Foiled

by Taylor Morris

  “You have to say something to Lizbeth and Kristen,” Eve whispered to me. “I think they’re really mad.”

  “I know,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. The other teachers were keeping an eye out. “But I said I was sorry yesterday.”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  She was right. I had said I was sorry, but I hadn’t explained what I was sorry for. Plus I, um, sort of lied again. So . . . yeah. I definitely had more work to do.

  “Everyone, let’s thank Miss Clemens for speaking to us today,” Ms. Carter said a little while later. We applauded. I had learned nothing since I was way too busy thinking about my current life and not some fantasy life in which I wore a suit to some job interview.

  “Line up by last name to receive your written reports. Zs up front. And keep the noise down, please,” Ms. Carter said. Of course, we immediately erupted into chatter.

  We all got up from our rows and shuffled to the front. I heard Kristen behind us in the crowd squealing.

  “Oh my god, Lizbeth!” Kristen said. “Did you hear that? Saturday tennis and barbeque!”

  “I wonder what that’s about?” Eve asked, looking over her shoulder at them.

  “Probably something at the country club,” I said.

  “Mickey Wilson,” Ms. Carter said when she spotted me, two from the stage. She held my paper out to me—all five pages, stapled together with a big, red grade on the front that I couldn’t see. “I expected much more from you, young lady.”

  I took the paper from her as a feeling of disbelief washed over me. There was a big, red C at the top. How could that be? “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice enlarged fonts and shrunken margins?” she said. I stared back blankly. “Did you even bother to spell-check this?”

  “I spell-checked,” I said, even though I wasn’t totally sure I had.

  “And despite Hello, Gorgeous! being a beauty salon, I don’t think it’s only about knowing how to look glamorous. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “And from what I understand, your mother started this business from scratch. I would have liked to have read about that, and perhaps how it affected your family. Something from an insider’s perspective.” She sighed and said, “I certainly expect more from you on your oral report or your overall grade will suffer.” I stood staring at my paper—I’d never have thought I’d get graded this low on anything to do with hair. “This paper must be signed by your mother and brought back to me. Okay?”

  I felt myself nodding, unable to believe it. My mother was going to kill me. And possibly bar me from Hello, Gorgeous! My salon dreams were over, finished, never gonna happen.

  Somehow I made my way to the exit doors of the Little Theater.

  “Hey,” Eve said. “How’d you do?”

  “I’m toast,” I said. “Eve, I got a C. For working at my own mother’s salon! A place where I’ve spent practically my entire life!”

  “Ouch! But I’m sure it’s not that bad. You can make it up with your next report,” she said.

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “My mom always said that if I didn’t keep up my grades she wouldn’t let me work there. And getting this grade on this paper is, like, a major red flag.”

  We walked down the halls to lunch together. Kristen and Lizbeth were ahead of us—clearly not waiting for me and Eve. I wondered what grade Lizbeth had gotten on her paper, figuring it was probably better than what I had gotten.

  Maybe the teachers had just graded hard this time? I could use that as an excuse when I showed my mom.

  “Hey, so what’d you get?” I asked Eve.

  Eve looked a little guilty when she said, “An A.”

  I knew that Eve deserved her good grade, but I still felt a slight (growing into huge) panic about my C.

  Inside the caf, Eve and I started toward our regular table. Just as we sat down, I turned to see Kristen and Lizbeth walking right past us.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  Eve looked. “We’ll do this together,” she told me. “Kristen! You guys, come sit with us!”

  They looked back at us, hesitating. “You sure you want us to? You sure you don’t want some alone time?” Kristen asked, sharing a meaningful look with Lizbeth.

  “Come on, don’t be like that,” Eve said.

  “We’re not being like anything, Eve,” Kristen said. My stomach tightened. This wasn’t going to be easy. Kristen looked around the caf as if searching for a better option. I guess she didn’t find one because she said, “Fine.”

  When we were all seated at the table, Eve gave my arm a nudge. I took a deep breath.

  “You guys, look,” I said. Kristen’s mouth was shut tight; Lizbeth, though, kept her eyes on me like she was eager to hear what I had to say. “I’m really sorry about Friday night. Honestly. I know you’re mad, but we didn’t mean to leave you out of our plans. And I’m the one who lied, not Eve, so don’t be mad at her.”

  “But really,” Eve said. “It wasn’t a big deal, us going to the mall. We should all do something again soon, though. Like maybe this weekend?”

  “Are you sure you don’t have to do more inventory or something?” Kristen said. Lizbeth stared me down, not missing a single word I said or gesture or look I made. She made me so uncomfortable that I could barely look at her. “I just want to make sure Lizbeth and I don’t get in your way or anything.”

  “Kristen . . . ,” Eve began.

  Kristen unpacked her lunch, looking like she was going to devour it—and not because she was hungry. No one said anything for about five years.

  “Seriously, though,” Eve said, picking the conversation back up. “We could have another sleepover. This weekend or whenever you guys want.”

  “Can’t,” Kristen said, biting into an orange slice. “We’ve already got weekend plans. Barbeque and tennis tournament at the country club. With the boys.”

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was trying to get back at us. Actually, I was still trying to figure Kristen out, so maybe she was. As if I’d be jealous of them going to their schmancy country club with some stupid boys.

  “Maybe some other time,” Lizbeth said—to Eve. It was like she made a point of not looking at me when she said it. You know—to Eve?

  “Oh, cool,” Eve said, keeping her upbeat attitude. I couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t involve groveling, so I was useless. Then Eve said, “So, Mickey! Tell us who’s doing Be Gorgeous this weekend.”

  I took Eve’s cue to move on from the subject of weekend plans and help her out with the small talk. We had apologized to them and tried to explain. What else could we do?

  “This weekend it’s a good one,” I said, “Giancarlo is doing it.”

  “I bet that’s going to be amazing,” Eve said. “Kristen, I bet his hairstyles will be right up your style alley. I’ve only met him once, but he seems like he’s really edgy when it comes to hair. Wait,” Eve said. “He’ll still be able to do my hair, right? I’m coming in on Saturday for my commercial on Sunday.”

  “Of course.”

  Um, that was Lizbeth speaking. Not me. You know, me, the one whose mom runs the salon? And who came up with the idea of Be Gorgeous?

  “We’ve got you booked for the deep conditioning right after his Be Gorgeous session. No problem.”

  Yeah. That was Lizbeth again.

  “So,” I said to Lizbeth. “Since there’s that barbequetennis thing at the club on Saturday, are you taking part of the day off or something?”

  “Why would I take part of the day off?” Lizbeth said as if it were the most ridiculous question in the world.

  “To hang out with the guy you’ve been drooling over half the year? And because I was just guessing that the tournament will happen during the day,” I said.

  Lizbeth blushed and looked around as if Matthew might have heard from two tables down. “I have not been drooling over him, Mickey. And I’d never take a Be Gorgeous day off work. It’s only the most important day
of the week, and my last day working at the salon.”

  Did Kristen just—yeah, she did. She totally just rolled her eyes at Lizbeth’s dedication to Hello, Gorgeous! Maybe she actually wanted Lizbeth to skip work to hang out with her and the boys?

  “It’s not like the whole place will fall apart if you’re not there,” I said. I felt like she was making a point of showing what a great employee she was by not taking a day off. “We have Megan. And you could make it up on Sunday.”

  “That’s okay. I’m not about to miss my last official Saturday. Besides, I can go to the barbeque after my shift.”

  “True,” I said, trying to act cool. But what had she meant by last “official” Saturday? Did she plan on working some unofficial days as well? Like, start working there for real even after Career Ex was over? A sweat broke out on my upper lip. “I’m just saying, if you want to go hang out at the club, I’m sure it’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal to me, missing work. I told your mom I’d work there all through Career Ex and not take any shortcuts. So I’ll stay for the whole day, thanks.”

  After that everyone got kind of quiet and stayed that way. Eve didn’t try to start any more light conversations, Kristen didn’t lash out at anyone, and Lizbeth didn’t snap at me. The silence was deafening. I looked at my three friends and marveled at the wreckage I’d created so effortlessly.

  Nice job, Mickey.

  That night, I sat at my vanity practicing my mom’s signature. She signed her name in a tall, slim script that I was determined to perfect. Still, no matter how hard I tried, mine looked too bubbly. It was hopeless. Oh yeah, and wrong. I was pretty sure that forging an adult’s signature was illegal, even if it was just for some dumb school report.

  I finally summoned my nerve and marched downstairs, paper in hand. Mom and Dad were curled up on the couch watching some documentary about one of those old wars. It looked insanely boring. But, um, educational. I thought maybe I should let them watch it and bother Mom with that pesky little signature later. Better yet, I could show them how interested I was in educational stuff and sit with them. That way when they saw my grade I could be all, Yeah, I’m really trying to learn more about the world and stuff.

  “Can I watch with you guys?” I asked. It couldn’t hurt to put the whole grade thing off for a few minutes—or hours, which was how long these docs seemed to last.

  “Sure, honey,” Dad said, adjusting to make room for me.

  “Wait a second,” Mom said, not budging. She knew already, and it wasn’t fair. You couldn’t get anything past her. “You’re interested in the War of 1812? What’ve you got there?” She nodded to the crumpled up paper in my hand.

  “Oh this?” I waved the paper. “Nothing. Just this report I had to write for school.”

  “Is that the one for your Career Exploration class?” Mom asked, and I nodded. “Lizbeth told me about it—she actually interviewed me for it.” Great, I thought. Perfect Lizbeth. This should make my terrible grade seem that much worse. “How’d you do?”

  “Oh, well, um, not too bad.”

  “Mickey already knows everything about the salon,” Dad said. “Of course she did great!”

  Mom held out her hand for the paper. Reluctantly, I handed it to her along with a black pen. “Could you sign it?”

  She took the paper, unrolled it and started to sign until she saw the grade. That fat, round letter C. “What is this? A C? This is the report you did for the class with Lizbeth?”

  I wished she wouldn’t keep bringing up Lizbeth. I also wished I’d thought of interviewing Mom myself.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Mikaela, what have I told you about working at the salon and your grades?”

  “What’d she get?” Dad asked, looking over Mom’s shoulder. When he saw the grade he actually cringed and said, “Oh, Mickey.” He crushed me.

  Mom didn’t take her eyes off me when she said, “How could you have done so poorly on an assignment that was practically tailor-made for you?”

  I looked down at the antique rug beneath my feet. “I don’t know.”

  “Lizbeth has been doing such a great job that I thought that if all was fine with her, then I certainly didn’t have to worry about you. I guess I was wrong,” she sighed. “You know, Mickey, you could learn a thing or two from Lizbeth. She’s a sharp girl.”

  I couldn’t believe she’d just said that. “Yeah, she’s sharp all right,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  Mom eyed me and said, “Watch it.” I looked back down at the rug, not wanting to get myself in worse trouble. Mom signed the paper and held it out to me. “Lizbeth said you also have to do an oral report?” I nodded, wondering how much she and Lizbeth had talked about. “I suggest you put some effort into that. A lot. If your grades slip I’ll have no choice but to—”

  “Mom, I know.”

  “Watch your tone,” she said. “I suggest you do a better job on your final report. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Upstairs in my room I wondered if there’d ever be a week when I wouldn’t worry about disappointing my mom or losing my job. Maybe for a little while things could be cool. Maybe for one day Mom could be as proud of me as she seemed to be of Lizbeth.

  CHAPTER 15

  Before Saturday at the salon rolled around, I had to know just how great Lizbeth’s masterpiece, otherwise known as her written report, was. Since she was still being steely toward me, I had Eve find out. Should I have been surprised that she got an A on it? Of course not. She was perfect at the salon. I should have been surprised that she didn’t get an A-plus-plus-plus on it. I had to get over it, though, and work on making her not hate me. I told myself I shouldn’t be jealous of her grade and that she had a right to still be a little upset with me.

  By the time I got to the salon on Saturday, I swore to myself that I’d for real, no joking around, stop being so jealous of Lizbeth and start being extra nice to her. Particularly while we were still working together.

  “I love those metallic bracelets,” I told her of the silver, gold, and copper bracelets clinking on her wrist. She was straightening up the drinks area, preparing for the styling session. “The clients mostly drink diets. I always stock extra so I won’t run out,” I said lamely.

  “I got it,” she said, pointing beneath the table to the small cooler I’d never seen. It was packed with ice and more diet sodas.

  “Oh,” I said. I guess she was more prepared than I gave her credit for. Clearly she didn’t need my help. “Where’d you get that cooler?”

  “Down in the basement,” she said. She didn’t look at me. “There’s a ton of stuff down there no one ever uses. Someone should really clean it up.”

  I wanted to say that someone would never be me—Hello! Zombie rats!—but instead I said, “Sounds like a good project for a slow day.”

  She kept straightening the station even though it was perfect.

  “Are you going to leave early so you can go to the tennis tournament thing?”

  She shook her head. “No. I told you—I don’t want to flake out on the busiest day of the week. Especially since Giancarlo is styling today.” She shot her eyes at me for a flash of a moment. “Why do you keep asking me?”

  “I don’t,” I said. Had I been? Maybe I felt like she might give up work for a little fun like I had done when I had my sleepover. Was that such an awful thing to do? “I just don’t want you to miss out on a fun time with Kristen and the boys, that’s all.”

  “I like being here. And I can do both. I told you.”

  Before I could say “Yes, I know you told me,” Mom appeared behind us, looking sleek and polished in a white, tailored suit.

  “Everybody getting ready?” Mom asked. “Lizbeth, it looks great up here, as usual. What’s this?” She tapped the cooler with her bone patentleather peep toe.

  “Extra diets,” Lizbeth said. “Actually, I should move it out of sight.” She picked up the cooler and put it beneath the reception de
sk.

  “Lizbeth, you are reading my mind,” Mom said. I wanted to say something about how perfect Lizbeth was, but I kept my mouth shut. No more snark from me.

  Giancarlo’s session was the best yet. His model had long, thin hair and he showed how to give it height and volume, then did it up in a messy ballerina bun. He finished off the session with long, relaxed, easy curls.

  While Giancarlo worked his magic, I kept to my standard duties (minus the drinks station) but stayed out of the way of the demo, sweeping silently around the other stylists. I watched from the back as Lizbeth worked the reception area basically on her own. Mom sent Megan on an emergency run to the bank and I guess she asked Lizbeth to cover again. She answered the phones and greeted clients in a lowered voice so she wouldn’t disturb Giancarlo’s demo (as if his booming voice could possibly be overshadowed).

  “Great job, everyone,” Mom said once the chairs had been cleared away. Giancarlo was swarmed by women asking questions and requesting appointments. There were always lots of parties at this time of year, and the women wanted him to style them for all their events.

  I swept a little pile near reception, and after I dumped my pan, Mom was back there talking to Lizbeth.

  “. . . maybe on Sunday. What do you think?” Mom was saying.

  “Wow, thanks, Chloe,” Lizbeth said. “I’ll have to check with my mom, but I think I’d, like, really like that.”

  I accidentally-on-purpose kicked the trash can slightly, making just enough racket for them to see me.

  “Oh, Mickey,” Mom said. “Good job today. I was just talking to Lizbeth—she offered to start clearing out the basement tomorrow. So what do you think? Want to help her?”

  “But I work on Sundays,” I said. “Alone.”

  “I’m aware. You also have a big assignment to prepare for, don’t you?” Mom said. “You should probably be concentrating on that instead of what days you work.” Lizbeth at least had the decency to look embarrassed as Mom practically scolded me. “I know the oral report for Career Exploration is coming up. Maybe you two could work on something together? Like a team project? You could certainly use the help after your last grade.” Mom shook her head at the memory of that horrible C.