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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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