“Excuse me?!” I said, staring at her. “You want me to cut my hair?” While yes, I would love to do that and be rid of the mess I have to deal with, my parents would never let me cut it shorter than my shoulders.
Alex nodded. “Yeah. You can stop messing with it, and maybe it’ll help your parents understand this is who you are.” She gave me a thumbs up, and I have to admit, she was right on some levels.
I hated having long hair, and not only was it just annoying to deal with, but it didn’t match who I really was. Cutting it was one of the main things I wanted to do, but I never could cause my parents hated girls with short hair.
Alex lowered her hands. “Look, Harper, if you don’t tell your parents at some point they’re never gonna know. It’s better to tell them now and get it over with. Know what I mean?”
I sighed. “Fine, we can go on Sunday. I’m supposed to head home about now…”
Alex nodded. “See you Sunday!”

About thirty minutes later, I pushed open the door to my house. I peeked my head in, before ducking in and dashing up to my room. I heard a strangled call, but it sounded like my dad, so I ignored it. Once safely inside my room, I let out a sigh.
My room had been originally painted pink, but I managed to get Mom to let me paint it blue. Not that I’m trying to do the whole “stereotyping colors” thing, blue just happens to be my favorite color.
The bed was pressed up against the wall opposite the door, and the bedspread was white with pink flowers and blue flowers here and there. My grandma had made it for me, she chose my “aura color” (whatever the hell that is) and my favorite color. I’m guessing the pink is the “aura color”. There was a white pillow in a matching pillowcase neatly pressed up against the head, and my sleeping mask was lying on it peacefully. Clearly my mom made my bed. Again.
The wall to the left of the bed (from where I was standing) was two wooden doors, the opening to my closet. I knew there was nothing but dresses and a lone hanger in there, the hanger where the hoodie I’m currently wearing normally hangs. Between my bed and my closet was a full, body-length mirror with pictures of me and Alex taped to it.
The right wall had a frame with a picture of me in eighth grade. My auburn hair was pulled into a messy bun, and my deep blue eyes seemed bored. I gave a big smile, exposing my braces. If you don’t look at my eyes, you could almost think I was excited for braces. Or something.
Around the frame were more pictures of me, this time not just with Alex. There were also pictures with me and my parents, me with my siblings, even a few in a family reunion. Under the frame was my desk, which was littered with papers, pencils, markers, paints, things like that. The space near the chair was mostly clear, with an open notebook and a pencil on top.
I sighed, throwing my backpack onto the ground next to me. I walked over to my bed, and threw myself on top of it, groaning. I lay there for about three seconds before my door burst open and I jumped, falling on the floor.
“Elizabeth! Why didn’t you respond to your father when you got home?!” My mother yelled, clearly pissed. Her brown hair was pulled into a bun, neat and held by countless pins I couldn’t see. Her deep blue eyes pierced me with anger about twenty percent scarier than Mrs. Mayhew on a bad day. She was wearing her work clothes, a white blouse with a plaid gray and black vest over top and a pencil skirt in a similar pattern.
I pushed myself up to a sitting position, looking at her from across the bed. “Because I didn’t feel like talking to him.”
“That is completely rude! When your elders speak to you, you answer them! Is this how you treat your teachers?!”
'Half the time, yeah,' I thought to myself, standing up. Her mood got ten times worse when she saw what I was wearing. “ELIZABETH MEREDITH MATTHEWS! What in God’s name are you wearing?!”
“Ummmm…..a hoodie?” I responded, reaching over to fix my bed. I used this as a chance to fix my hoodie, hoping she didn’t see the pattern on the inside. I sat down on it, looking up at her. “Is that a problem?”
“You know full well it is! If you keep wearing those baggy clothes people are gonna think you’re a boy!”
'That’s kinda what I’m going for here! Also this hoodie is the only item of baggy clothing I’m allowed to own!' I thought fiercely, clenching my hands around my pants. I exhaled, relaxing my grip. “I woke up late and didn’t want to try to put on a dress.” I said instead.
It was clear my mother didn’t buy my excuse, but she wasn’t getting the real reason out of me. She sighed and shook her head. “What am I gonna do with you Elizabeth?”
“How about getting out of my room for starters?” I said, tilting my head. My mother glared at me before stomping down the hall, her heels clicking on the ground. Once she was out of sight, I fell back on my bed, letting out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. My mother was probably scarier than Old Man Johnson, the security guard at the mall.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone, texting Alex.

HarperIt’sWhoIAm: HELP!
AlexBestFriend: Geez, what happened now, Harper?
HarperIt’sWhoIAm: My mother’s being scary again!
AlexBestFriend: What’s she mad at this time?
HarperIt’sWhoIAm: Well, first off, she’s mad cause I ignored my dad. And then she got mad at my outfit.
AlexBestFriend: Oooookkkkkaaaayyyy........ I have no idea what to say. Tea?
HarperIt’sWhoIAm: Alex, I don’t have tea.
HarperIt’sWhoIAm: Oh, you mean wanna go get some tea. I’m not sure. Mom’s already mad. I do need out of this house already.
AlexBestFriend: Well, simple! Say you’re meeting with a friend to work on a project. We do have that English project due.
HarperIt’sWhoIAm: Oh, shoot! You’re right! Be there in about thirty!

So I originally wasn't gonna have the mom as harsh as I did, but then I thought it would give Harper another reason to want to avoid his family, and I guess I might have her be one of those "religious people". Cause...I do that...and I hate myself for it. Thank you all for reading this story! *Chibi Harper bowing*