LaMesha pushed the door open as it swung back and hit the wall; she marched fast. The air was cold; the streets had more Agents pacing around than usual, but the atmosphere appeared relaxed.
DaMarko looked down at the floor. “Why do you hate Jo so much? She’s such a fun person to be around.”
“I don’t hate her. I just don’t like her—I mean, did you see her hair?”
“Yeah, it’s a nice look, and it suits her.”
“Suits her? She copied my hair, from the bun to the two strands near my ears and the strand bangs. I’m speechless.” LaMesha said. Her voice began to pick up in tone.
DaMarko stopped LaMesha from walking and spoke to her face. He spread out his arms and prevented her from getting around, “Are you going to gatekeep a hairstyle? It’s a bun. Many people wear buns.”
“It’s not that it’s a bun,” LaMesha said with her hands up. “It’s the way she did the bun. It looks like mine!”
DaMarko appeared frustrated. With his arm out, he moved side to side, preventing LaMesha from walking any further. “I get it. She’s a lot. But did you have to send her away?”
“You know why? It’s so we could catch that brat first then split the reward money. Anger her to the point where she never bothers us again. Sounds good?”
