Class Trip ’95 (Part 5) by KF_NDN

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Chapter 5 â€" The Return

The salon had gone quiet. Only the soft dripping of water from the sink and the rustle of towels filled the room.
On the floor lay the remnants of their past — strands, curls, gelled tips — a carpet made from the hairstyles of the ’90s.
They looked like leftovers from another decade.
Andi nudged a heap of dark hair with the toe of his boot.
"That’s it for the before," he said calmly.
Jonas ran both hands over his head. The surface felt new — cold, smooth, honest.
"Strange," he murmured. "I feel kind of... lighter, but naked."
"That’s the point," grinned Rico. "Now you can see what’s underneath."
Leo followed his example, touched his scalp, and laughed uncertainly. "Unreal. Like a glass ball. But cool."
A few of the skins laughed, nodding in approval.
"It’ll grow back, but you’ll want it gone again," said Andi.
"After two weeks it itches like hell. Then you realize, this isn’t just a cut — it’s maintenance."
Jonas looked up briefly, taking longer than he expected to understand what that meant.

While the barbers put their tools away, the group started to move. One of the skins set his jacket over a chair; another tossed a polo shirt onto the table.
"If you want, try them on — some of you might fit."

Philipp was the first to grab one. He slipped into a wine-red polo that was too big, but felt right. The cotton was heavy and clean.
"Wild," he said quietly. "You look different right away."
"Fits," Andi confirmed with a quick glance. "You just need the posture."
Max pulled on a bomber jacket, rubbing his arms together as if to test whether it really belonged to him.
"This is... powerful," he whispered. "Feels like you wear yourself differently."
The skins laughed, but not mockingly — it sounded like approval.
Jonas stood in front of the mirror, seeing the row of heads behind him: ten fresh cuts, ten new reflections.
Ten versions no one could explain anymore.
The sight was both suffocating and electrifying.

On the way back to the bus, hardly anyone spoke.
The wind brushed coolly over their bare or closely shaved heads. When they passed windows, they caught their reflections and had to look twice.
"What have we done?" murmured Philipp.
Leo grinned. "Something good."
"Or something stupid," Jonas replied.
Robin laughed. "Probably both."
The closer they came to the youth hostel, the quieter it got.
The yellowish building appeared at the end of the path, the metal railing, the sand court — all so ordinary, it looked suddenly strange.

When they stepped through the entrance, conversations died.
In the common room their classmates sat around with cards, music, soda cans. One dropped his can when he looked up.
"Holy s**t," someone said loudly.

Another whistled — not mockingly, more in disbelief. "You actually did it."
The teachers on the far side of the room looked up, confused, half-shocked.
"What on earth... happened?" the history teacher finally asked, putting down his pen.
"Haircut," said Max dryly.
A moment of tension — then laughter — but it sounded sharp, incredulous.

Voices overlapped:
"That’s insane!" â€" "Looks like a movie!" â€" "You’re totally nuts!"
Half the class stared at them with a mix of shock and awe; the other half looked uncertain, almost afraid.
Some whispered, laughed nervously, pretending they might do it too — but none came closer.
Jonas felt his skin tingle; every word seemed louder, every gaze sharper.
He couldn’t tell if it was pride or shame tightening his throat.
Leo grinned, rubbing his head. "What’s up? Summer cut."
A few laughed, someone clapped, others looked away, embarrassed.

Later, back in their room, silence returned.
The neon light reflected off their bare crowns and sharp outlines. They all looked different — leaner, edgier, harder.
No one knew what the teachers would say tomorrow or the parents on the weekend.
Jonas stared at the floor. "This won’t grow back by Monday."
Robin replied, "So what."
"They’ll think we’ve lost it."
Leo laughed. "Or that we’re brave. Depends who tells it."
Again a hand ran over a shaved head, again the sound of skin on skin. Some grinned; others stared blankly.
Then Philipp said quietly,
"This isn’t a slip‑up. We’ve got to keep it now. Otherwise it’ll look weird growing out."
The others stayed silent, but no one disagreed.
They knew he was right.
Outside, darkness slowly descended over the valley.
In the last light you could see them: ten heads — bright, even, almost identical — the surface of an event none of them had planned.
And somewhere underneath, the realization was taking shape — that the change hadn’t just fallen to the salon floor, but had begun inside them.

A short clack â€" the attachment gone.
"The edges must be clean," said the barber, tilting his head forward.

He traced the bare blade once more along the sides; the hum grew sharper.
The scalp shone pink; it breathed, as if it had been trapped for a long time.

Jonas watched, transfixed, as Max’s face changed â€" more serious, more focused. The playfulness that usually surrounded him was gone.
When the buzzing stopped, the floor was covered with a heap of golden hair.

Max touched his bare neck, laughed uncertainly. "Cold," he said, "but somehow… real."
Jan smiled, switched off the machine. "You look freshly polished. Deluxe boxer cut."

Robin had a blow‑dried quiff â€" thick, dark, raised in front, slightly curved at the back. When he laughed, it fell across his forehead.

Now he too sat in the chair, head slightly bowed, because anything else looked wrong.
"Not too short," he said.
"Sure," the older barber answered calmly. "Head down."

The familiar hum filled the room again.
The machine began low under his ear: a cool draft, a first stripe of bare skin.

The barber worked quickly, up to just above the temple line. It was no experiment anymore, no preview. It simply happened.
"The sides come off first," he said casually. "I’ll leave more on top â€" that suits you."
"Okay… thanks," murmured Robin.

The buzzing continued evenly â€" left, right, nape, then the attachment change.
The barber took the scissors, stepped in front of the mirror so Robin couldn’t see him, and began at the back of the head.
The comb slid precisely through the thick hair; the scissors snapped quickly, expertly. First strands loosened and settled on the cape.

He worked forward, section by section, leaving the quiff untouched for now. Robin breathed shallowly, the muscles in his neck tense.
Then the barber slipped the comb beneath the front hair, lifted the entire quiff â€" a sure grip, impossible to resist â€" and cut just below it.
The glossy strands fell in one sweep. Less than a centimeter remained.

Robin glimpsed the uneven tips for a second, then the barber reached again for the machine.
"Hold still," was all he said.

The blade moved across the crown, taking the last stubborn hairs so short no line remained. No swirl, no lift.
The hum stopped. The barber stepped aside.

Robin lifted his gaze cautiously: no old style, no trace left. Sides bare, top evenly short, about six millimeters â€" a cut without a shadow.
Leo grinned. "Looks really good on you."
Robin shrugged, ran his fingers over his head â€" sides smooth, top rough. "Weird," he said. "Feels like I just woke up."

One after another followed.
The skins’ chatter rolled in soft waves â€" jokes, short talk about football, music, and always remarks about courage, style, that "feeling afterward."
The students listened, half embarrassed, half proud to be included in something strange and new.

The tiled floor was now covered with a mix of dark, light, and reddish hair. Hardly anyone spoke aloud anymore.
Only the last buzz of the machine filled the silence, then the soft click of the switch.

When the final cape fell, they all stood side by side in the mirror’s reflection. Ten heads, ten levels â€" bare, stubble, boxer.
The neon light slid across skin, shapes, and faces newly discovered.

The older barber wiped the chair with a towel, turned on the water.
"Perfect," he said quietly. "Clean work. Proper lads now."
Andi nodded. "Now at least you look like you belong."

Jonas smiled faintly. Not in agreement â€" more because so much light at once felt unbearable.
The room smelled of soap, warmth, and an idea no one could quite name.
Outside, dawn was breaking, and in the mirrors the last daylight glowed faintly â€" a quiet afterimage of what they had left behind.


To be continued.

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