"Can I dye my hair?! Please! Say yes!"

There's a pause. Mom sighs a sigh for the legends.

"As long as you don't come back home with grandma-gray hair, Layla." I'm again at Amy Lee's house, talking to mom on the phone. I have her on speakers so Amy Lee and Jude can hear. The former jumps in my defense.

"I'll dye her hair back to black if you don't like it, Mrs. A."

"Amy? Is that you?"

Amy Lee walked me home the day she gave me her guitar, and that's when they met. You can imagine mom's pleased smile when she knew I had responsible, collected, and nice college friends. Of course we spared mom the details about wild parties, alcohol, pot, and best friends confessing out of nowhere.

"Yes, it's me." Amy Lee says, looking up like this helps her concentrate.

"You're the oldest there. You're in charge." Mom tells her, full parenting mode. "I always told Layla that her hair was hers, but that doesn't mean I'm letting her ruin it. That means no mohawks, no dreadlocks, and no eighties hair. You understand?"

Amy Lee and Jude crack up at mom's list of undesirability.

"Can you imagine Layla sporting a mohawk like Joe?" Jude's laughter fills the room.

"I'm not doing any of that, mom." I say, rolling my eyes like she can see me. "I'll just send you the picture we found online. Deal?"

"OK, that sounds like a plan."

We hang up and I text the picture to her. There's a gorgeous young woman, most likely Amy Lee and Jude's age, with short, choppy purple hair. It was love at first sight.

With her hair, I mean. Not the girl.

Mom dials back immediately.

"Isn't this a bit too extreme, young lady?"

"It's not a mohawk, is it?" I shoot back.

"Hmmm..." There's a pause while mom deliberates. "I don't know, Layla. I have problems picturing you with that kind of hair."

"The model doesn't look very different from Layla herself." Jude offers. "She's on the right side of skinny, her skin is as unfairly fair, and she has similarly beautiful blue eyes."

Please don't mind me here while I blush.

"But this girl is wearing a ton of makeup, tattoos—and before you ask, that's a no-no—and even rings in her mouth, God forbid."

"I kind of like the rings." I tell her, not really helping my cause. "And I'm confident about the eye liner."

"Don't push your luck, Layla."

"Is that a yes?"

There's another pause.

"What the hell, you can always dye it back." She says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "Have it your way, and send me a picture when you're done, alright?"

"Thanks, mom. You're the best."

"Damn right I am!"

"Thank you, Mrs. A!" The girls chide from behind me, and we hang up again. And like so, the operation Layla 2.0 begins.

"It's kind of a pity." Amy Lee says, locking her house as we leave. "You have natural jet-black hair."

"Sure, like you don't."

"Oh, this?" She flicks a lock of hair behind her shoulder. "It's dyed."

"No way!"

"Yes way."

"But it looks so natural!"

"My natural hair is auburn. Not that different from Sabrina's, come to think of it."

Sabrina. My ever present podruga. I wonder what would her reaction be when she sees me with my new hair. She'd probably freak out. But as soon as I let those thoughts sink, both Amy Lee and Jude put her arms around me.

"Hey. You're looking down there, buddy."

"We know you're missing your friend, sweetie." Amy Lee says, flicking my nose playfully with her free hand. "But you're not alone here, alright?"

"Damn right." I say, trying my best smile. "I'm not."

So I put my arms around the girls' waist, and we're on our way to meet my new me. The girls also teach me how to apply eyeliner.

And I even get a fake ring for my bottom lip. And it rocks.