Diane helped Straw style her hair. At first she made a bun, twisting the strands neatly and pinning them into place, but Straw watched her reflection with a frown that refused to soften. Straw lifted her hand and gently pulled at the pins herself, shaking her head.
"No," she said quietly.
Diane paused, hands hovering. Straw insisted her hair should be down. Her voice was calm but firm, the kind that did not invite argument. Berryanna liked her hair down. The thought came naturally, easily, like muscle memory. Berryanna never said it out loud, but Straw noticed it once when Berryanna unknowingly played with her hair while they lay on the bed together. It had been late, quiet, the room dim. Berryanna's fingers had slid through her hair absentmindedly, slow and gentle, like she wasn't even aware she was doing it.
Straw remembered freezing then, afraid to move in case the moment broke. Remembered pretending to sleep while every nerve in her body stayed awake.
