Haircut

Later that day, after the conversation in Noah's room, lunchtime rolled around. Their mom, as usual, barely paid attention to Noah, who silently ate his food while Michael, full of energy, chatted away.

Their mom was busy cleaning up after them, occasionally muttering something about visiting a friend later.

"Michael," their mom said in a tired voice, "clean up your mess before I leave. I don't want to come back to a disaster."

"Yes, Mom," Michael replied casually, stuffing a spoonful of food into his mouth.

Noah, invisible as ever, quietly pushed his plate aside. His mom didn't even glance at him. She was already wiping the counter, getting ready to leave.

As soon as the front door closed behind her, Michael turned to Noah with a mischievous grin. "So... you ready for tomorrow?"

Noah looked up, confused. "Ready for what?"

Michael rolled his eyes, like Noah was the dumbest person alive. "The plan, dumbass. Tomorrow's Saturday. We're getting her number!"

Noah groaned, slumping in his chair. "You're still on about that?"

"Of course, I am!" Michael said, standing up and pacing the room like some sort of evil genius. "This is my one shot, Noah. My *one shot*. We can't mess this up."

Noah rubbed his temples. "Michael, this is insane. She's 17. You're 8. She probably thinks of you as a baby."

Michael shot him a glare. "Age is just a number, Noah. Nothing—not time, not space, not even society—can stop true love."

Noah blinked. "You don't even know her name."

Michael crossed his arms, undeterred. "Details. I'll figure that out later. That's why I have you—to get her number and set the stage for our love story."

Noah shook his head, muttering, "This is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Michael leaned in, his expression suddenly serious. "Do you want me to tell Mom that you tackled me yesterday?"

Noah froze, guilt creeping into his face. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I absolutely would," Michael said, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

"Fine!" Noah threw up his hands in defeat. "I'll help you. But don't blame me when this whole thing crashes and burns."

Michael smirked. "Oh, I will blame you. So you'd better make sure it doesn't."

---

After lunch, Michael sprang into action, dragging Noah into his ridiculous preparations.

"Alright," Michael said, pacing the living room again. "We've got a problem."

Noah was slouched on the couch, barely paying attention. "Of course, we do. What now?"

Michael gestured dramatically at Noah. "You."

Noah frowned. "What about me?"

Michael sighed like he was dealing with an idiot. "Look at yourself, Noah. Do you really think you can walk up to a girl looking like *that*? Be honest—when was the last time you even *looked* in the mirror?"

Noah glanced down at his clothes, then ran a hand through his messy hair. "What's wrong with how I look?"

Michael snorted. "You look like you've been living in a cave. Your hair's a disaster, your posture screams 'I don't want to be here,' and your whole vibe just says… sad."

Noah glared at him. "So? What do you want me to do about it?"

Michael grinned. "We're getting you a haircut."

Noah groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Why don't you just ask Henry for help? He's the perfect one in the family. He probably has girls lining up to give him their numbers."

Michael grimaced like Noah had just suggested eating dirt. "Ew! No way. I'd rather eat broccoli for a month than ask Henry for help. Sure, he's cool and all, but he's also *Henry*. He thinks he's so much better than everyone else. No thanks."

"Yeah, well, you're not wrong," Noah muttered.

Michael grabbed Noah's arm and started pulling him toward the door. "Come on. I know a place."

Noah stumbled after him, sighing in defeat. "Where are we going now?"

Michael didn't answer, just grinning as he led the way.

---

After what felt like an eternity of walking, Michael finally stopped in front of a tiny barbershop squeezed between two rundown buildings. The faded sign above the door read *Brad's Cuts*.

"This is the place?" Noah asked, skeptical.

"Yep," Michael said confidently. "Come on."

Reluctantly, Noah followed him inside.

The shop was small and old-fashioned, with just one barber chair, a single waiting bench, and a mirror that had seen better days. A middle-aged man with a graying beard looked up from a magazine as they walked in.

"Michael!" the man said, his face breaking into a grin. "Haven't seen you in a while, kid. What brings you here?"

"Yo, Brad! Good to see you," Michael said, walking up to him like they were old friends.

Noah blinked. "Wait… you're friends with *him*?" He gestured at the man, who looked like he could be their dad's age.

"Hey!" Brad said, pretending to be offended. "What's that supposed to mean, kid?"

Michael ignored Noah's comment. "Brad, my brother here needs a haircut. He's going to ask a girl out tomorrow, and we need him to look good."

Brad chuckled, eyeing Noah. "This guy's your brother? Huh. Alright, let's see what we're working with."

Noah sighed as he was ushered into the chair. Brad started combing through his hair, muttering things like, "What a mess," and, "When's the last time you got a haircut, kid?"

Michael sat on the waiting bench, grinning like a proud parent. "Make him look cool, Brad. But not cooler than me."

"Shut up, Michael," Noah muttered, his face turning red.

Brad smirked. "Don't worry, kid. I'll fix you up."

The barber worked quickly but skillfully, his scissors snipping with precision. By the time he was done, Noah's hair was neatly styled into a middle-part flow-back. For once, he didn't look like a total mess.

"There," Brad said, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you look presentable."

Noah stared at himself in the mirror, almost not recognizing the person staring back.

"This look won't hold on its own," Brad said, handing Noah a small jar of styling cream. "Use this tomorrow to keep it in place. Normally, I'd charge for it, but since you're Michael's brother, it's on the house."

"Uh… thanks," Noah said awkwardly.

Michael grinned. "See, Noah? I told you Brad's the best!"

Brad chuckled. "Good luck tomorrow, kid. You're gonna need it."

As they walked out of the shop, Michael clapped Noah on the back. "Alright! Step one complete. Now we just have to make sure you don't screw this up tomorrow."

Noah sighed, already regretting everything.