Brook shoved her phone in my face, grinning like a maniac.

Eyebrow quirked, I stared down at the picture she pulled up—a girl with hair the same length as mine but dyed a beautiful deep red.

"You need to dye yours, too!" Brook cheered, swiveling in her seat.

"I don't know . . ." I reached around and set her phone on the counter. Reluctantly looking into the mirror, I poked at my ponytail. My hair was plain compared to the picture—dark brown, frizzy, and boring.

"Dye it! Dye it!" my best friend chanted as her hairdresser threw a wrap around her shoulders.

I almost considered it until the girl to our left whispered, "I love yours. I wish my hair could look that healthy and natural again." She held up a few strands of broken, blonde hair. "Yours is perfect the way it is, trust me."

I smiled, glancing at my reflection again. "I think I'm good, Boo."

She pursed her lips, glaring at me in the mirror. "This is what I meant about not exciting, you know."

"I do," I said, leaning against the wall and pulling my sweater sleeves to my fingers. "I'm sorry."

Brook waved her hand, turning to the hairdresser. "Aubrey, do you think my friend would suit a burgundy-ish color?"

Hand propped on her hip, Aubrey looked me up and down, then settled on my face and narrowed her eyes.

I broke eye contact immediately, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Perhaps. I like it now, though. With a trim and clean-up, it would look amazing," she concluded after a full minute, and I finally looked her way again.

The girl beside Brook caught my gaze, smirking, as if to say 'told you'.

"Then at least do that, Lani," Brook sighed, then perked up and squealed. "What about layers?"

Aubrey's focus shifted to me again, though the comb in her hand didn't stop moving through Brook's wavy bob. "Layers could work. What do you think, Lani?"

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but no sound came out. Brook spoke up instead, eager with her answer.

"She'll do the layers. Come sit, Nini." She pointed to the free chair on her other side. "Say goodbye to this you."

"If you want to, I can call Stef over." Aubrey gestured over her shoulder at the petite ginger sweeping by the registers.

I looked between Brook and the blonde girl, both of their faces expressing a different opinion. Shrugging, I said, "You can get Stef, Aubrey."

While Brook was over the moon, the blonde shook her head and remained silent the rest of the time she was there.

↠

From the moment I walked out of the salon, I couldn't stop playing with my hair. It had been years since I'd done anything more than a split end trim, and even that cut was by Brook's "encouragement." This look, with layered curls that fell down my back in waves, was completely new to me.

Stef suggested we take it a step further and add highlights or cut bangs. Part of me wanted to do something truly adventurous, but I couldn't bring myself to accept. I wasn't the one who stood out in a crowd, and I liked it that way.

Brook didn't, but over the years she grew to accept it and embraced being the center of attention alone. So, when I told her I wanted to stay home instead of going to the bar, she pouted but said she wasn't surprised.

Her irritation was obvious, but in the end, I got a free night to myself for Netflix, snacks, and Nemo.

Our Yorkie tucked himself into my side the second I sprawled out on the bed with my laptop. Buried beneath a fluffy blanket, he fell asleep before the opening credits of New Girl.

After six and a half episodes, and several packets of M&Ms, I heard a quick knock on the door. Pausing the episode, I sat up and peered at the door. Nemo growled under the blanket, pawing at my hip.

"Who is it?"

Rye inched into the room, flashing me a smile. "Hey, Lani Bug."

I winced at the nickname, memories from my fourteenth birthday party crashing into my brain like waves.

Shaking my head, I whispered, "When will you let that go?"

"Never." He leaned over the foot of the bed, brushing his curls out of his eyes. "I'm about to stream. You want to sit in?"

My heart skipped, but I managed a nonchalant nod and closed my laptop without looking like a total fool. "Nemo, too?" 

"Of course."

Yapping, Nemo bounced along the bed toward Rye. His stubby tail wagged furiously, swinging the rest of his body along with it.

"Come here, silly." Rye cradled Nemo like a baby, letting him lick his face. "Who's my good boy?"

I tried to fight the smile forming at the sight. Rye had always been good with Nemo; he picked the Yorkie out, after all. Nemo was Brook's twenty-first birthday present from Rye, almost two years ago. He surprised her after we spent the weekend in Vegas, telling her that Nemo would be their first child.

Naturally, Brook accepted and treated Nemo as such, little outfits and all.

"Meet me downstairs?"

I blinked a few times. "Um . . . yeah!"

Rye carried Nemo out of my room, chanting the puppy's name all the way downstairs.

The second he disappeared, I shook my hair out of its braid and cursed myself for not doing laundry earlier. Pikachu shorts and a baseball tee from Major's old club team hardly screamed 'mature woman!'

Throwing on a black hoodie, I slid in front of the full length mirror Brook insisted I buy for the corner of my room. Staring back at me was a bare-faced, frizzy-haired gremlin in Pikachu shorts. Without Brook's help, that's all I was. 

Sighing, I tucked my laptop under my arm and raced down the stairs.

Rye was fidgeting with his monitors when I stepped into the office. His headphones sat around his neck, a lopsided grin on his face.

Averting my eyes, I retreated to my corner and sunk into Rye's tattered bean bag chair.

"Ready?" Rye asked when he finished setting up.

I gave him a thumbs-up and a quick smile, which he mirrored until his camera flicked on and the stream began.

He looked completely in his element talking to the thousands of people in his chat. His dark eyes sparkled, filled with pure joy and content. It was the same look that won me over in middle school. He was missing a tooth then, even though his thirteenth birthday was around the corner.

But that was Rye, always making his own rules.

Looking at the confident, charming, social butterfly in front of me, it was impossible to believe the little boy I knew grew up. Back then, he lived to please, and it got him into serious trouble. People walked all over him and took his easy-going nature for granted.

Years later, he was everything the bullies wished they could be and more.

Smiling to myself, I pulled up Rye's stream on my laptop and watched the comments roll in—suggestions for games, personal questions, declarations of love, and much weirder. I stopped reading after a creepy plea to show his feet.

Which I knew were nothing special. Or pleasant.

At all.

Especially not after P.E. and his socks are in your face.

Nemo whined at me from Rye's lap, sticking his head under the armrest.

"Sit still, buddy," Rye laughed, pulling Nemo into his arms. "Yes, I have a dog. His name is Nemo and he's a Yorkie."

The chat turned into a frenzy of obsessive chatter over the dog. I didn't blame them; Nemo was adorable.

"He's about two-ish." Rye lifted Nemo into the view of the camera, which only spurred more chat insanity. "Don't know exactly when his birthday is, but we got him on March fifth."

Nemo wriggled in Rye's hands, making Rye chuckle and set him on the ground. Nemo made a full sprint toward me, nose-diving into my lap and nearly knocking my laptop onto the floor.

"Traitor!" Rye called, rolling his eyes. "Nemo ditched me, even though I feed him."

I noticed a few questions about the 'we' Rye mistakenly mentioned, but they went unnoticed to the swarm of excited Nemo fans. How he got his name popped up multiple times, so I quickly texted Rye before he moved on.

Rye's eyes flit to the side in the stream, where his phone sat on its mount. He smiled, briefly glancing my way, then leaned back in his chair.

"His full name is actually Captain Nemo," he said into his hand. "Loved Jules Verne in middle school."

I giggled, covering my smile with my sleeve. It was Brook who loved Jules Verne, mainly Twenty Thousands Leagues Under the Sea; science-fiction was her guilty pleasure.

The slight glare Rye shot at me told me his chat was asking follow-up questions he couldn't answer. Surely enough, the chat was filled with questions about Rye's supposed love for Verne and comments on his "nerdiness."

"Not funny," Rye muttered under his breath, and I knew it was directed at me.

The internet didn't know about Brook. Rye had a dedicated but crazy fan base full of giggly girls, awkward guys, and anyone who shared his stupid sense of humor. He preferred to keep his personal life separate from streaming, not including me. I took the brunt of any girlfriend accusations or jealous insults.

Both of which occurred at least once every stream.

There was also Brook's general disinterest in Rye's hobby. She had to be the center of attention, so being a guest in anything was never her scene.

Chat soon lost interest in Nemo and Jules Verne, instead discussing random things amongst themselves.

I switched screens to pull up Netflix, situating my laptop around Nemo, who insisted on taking up most of the space.

During the next hour, I ate another packet of M&Ms and drained a travel mug of hot chocolate. Rye only needed me once, and the task was simple enough: grab a hoodie from his closet. Thankfully, Brook was out cold in their bed, so I was able to rummage through the racks of clothes for a clean hoodie.

I was snuggled up with Nemo, opening a bag of Doritos, when a full-blown Rye laugh—half snort and half cackle—caught my attention.

"Dude, that's awesome!" I heard him gasp when I pulled my earbuds out.

The stream popped onto my screen again, and I understood. His viewer count had spiked by thousands, the chat messages rolling in faster than I could read them.

Then a loud ding filled my ears and small words popped up in the corner of the stream.

Dream donated $100

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