Brooke's Not-So-Perfect Plan by Jo Whittemore

these girls.”
    â€œAnd quick,” said Heather. “I don’t want to look like this at school tomorrow.”
    â€œThat’s too bad,” said Vanessa, linking her arm through Heather’s. “Because I think you look cute.”
    Mom and I followed them into the house, where Mrs. Jackson greeted us and offered coffee to Mom and cake to all of us.
    â€œGood luck!” Mom called after Heather, Vanessa, and me.
    â€œIf you shave their heads, I wanna help!” shouted Terrell.
    Vanessa led us into the bathroom, where a box of bottles and tubes was sitting on the counter.
    â€œNeutralizers, cleansers, and colors,” she explained when Heather and I eyed the container suspiciously. “If it doesn’t wash out or fade, we’ll dye your hair back to its original color.”
    Since Heather was more worried than I was, Vanessa went to work on her first. After scrubbing and soaking, she’d gotten rid of most of the color, but there was still a slight tinge to it.
    â€œWell.” Vanessa wiped at her forehead, smearing soapsuds across it. “If you want, we can dye it. That’ll definitely hide the rest of the color.”
    Heather studied her reflection in the mirror. “No.”
    Vanessa and I looked at each other, then at Heather.
    â€œWhat?” I asked.
    Heather smiled. “Now that it’s not as obvious, I kinda like it.”
    Vanessa pulled out a hair dryer. “Me too!”
    She gave Heather a quick blowout and turned to me. “You’re next!”
    Vanessa put an old towel around my shoulders and set to work with the neutralizer while I sat on the closed toilet. From somewhere nearby, I heard the doorbell chime. Vanessa paused in her work.
    â€œWho’s that?”
    A couple minutes later we had our answer. Tim appeared at the top of the stairs with Gabby. Her hands were in her pockets, and her head was bowed.
    â€œHey, can we come in?” asked Tim.
    Vanessa glanced around. “If one of you wants to stand in the bathtub, sure.”
    Tim laughed until Vanessa moved a shampoo bottle out of the way.
    â€œOh, you’re serious.” He climbed in.
    Gabby approached the bathroom door, but Ithrust out a halting hand.
    â€œWait. Are you armed? Turn out your pockets.”
    â€œBrooke!” Heather nudged me.
    â€œI don’t want to be any other colors!” I told her.
    Gabby blushed but showed us her empty pockets. Then she continued to just stand there.
    Tim cleared his throat. “On top of making an excellent statue, my sister also has something to say. Don’t make me poke you with this back scrubber,” he said, waving the brush at her.
    Gabby took a deep breath, and the intake of air seemed to push tears out of her eyes.
    â€œI just wanted to say I’m sorry again.”
    And then she let out all the air, along with almost every word in the human language.
    â€œI’m so embarrassed and I don’t know what I was thinking and I’m so glad you stopped mefrom making an even bigger fool of myself. I was so hurt that he didn’t want to go out with me and I shouldn’t have asked either of you to get involved and I promise I’ll pay to have your uniform replaced”—that comment was directed at me—“and I think you look really good with purple highlights”—directed at Heather.
    Gabby took another deep breath, but before she could continue, Heather stopped her with a light touch to the arm.
    â€œI get that you were upset,” she said. “But there has to be a better way to deal with it.”
    Gabby nodded and smiled shyly. “I actually came up with something that’ll help not just me, but other girls.”
    â€œThat’s great!” I said.
    â€œAnd we’re sorry too,” added Heather. “We saw your request to ‘Lincoln’s Letters,’ and we felt so terrible! We should never have interfered.”Then she leaned over and