Carefully sliding the comb through his hair, Luke Babbitt gazed intently into the locker-room mirror. It was imperative that he took good care of his hair, because…
“Great game tonight, Luke,” said his hair, communicating directly with the speech-processing lobes of his brain. “Coach is going to give us more minutes for sure now.”
“We still have too much depth, and I still can’t play defense. Are you sure you can’t help me with that?” Luke asked his hair, not talking but instead thinking the words.
“I’ve told you, Luke, I can only improve your shooting. The longer I get, the better you shoot the ball, but if you want to improve your defense, try to bulk up a bit. Your conditioning is worse than Ajinca’s.”
Luke sighed. “I figured. Anyway, you’re probably right. Coach will have to play me more after my good all-around game tonight, and our power will only continue to grow.”
Somehow, Anthony Davis had snuck up behind Luke as he was holding his internal conversation. “Yo, you done with the mirror? I gotta prime myself for a night on the town.”
Luke yelped, then stepped away. “Yeah, sure. Just making sure my hair is in good shape.”
“When you gonna cut that stuff off? I can see it’s getting in your eyes when you shoot,” Anthony asked, eying the strands which lay floppily across Luke’s eyebrows.
Grabbing his hair as if it were a threat to immediately fall out, Luke replied anxiously, “No way. I like it.”
Anthony shrugged. “Whatever. At least you’ll be able to tie it back soon.” He then turned to the mirror to examine his reflection.
“That was a close one,” commented Luke’s hair.
“Tell me about it.”