“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Cassie said as Lyra sat down opposite her “it’s lighter?”
“Much,” Lyra said, grinning, “did it myself.”
Cassie raised her eyebrows.
“Really?” she said, handing over the menu to Lyra to choose. Cassie had already chosen fifteen minutes ago, when Lyra was supposed to turn up. But then Lyra had an affliction of being chronically late whenever she when anywhere.
“Yeh,” Lyra said, humming as she looked down the menu options, “some combination on the internet of honey and cinnamon.”
Cassie looked at Lyra’s hair, and then back to Lyra in a state of disbelief.
“Really?” she said. It did look good, but why on earth would Lyra even take the risk? Cassie would kill for Lyra’s naturally blonde locks, but no, she had dark, fine hair which was just generally crap.
“Yeh,” Lyra said, waving a waiter over, “I know you’re giving me that look Cassie, but it’s my hair. And I didn’t want to spend another 70 quid on going to the hairdressers.”
Cassie rolled her eyes.
“I know,” she sighed, as the waiter came over, “it’s just this is never going to be that good.”
She tugged at her hair hard.
“Come on,” Lyra said, “it’s not bad, just because your grandmother says so.”
“Yeh, I know,” Cassie sighed.
“Can I take your order?” the waiter asked.
“Yeh,” Cassie said, “I’m having the lasagne – Lyra?”
“The chicken pizza,” she said, “treating myself.”
“Everyone needs to do that,” the waiter said, smiling at them both, before taking their menus.
“See, you don’t need to take on your crappy grandmother’s opinions,” Lyra said, “your hair is just fine as it is.”
“That supposed to be a pun?” she asked.
Lyra rolled her eyes. Cassie burst out laughing.
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