Tangled #3

by Taylor Morris

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. “I won’t get a manicure but I’ll hang out with you guys for a little while.” Chapter eighteen would still be there in a couple of hours.

  We started the short walk over to Camden Way, the main street in town and where Hello, Gorgeous! was located. It was my mom’s salon, and for my thirteenth birthday she finally let me achieve my lifelong dream of working there. I was the salon sweeper, but I also did whatever else anyone needed me to do. I kind of act as the stylists’ assistant, getting them the supplies they need, helping to keep their stations clean, making sure the clients are comfortable and taken care of. Sometimes I even get to give my opinions on styles. It’s basically the best job in the world. For now. Someday, I hope to run my own Hello, Gorgeous! and help Mom lead the style revolution.

  As we walked down the tree-lined sidewalk, Kristen said, “Tell me it’s not ridic that no one sells gold-and-silver sequined belts.”

  “Like a reversible belt?” Lizbeth asked.

  “No, a mix of silver and gold in one belt,” Kristen said. “Alternating.”

  “I don’t know about the belts,” I said, “but we have silver nail polish at the salon. Matte and metallic.”

  “What about gold?” Kristen asked.

  “Just metallic,” I said.

  “We should invent a new color!” she exclaimed. “Matte gold with silver glitters. We’ll make a ton of money. We’ll be rich!” She did a little skip on the sidewalk in front of us.

  “So are you going to make your fortune in polish or be the next Academy Award winner?” I asked.

  “Does it matter?” she replied.

  Fame. She didn’t have it and already it had gone to her head.

  “I thought all you ever talked about was acting,” I teased, hoping it didn’t make her mad.

  “Very funny,” she said.

  “You were kind of on the attack at lunch today,” Lizbeth said.

  “I wasn’t on the attack.”

  “But you almost were,” Lizbeth said. “I could see it coming. Don’t be jealous of Eve. She’s our friend. It’s not cool.”

  That’s what still amazes me about best friends—you can tell the truth and the relationship just gets stronger.

  “I’m not jealous,” Kristen said with a little pout. “Eve deserves to be a big TV star. Getting all the attention.”

  “Jealous,” Lizbeth said, shaking her head.

  “Fine,” Kristen admitted. “Maybe I was jealous for two seconds, but I’m over it because I’m going to make my own way in the biz. Didn’t you just hear my million-dollar idea?”

  “Yep,” Lizbeth said. “Just want to make sure you’re cool.”

  “I am,” Kristen said as we headed up the last block onto Camden Way. “Cool as a million bucks.”

  When we stepped through the doors of Hello, Gorgeous!, the sights and scents hit me like a warm, inviting hug. The cream marble floors, the chocolate-leather mirror frames, the honey-glow light, and all my favorite stylists making beautiful people even more beautiful. To me, there was no better place in the world.

  “Hi, Mickey!” said Megan, the receptionist. She was always dressed to perfection—today she wore black leggings, a navy sweaterdress, and a chunky gold belt cinched around her waist. She greeted everyone who came through the doors with a smile stretching over her pink, round cheeks. “Are you working today? Hi, girls!” she said to Kristen and Lizbeth. They’d been coming to the salon for a while now getting manis and pedis and the occasional cut. We had all become friends after I started working here not too long ago. “Lizbeth, you’re not back to take over my job again, are you?”

  “I wish,” Lizbeth said. She’d done her Career Exploration project at the salon, too, working the reception desk with Megan. “I’m temporarily retired from working.”

  Megan smiled. “I don’t blame you. What are you girls in for today?”

  “Manicures,” I said. “Just for my friends.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Go ahead and pick out your colors. I’ll let Karen and Cynthia know you’re here.”

  Kristen and Lizbeth hurried over to the wall of polishes.

  “Is my mom here?” I asked Megan.

  “She’s back in her office.”

  “Okay. I’ll go say hi in a bit.” I walked over to my friends. I spotted a bottle of flat gray polish called Metal on Metal. “How about this?” I asked Kristen, handing it to her.

  “I love it,” she said, taking the polish.

  “Or this one,” I said, handing her a second choice. “It’s shinier.” Disco Ball was a lighter gray polish with tiny silver glitters in it.

  “Ooh, I love them both,” she said. “I’ll take the shine.” She handed back the first bottle and took Disco Ball over to the manicure station.

  I helped Lizbeth pick out a color, too. She chose one called Strawberry Fields that was a deep pink, almost a red.

  The girls settled in at the table. I pulled a chair up next to Lizbeth and sat against the wall. Karen raised her brow at me and said, “No manicure for you today?”

  “Not today,” I said. “I’ll do my nails when I get home later.”

  “You think you can do them better than I can?” Karen asked, her voice filled with mock concern.

  “Of course not!” I said. “I just can’t stay long today. That’s all.”

  “Uh-huh,” Karen said with a wink. But she knew I loved her designs. She often tested out the new colors on me each season.

  I’d been coming to the salon with Mom forever, but it wasn’t until I started working as a sweeper that I finally felt like I knew where I wanted to be. Getting to be around fabulous people and fun beauty products and styles made me feel like I was living inside my own personal fantasy world. I could talk about hair all day long and luckily, there was always someone who could talk it right back.

  As Karen and Cynthia worked on my friends’ nails, I settled back into my chair.

  “Did you see Matthew in the halls after lunch?” Lizbeth asked. She had one hand soaking in warm, soapy water, while Karen filed the nails on her other hand.

  “No,” Kristen replied. She sat on the other side of Lizbeth. “What was he doing?”

  Lizbeth gazed up and said, “Walking.”

  Kristen laughed. “Dork.”

  “He has the greatest walk,” Lizbeth said. “Like, how he holds his books in one hand and keeps his other hand in his pocket. And he doesn’t walk so much as stroll.”

  “Please,” Kristen said. “Tobias moves through the halls with purpose. While your guy is taking his sweet time, mine is actually going places. Like to play baseball, where he is awesome. Matthew is too busy ironing his jeans.”

  “He doesn’t iron his jeans,” Lizbeth protested, and I laughed. “Mickey, he doesn’t, does he?”

  I pictured Matthew: super prep, always wearing button-downs or polos. Instead of sneakers he wore canvas shoes without a speck of dirt on them. “He might,” I said.

  “Ha-ha!” Kristen cheered. “He’s a jeans-ironer!” When Kristen saw the pouty look on her best friend’s face she said, “But it’s cute, how nice he always looks.”

  “Especially Friday at Eve’s premiere,” Lizbeth said. “Oh my gosh, so cute. And he told me after we played the game that he’d have to bring me back sometime to practice more so that maybe I’d have a chance of winning.” When Kristen and I didn’t immediately respond she said, “He wants to go out again. With me!”

  “Did I tell you that Tobias said the four of us should hang out sometime?” Kristen said. “He pretended to be casual about it but I knew he wanted to ask me out right then. So I was like, ‘Yeah, we should go to the movies or something,’ and he was like, ‘Totally.’ ”

  “Oh my gosh,” Lizbeth said, bouncing in her seat. Karen gave her a look as she filed her nails, and Lizbeth settled down. “Do you think he really meant it? I had fun with Matthew and I think he had fun with me . . .”

  As Lizbeth and Kristen dissected every moment of last Friday�
�s premiere and all the tiny moments since, I wondered what exactly had happened to all my friends. I was starting to think they’d gone insane, like the aliens from Eve’s commercial were taking over their minds. Except in this case, the aliens were boys. Boys we’d known forever, and who were just . . . well, boys.

  I tried not to roll my eyes as Kristen explained how Tobias’s little nod after lunch really meant I’ll text you later, when the door to the salon opened and in breezed a woman you would never mistake for someone else. She had on-fire red hair in a long bob with perfect springy curls and wore a perfectly tailored suit. But most importantly, the glasses—black cat’s-eyes with rhinestones in the corners. Behind the woman there was a man with a video camera filming Megan and the rest of the salon.

  My jaw slowly dropped. I couldn’t speak.

  The woman walked up to Megan and asked to speak to the owner. She looked at a piece of paper in her hand. “Ms. Chloe Wilson?”

  “Sure,” Megan said, eyeing the camera nervously. She picked up the phone to call Mom in the back.

  Kristen reached her freshly polished hand across Lizbeth toward me, her wide eyes on the woman. “Mickey. Oh my gosh, Mickey. Is that who I think it is?”

  I felt my head nodding yes. The person I’d idolized since I learned the phrase “internationally acclaimed” was standing a mere six feet from me.

  “It’s her,” I said. “Cecilia von Tressell.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Lizbeth gasped. “Of Cecilia’s Best Tressed?”

  “Yes,” I said, still not believing my eyes.

  I stared at her as though I were invisible. Suddenly, her cat’s-eye glasses were on me.

  “Hello, girls,” she said, strolling over to us.

  “Hello,” we said in stunned unison.

  “Very pretty,” she said, drawing an imaginary circle around my head. “The barrette—is it vintage?”

  Oh my gosh, Cecilia von Tressell just complimented my barrette!

  Cecilia is everything to the hair biz. She’s worked all over the world styling hair for everyone from actresses to billionaires. She also has her own TV show, plus she runs a salon in Beverly Hills where she cuts and styles for the most exclusive clients in 90210. Next to my mom, she’s one of my biggest idols.

  “It is,” I replied. “Thank you, Cecilia. I mean, Ms. Von Tressell.”

  She smiled. “You can call me Cecilia.”

  “It matches, see?” Kristen said, thrusting her hands out and practically knocking over her chair to get up. In one aggressive leap, Kristen stood in front of Cecilia. “They’re both gray! Her rhinestone barrette and my polish. Right? They complement each other.” She shook her fingers in Cecilia’s face, then tossed a huge smile right at the camera. Then she winked.

  Megan hung up the phone. “She’s not answering. Mickey, will you go back and find your mom? She’s probably in the break room checking inventory.”

  “Sure,” I said. I stood on shaking legs and headed to the back of the salon, leaving Cecilia with Kristen.

  “It’s so funny you’re here, Cecilia,” I heard Kristen saying. “Because today I had the most amazing idea ever for a new polish. It’s called Million Dollar Idea. It’s matte gold with silver glitters and maybe there could be a signature accessory and hairstyle that go along with it. What do you think? No one has ever done that before.”

  I found Mom in the break room. My heart raced with excitement as I said, “Mom. Brace yourself.”

  “Hey there, sweetie,” she said, looking over her shoulder while counting shampoo bottles. “When did you get here?”

  I loved how crisp she still looked even though she’d been at work for more than seven hours. Mom never looked anything but perfectly put together.

  “Not long ago,” I said. “Mom, listen. Something is happening.”

  She turned back to the shelf. “Good or bad?” she asked.

  “Very good. There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Tell them I’ll be right out,” she said. She made a few notes on her clipboard.

  “Well, it’s actually . . .” I felt like a scream of excitement was about to soar out of my mouth. “It’s Cecilia von Tressell!”

  Mom continued to inspect the shelves. “How do I know that name?” she asked.

  Are you kidding me? I wanted to yell. I couldn’t believe it. How does she know that name? Is my mother a hair goddess or not?

  “Mom,” I said. She finished what she was writing, then looked at me. “Cecilia von Tressell is the host of a TV show called Cecilia’s Best Tressed. She goes to salons all across the country, analyzes them, and makes them even better. She takes salons into the big time.”

  “Oh, of course. I remember hearing about her. She’s supposed to be extremely talented,” Mom said. “What’s she doing here?”

  That’s when a slow realization washed over me. The moments from more than two months ago ran through my mind like an old home movie. Me, watching Best Tressed. A commercial, with the announcer asking viewers to text in their recommendations for the next salon makeover. Me, texting in.

  And now, they were here. Mom’s salon was going to be famous because of moi!

  “Well,” I began slowly, drawing out the suspense. “A couple of months ago, I texted in that Hello, Gorgeous! should be featured on the show. And now they’re here! Can you believe it?” I wanted to jump and clap but somehow managed to maintain my cool. This was Mom’s moment.

  Mom stopped what she was doing. She straightened up and turned to face me. “What do you mean, they’re here?”

  “Cecilia’s here. With her show!”

  “With her show?”

  “And cameras!”

  Mom set her clipboard down. She put one fist on her hip and stared at the table. I knew Mom wasn’t the type to go all giddy. I guess she needed a moment to collect herself. It was momentous.

  “You’re telling me,” she began, “that you invited a camera crew into my salon for some reality show without my permission? Without anyone’s permission?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s not like that. I mean, yes, I just texted the show to enter the salon. But it’s not a reality show, really. It’s more like a . . . like a showcase! About the best salons in the country!”

  “If my salon is so great, why is she here to make it over, Mickey?” Mom asked, eyeing me fiercely.

  “Mom,” I said, trying not to panic. I didn’t think she’d be upset. “She just observes the salon for a couple of days, makes some recommendations, gives you free money to make some changes, and then they show all the work you’ve done!” I thought surely the free money part would get her excited.

  “And that’s it?” she asked. “I’m expected to believe that’s the entire show? No drama over how I make any possible changes? I just do it and she comes back and says it’s great?”

  “Well,” I began, “it’s a little more involved . . .”

  “Oh, Mickey.”

  “It’s okay, Mom!” I said. “The only thing is after her final inspection she sort of, like, deems your salon a revamped success. Like, maybe it’s still good but not great.”

  “Not great?” she asked, her eyes about popping out of her head.

  Oops! “It’s just the lingo,” I said, trying to calm her down. But no dice.

  “Mikaela Wilson, do you understand the position you’ve put me in?”

  My face burned under Mom’s glaring eyes. “Mom, it’s okay,” I tried again. “Cecilia’s very nice. She’s going to help you!”

  “Who said I needed any help?” she said. She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Well, I have no choice now. They’re here, filming. I can’t not go out there. I can’t say no on camera.”

  “Well, I mean, you can,” I said. “People have done it. But, Mom, I really think this could be amazing. Think of the great exposure you’ll get. And I know you won’t let anything go wrong.”

  “You better hope nothing goes wrong, Mikaela,” she said. My skin went cold. Mom doesn’t call me Mikael
a when I’ve done something right.

  She brushed her still-perfect, thick black hair off her face, smoothed her still-crisp slacks, and walked out to the main floor.

  CHAPTER 4

  As soon as Mom’s heels hit the floor, the staff erupted into applause. Everyone knew that Best Tressed was a huge opportunity for any salon or stylist. Giancarlo clutched Violet’s arm, practically bouncing in his black-and-white oxfords. Devon, across the salon, had her arms crossed like she wasn’t so sure about the whole thing, but I could see a curious sparkle in her eyes. Piper wiped away happy tears as she clapped, and even Karen looked blown away as she discreetly straightened her station in between her own claps of approval.

  Kristen still stood next to Cecilia, talking to her as she clapped. When Mom approached Cecilia, reaching out to shake her hand, Cecilia carefully nudged Kristen aside to make room for Mom. Then Cecilia spotted me and motioned for me to come join them.

  The camera swooped over me and Mom, its light shining in my eyes. Mom had a smile on her face, but I knew it wasn’t real. Did I ever mention that she likes surprises about as much as uncombed hair?

  Cecilia stepped between me and Mom. It was probably best for everyone if there was a buffer between us right now. That plastered-on smile of Mom’s was pretty scary.

  “As I understand it,” Cecilia began, “it was you, Mickey, who recommended Hello, Gorgeous! to my show. Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You wrote, and I quote”—she held up a small black notepad and read—“ ‘Hello, Gorgeous!, my mom’s salon, is the best place to make any person feel gorgeous. My mom works hard each day to make sure that every single person who comes into her salon feels like herself when she leaves, only better. Mom’s salon is the greatest and deserves to be made even greater.’ ”

  I’d forgotten what I’d written. I peered around Cecilia at Mom to see her reaction. But she kept that fake smile plastered on and I knew that inside, she was boiling.

  “Now, Chloe,” Cecilia said, a mischievous smile on her face. “Your salon is good, but we think it can be great. Do you want to be known as fine or do you want to be known as fabulous? This isn’t Cecilia’s Okay Tressed, or Good Tressed. It’s Cecilia’s Best Tressed. We’ll work with you to give you all the tools to take your salon up a notch. But it will take your own fire, passion, and creativity to make your salon an even greater success. So, Chloe Wilson, I have to ask you—are you ready to be Best Tressed?”