Revenge on Tiff
by Laura Solomon
and Kerryn Young
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I couldn’t breathe
properly with a garbage sack over my head. I knew
that my assailants would be dangerous - armed
most likely. There was a possibility they could
be terrorists. So I didn’t want to make a
fuss.
“Hello,” I said.
“Could you please remove this garbage sack
from over my head?”
I spoke as politely as I
could so that I didn’t provoke them into
killing me.
“We don’t want
you knowing our identity”, one of them
growled back. “This is a secret mission. Top
secret. We don’t want you blabbing to the
cops after the event.”
“What about just using
a blindfold then?”, I suggested
diplomatically.
They muttered amongst
themselves for a bit – it sounded like there
were at least four of them, then one of them
spoke up.
“Alright then. But you’re
not to peek while we’re taking the garbage
sack off.”
I promised not to peek.
“What are we gonna use
as a blindfold?” I heard one of them ask.
“What about that old T-shirt”,
another suggested.
Yuk, I didn’t want an
old sweaty t-shirt wrapped round my lovely hair
and face, but I said nothing in case they shot me.
One of them removed the garbage sack – I
peeked.
“You!” I said.
“You!! How dare you!”
It was the boy band. Along
with the model whose hair I had peroxided. The
lead singer was driving the van.
“It’s high time
Tiff got a taste of her own medicine don’t
you think boys”, said the lead singer.
They all cheered. My heart
sank. They didn’t bother with the blindfold
now that I knew their identities. What was I in
for? Bloody Sammy! If only I had stuck with my
eighties perms, none of this would be happening.
It was like a bad dream, a dream I couldn’t
wake up from.
We drove for what seemed
like miles then parked up on a common somewhere.
I was petrified. What were they going to do to me?
“Alright then, out you
get”, said one of them roughly.
I stepped gingerly down
from the van, careful not to catch my heels and
go for a skate. The last thing I wanted to do was
sprain an ankle.
They grabbed my arm and
marched me over to the picnic table, “Steady
on,” I said, I was getting worried now and
longed for the safety of the van. They sat me
down on the bench and tied my arms behind my back
with rope, then looped the rope over my legs and
around the bench twice so I couldn’t run
away.
“Shit just got real
sweetheart,” one of them said as they
started to cut my hair.
“My hair!” I
shrieked. “My wonderful hair!”
It had taken me five years
to grow it so long. I used top of the range
expensive shampoo to keep it sleek and glossy.
All gone to waste in seconds, with just a few
snips of the scissors. Barbarians. They sniped
and they scissored and the hair kept falling. I
felt like crying but I didn’t want to appear
a sook. When they were done they got out the gel
and hairspray and began piling in up on top into
one big spike. Oh God they were giving me a
mohawk. Not content with that – one of them
let fire with a can of bright pink spray paint;
wind drift brought molecules of it back onto my
good clothes. I was distraught – but furious
too – how dare they! Who did they think they
were to be messing with Tiff’s do?
“You’ll pay for
this”, I screeched, when they were done.
“Don’t think you’ll get away with
it. O no this is war now.”
The model laughed vacuously.
I noticed that it was her that clutched the spray
paint.
“Take me home”, I
demanded. “Take me home to 82 Bletchley
Crescent right now or…or I’m calling
the authorities. You’ve had your fun, I
wanna go home.”
I reached for my phone.
That got them springing into action. I don’t
think they wanted to tangle with law enforcement.
They untied me and scrambled for the van.
“We’ll take you
home”, promised the lead singer. “Just
don’t call the cops. It was just a bit of
fun. We didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Just get behind the
wheel and get driving, dumbo”, I demanded.
“I’ve had enough for one evening. I
need to be at work at 8am pronto tomorrow to let
Beryl in.”
They dropped me home. The
van ride home was mostly silent. Every now and
then the model would let out a vacuous giggle.
I let myself into the house.
Looked in the hallway mirror. As expected, a
bright pink mohawk jutted up proudly from the top
of my head. I looked like a rooster. How was I
going to face the world looking like this!?
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