“What’s that?” she asked, dividing her stare between the band and my face. “Your hair is dripping on your clothes. You’re gonna be cold.” “Oh.” She reached for the band, but I pulled it back, tsking at her. “I got this,” I said, gathering up the thick mass of half-wet, half-dry hair falling around her. Scooping it into a ponytail, I twisted the band around it and let go. The entire thing flopped sideways, partially falling out. I scowled. “Your hair is disrespecting me.”
