Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Regardless, the Fangs looked intrigued by the hair braiding process and our conversations.
"You are so cheap." Deja combed through the hair. “Like you are just drowning in a poverty mindset. If you switched to an abundance mindset, you would actually be attracting money.”
Nika rolled her eyes. “Here you go with that white people shit—”
“Girl, it’s about energy, not about white people.”
I chuckled.
Deja had been working her magic on my hair for over an hour now. Her fingers moved in a smooth rhythm, parting, pulling, and weaving.
She'd decided on goddess braids.
"You're becoming a goddess," she'd told me earlier. "So you need goddess braids."
“Goddess braids?”
“They’re like the stylistic evolution of traditional box braids.”
“Okay.”
“The base is the same. You know. Individual sectioned braids installed with extension hair, but the defining feature is the left-out curly human hair throughout the style. With that addition, it creates more movement and softness.”
“Then, let’s go with it.”
“Perfect.” Deja clicked her tongue softly, let go of my hair, and got in front of me, studying my face. “Hmmm.”
She leaned back slightly, tilted her head, and examined me the way a painter studies a canvas. “Your base is perfect. But we’re not leaving it flat.”
“Flat?”
“Monochrome,” she corrected. “We’re adding copper curls.”
“Copper?”
“Yeah. Copper with depth. Auburn-copper. Warm but. . .rich since you’re living that rich life now and on fire.”
Nika snorted. “Here she go with that look-maxing shit.”
Deja ignored her. “Like me, you have deep brown skin with warm undertones. So we want the hair to complement that with golden undertones. You get me?”
“Uh. . .sure.” I shrugged.
“So we want you looking good in something designer and walking along the beach and when the light hits you, you glow bronze. If I add burgundy, it’ll be pretty, but it’ll sit heavy. If I add cherry red, it’ll compete with your glow and we don’t want that.”
“Yeah.” I still wasn’t quite sure, but I always trusted her.
She clicked her tongue again. “Yes. Your pretty face doesn’t need competition. It needs amplification.”
“Alright amplify the shit out of me.”
Zo laughed on my side.
“Copper will pull the gold out of your skin. It’ll catch sunlight. It’ll soften your features without washing you out. And because the copper will be woven in as curls—not full braids—it’ll look intentional, not like a bitch is trying too hard.”
Nika shook her head. “She been watching too many YouTube videos.”
“I am a look-maxxer, baby.” Deja snapped her fingers. “I’m all about optimizing what we already have.”
She returned to getting behind me and parting my hair with her fingers. “Dark brown skin can carry drama, but the key is saturation and undertone. For example, you don’t ever go pastel. That’s mistake number one. Strawberry red? Absolutely not. That’ll make you look dusty. I hate when a bitch looks dusty.”
Pretty high from the earlier joint, I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want to look dusty for my man.”
“Facts. I’m trying to have him see you and want to yank his dick out to give it to you.” Deja laughed.
Nika high fived her. “Have his ass kidnap us again so we can give her a new hairstyle.”
“Exactly, bitch. Exactly. I’m trying to make coming to Japan a thing now.” She pointed to Nika. “Get the copper out the bag. Damn. You act like you’re on vacation or something.”
Nika loudly sighed and headed to the bags of hair.
“Brown skin don’t ever just be brown. There’s so many differences. For example, if your skin had cool undertones—like blue or neutral—then I would say go ruby. Deep wine. Even a blue-based cherry red. That makes your teeth pop and skin look glassy even when that shit is ashy as fuck.” She grabbed a can and started spraying something on my hair. “But you? You’re warm and sun-kissed. Copper is going to look like it grew out your scalp.”
Once Deja got to work, lovely scents melted into me—that familiar blend of coconut oil and shea butter warming between her palms before she touched my hair and soothed my scalp.
My shoulders instantly dropped an inch, and some of the tension eased.
Underneath the scent was the faint chemical sweetness of the edge control she'd popped open earlier, the one that smelled like vanilla and childhood Saturday mornings when I wasn’t allowed to move my head and time stretched out slow as honey.
Her fingertips gently massaged my scalp as she sectioned off another part, and my eyes nearly rolled back. She was always talking about activating the cuticles to trigger more hair growth.
Every now and then I would get a glimpse of a braid that fell in front of my face and noticed through half-closed eyes that they were thinner than my usual style, yet with flowing curly volume.
"Nika isn't just cheap with taking the champagne glasses." Zo rolled up another joint. "Tell them about the newspaper."
Deja loudly sighed. "Nika is so cheap that she doesn't even buy toilet paper. She goes around collecting old newspapers from hospitals and nursing homes, and then she uses them for toilet tissue."