“My hair’s never been beautiful,” I say. But I so badly want him to think it’s beautiful. Then and now. Always. “Maybe I should text Karissa and ask her what to do.” I’m sort of showing off. I want them to know she’s the kind of friend I could text in the middle of the day. I want them to know what level I’m at. “Guys seriously love her.” I take my phone out and start tapping away, something about how can I get a cute guy in the park to talk to me? I hit send and remember her saying we should be best friends. Hopefully she remembers that too.
Bernardo is closer than he’s ever been. In a few more strides he’ll be at our bench, and I’ll know the sound of his voice and the exact shade of his eyes. “Make eye contact! Eye contact is key!” Roxanne says under her breath. I keep my gaze on him. It’s nice to have someone who can help me figure out what to do. I probably should have made new friends this year, but I didn’t really bother.
“You look the same but different,” Bernardo says. He stands right in front of me, and I have no idea if I should stand up or stay seated. I grip my own thighs and squeeze, hoping I can keep all the nervousness there and not in my face or my voice. I feel all sixth-grade-ish. In a good way.
He’s wearing a navy T-shirt with some band name I’ve never heard of on the front in big white block lettering. His hair is messier than usual, poking out every which way. Thick and black and chaotic. There’s a gap between his front teeth and his nose is crooked. He is unkempt and imperfect and staring at my almost pink hair.
“I’d say thank you, but that’s not exactly a compliment,” I say. I twirl my hair between two fingers. I wish it were even pinker.
“I’m Bernardo,” he says.
“I know. I’m Montana,” I say. We’re smiling at each other and it’s the greatest. Like we already have a secret and the rest of the world is left out.
My father says that sometimes not knowing someone is even better than knowing them. I try to un-hear those words and un-feel the truth of them right now. Taking relationship advice from my divorced-four-times father isn’t wise.
“You should do the pink hair too,” I say. I don’t know why that comes out, except I’m so hyperaware of my new look that I’m having trouble thinking of anything else to talk about.
I want him to know I can talk about other things: favorite street performers in Washington Square Park, least favorite books from school this year, whether beer tastes like urine or like wheat, what kind of music the band on his T-shirt plays and if he prefers to listen to them on his headphones when he’s walking around the Village or if he’d rather blast them on speakers at home. But all I can talk about is the shade of pink now adorning my head.
“You think I could pull it off?” Bernardo says. He reaches for my hair, picks a clump up, and puts it against his face like we’re going to really check and see how he’d look with pink hair. Almost pink.
“Are you too scared?” I say. Roxanne giggles. She and Arizona are staying quiet but focused. Bernardo’s friends watch us from their bench. Someone near the fountain is playing terrible accordion. Bernardo gives me a long look.
“I’m scared, but also awesome,” he says. I can feel Arizona rolling her eyes next to me. It doesn’t matter that I can’t see her. She’s my sister; I know what sentences she’ll love and which ones she’ll hate. I know her opinions before she tells them to me. That hasn’t changed.
She’s gone from finding him sweet to finding him lame. I can feel it. She has her Stepmothers Look on her face. Judge-y and sure. I’d bet money on it.
“I don’t know what scared but awesome means,” I say.
“It means let’s do it. Let’s dye my hair pink.” He winks but doesn’t smile. The accordion player is attempting a version of “Happy Birthday” to no one and Arizona is shaking her head no, no, no. I think he might be serious.
“Right now?” I say.
“Oh my God yes right now yes!” Roxanne says, a flurry of words and breathiness. She rushes forward like a puppy let off leash at last.
“You don’t have to do this. I was pretty much joking.” I’m shy around him, even though the guy has been watching me all spring and is now willing to dye his hair for me. I don’t know him; he’s still a stranger and a cute boy, and now that he’s seen fun Roxanne and Arizona’s new body, I don’t know why he likes me.
“It seems like you might be worth it,” he says.
I laugh. More or less. It’s mostly a snorting cough of embarrassment and surprise, but I’m smiling, so it vaguely resembles a laugh. He has an accent I can’t quite place except that I assume it means he’s lived in New York his whole life and probably has a parent or two who speaks Spanish.
Bernardo sort of salutes his friends across the path and shakes hands with Arizona and Roxanne. They introduce themselves, and he raises his eyebrows at Arizona’s name.
“Arizona and Montana,” he says. “This a joke?”
“Sisters,” I say. I touch Arizona’s elbow on the word and want to exchange a smile with her, give one of those we-love-being-sisters looks, but she’s not having it. She is too busy wrinkling her nose and adjusting the straps of her tank top and probably planning her escape route.