The hum of hairdryers mixed with the smell of pressing oil, edge control, and a hint of fried chicken from somebody's lunch in the back. Miss Gloria's Beauty Bar was less of a salon and more of a therapy session with styling chairs. No appointment ever stayed on schedule because the gossip was hotter than the Marcel irons.
Keisha and Monique walked in together, laughing a little too loud, the kind of laugh you do when you want people to *see* how happy you are. Heads turned. Women under dryers peeked over their magazines, stylists paused mid-braid.
"Look at y'all, still joined at the hip," Miss Gloria said, giving them both that sharp once-over as she wrapped a towel around her neck. "Friendship goals, huh?"
Keisha grinned. "Always, Miss Gloria."
Monique smiled sweetly. "You know it."
But Miss Gloria's eyes narrowed just a touch - she'd been in this business too long not to spot a hairline crack in a polished weave. "Mmm-hmm… long as y'all ain't competing over nothing."
That made Keisha chuckle. "Compete? With *her*? Please."
Monique tilted her head. "Girl, you know if we competed, I'd win."
The shop erupted in "Ooooh!" sounds like a schoolyard crowd when somebody drops the first diss.
---
It had been this way since kindergarten. Matching outfits on picture day - until Keisha's bow was just a little bigger, so Monique started getting her ears pierced first.
Middle school - Keisha made honor roll? Monique "accidentally" landed on Principal's List.
High school - Monique got voted "Most Likely to Succeed"? Keisha came right behind with "Most Likely to Run the World."
Nobody said it out loud, but everyone who knew them understood: this wasn't friendship… it was a *scoreboard*.
Miss Gloria started sectioning Monique's hair. "Baby, two women can't wear the same crown forever. One gon' tilt it."
Keisha smirked. "Well, I'm not worried. My crown is secure."
Monique's reflection in the mirror shifted just enough for Keisha to notice the flash in her eyes - that quiet, *we'll see*.
The hum of the dryers seemed louder. The room felt smaller. And in the back, one of the stylists whispered to a client, "You mark my words, baby… them two gon' fall out over somethin' big. And it ain't gon' be pretty."
---
That was before Derrick.
Before the robe.
Before the ice cream.
But Miss Gloria? She'd already seen it coming.