished and my nails looked completely different. They were still long, but now they were an oval shape.
“Lovely!” my Mom said. “That’s the condition they should be kept in.”
“They look nice, but they also seem a little feminine, don’t you think?” I asked.
She shrugged off that comment. “I think they look nice. That’s all that should matter.” She felt my hands again. “Though they could use a little softening…”
She got up and went upstairs, as if on a mission. Soon after she returned with a tube of lotion.
“Hand lotion! The perfect fix!”
She grabbed my hands and squirted some lotion on them, clasping them together and rubbing in the lotion.
“Lavender?” I asked.
She nodded. “Smells lovely, doesn’t it?”
I suppose it did. When she was done, my hands felt more delicate than they ever had before. She then washed her hands and got back to painting her own nails. But not before she gave a surprising offer.
“Would you like me to explain the steps to you? You seem interested.”
“Uhhhhh…” I stammered. I didn’t really know what to say. For whatever reason, I kept staring at the soft strokes of paint she was applying to her nails.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll show you anyway.” She still had her left hand to do. “I already prepped by pushing back my cuticles and making sure all the oils were off my nails. Otherwise, the polish doesn’t stick too well.”
She did her thumb, then index finger, and finally the rest, each with soft strokes. The lavender color looked beautiful on her hands.
“Then, once you’re done, make sure to softly blow on them and let it dry for a bit.”
“So you’re done?” I asked.
“With the first coat. The second coat comes later. That’ll make the lavender really pop, hun.”
“Cool…cool,” I focused back on the TV.
A short silence, then:
“Would you like your nails painted, Sam?”
What was she thinking? I can’t accept that. You can hide a hairstyle and always change clothes, but nails? What am I supposed to do, wear gloves?”
“I really shouldn’t, Mom. That stuff lasts a while.”
“It only lasts as long as you want it too. Have you heard of nail polish remover?”
She had a point. It could always be removed at the snap of a finger. And we’re literally just sitting here watching TV…”
“Fine,” I said, “Just as long as we remove it tonight.”
She accepted my condition. She instructed me to lie back in the recliner and extend and relax my hand. Leaning back, having my nails painted really made me feel like I was at a salon. Or, at least how I imagine it would go down.
First, the left, then the right, and soon enough she was done. I officially had lavender nails.
“So pretty!” my Mom said. “Thanks for humoring me, sweetie.” She winked and kissed the top of my head.
“So what do I do now?”
“Well, you wait for them to dry.”
“Dry? I thought I was getting it taken off?”
“After dinner. We’re eating soon.” My Mom returned to the kitchen to finish up cooking.
Dinnertime rolled around, and immediately, Dad and Jenna noticed my nails. Jenna loved them, and my Dad jokingly said I was being too nice to Mom. Nobody really seemed to see anything wrong otherwise.
I helped clean up and went on to retire to my room. “Mom, I’d like the nail polish removed now.”
She sighed but accepted. A promise is a promise. Mom went up to her room to grab the remover but came back empty-handed.
“Sorry hun, I seem to be out. I’m sure your sister has some. Jenna?”
“I don’t really wear nail polish, Mom. You know that.”
I was beginning to freak out a bit. “Are you saying I have to keep lavender nails?”
“Well, at least they look pretty,” Jenna added. She wasn’t helping.
“Just run out to the store and get some!” I demanded, “I cannot go to school like this tomorrow.”
“It’s pretty late. I don’t think the store’s open till the morning. We’ll have to do it then.”
That helped me a little bit. I can bear with lavender nails until the morning, right? As long as they’re gone by school time.
“Fine,” I said, pouting.
“We’ll go before school. I promise,” my Mom reassured.
Jenna chimed in. “You know, Sam, since you can’t remove it tonight, have you considered adding a second coat?”
“What? Why the heck would I want that?”
“Think about it. How often do you get a chance to try nail polish? Might as well finish the job.” Jenna pointed out.
Finish the job? She was treating it as if having my nails painted was some sort of honor—something to appreciate.
“Oh, come on, honey. We can do it together.” Mom was now siding with Jenna.
Both of them looked at me with such warmth. I truly think they wanted this to be a bonding experience.
I caved. Ideally, we’d be doing a different bonding activity, but it looks like I’m outnumbered.
I sat back in the recliner and my Mom got to work applying the second coat. We turned on a movie while we sat—“When in Rome” with Josh Duhamel and Kristen Bell. A total chick flick, but once again I was outnumbered.
She finished my second coat and then did hers. Then a third for me. The vibrant color popped more with each coat she added. Then a third for herself.
“I’ll get the topcoat!” Jenna volunteered. She went up to my Mom’s room to grab the clear layer intended to protect and gloss up the nails.
I decided to opt-out of that, considering I was getting it taken off tomorrow. They agreed.
Once the movie ended, Mom thanked me again for humoring her. Jenna and I retired upstairs, and Jenna insisted I go into her room.
“Well, THIS certainly warrants a picture,” Jenna cut straight to the chase.
“For the Instagram account?” I asked.
“We haven’t updated it since your school uniform pic. I would be pretty cool to keep adding variety.”
She sat me down and took a picture of my new pretty nails.
“God, your hands are feminine. Such long, thin fingers, Sam. Soft too.”
I didn’t really know what to reply to that. “Uh, yes?”
She snapped a few pictures and posted them on the account. “I’m gonna miss these nails,” she added.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” I said brushing her off. At that point, I was getting tired. Time for bed.
“GET UP!”
What? Huh?
It was morning. Jenna was in my room. “We overslept! School starts at 20!”
“So? It’s a short drive. I’ll just throw on pants and leave.”
“Oh YEAH?” Jenna said, grabbing my hands.
The nails! I still had a girl’s hands from last night! God, of all the mornings to wake up late!
I shot out of bed and threw on some clothes.
“Can’t we just be late?”
“You know Mom doesn’t allow that,” Jenna barked.
This was very bad. Not only could I be ostracized for having girly hands, but kids might be able to connect the nail polish to the Instagram account. What was I thinking!?
