I went to the accessories counter by reception.
“I need to get something for Violet,” I said to Megan, pointing to the glass case that held the hair accessories we sold.
“Sure,” Megan said. She smelled like green apples and had a big, red flower clipped on the side of her blond hair. “Key is by the fish bowl.”
When she said fish bowl, she meant the big glass bowl into which people dropped their business cards and contact information for the drawings we did randomly. And when I say randomly, I mean randomly. Like whenever we felt like it. Giancarlo had a calzone for lunch? Time to draw. Violet has a hangnail? Better draw! Megan’s wearing blue today? Sounds like it’s time to draw! The prizes were free treatments like facials, massages, and manicures.
I grabbed the key and unlocked the accessories counter. Mom and Megan picked out goodies from a catalog of stuff we got from a supplier, and sometimes they bought stuff made by locals in the Berkshires. Those were usually my favorites, unique to our little section of the world. I thought it was pretty cool having something that glamorous people in big cities like New York or even Los Angeles didn’t have.
I took out the peacock-feathered headband Violet asked for but glanced back to get another look at Alicia’s dark hair. The rich, deep colors of the headband would get lost in her color and I worried that the headband wouldn’t have the strength to hold back her thick hair. So I also chose a vibrant blue flower clip made from metal that reminded me of the Cornflower Blues nail polish I’d recommended to Kristen. I figured Alicia’s hair would actually benefit from the heavy weight of the clip.
I brought them both over to Violet and said, “The headband is nice, but I was thinking this clip could work really well.”
She held it up to Alicia’s hair and said, “You’re right, this works so much better. Really brings out your eyes, Alicia.”
“Yeah, I love it. It’s really pretty.”
I tried to play it cool—Yeah, no biggie, I always choose killer accessories for clients—but the truth was I was bursting with joy. I started to tell Alicia about the Cornflower Blues nail polish in case she wanted to get a manicure to match the new clip, but she and Violet had gone back to talking and besides, it really wasn’t my place to butt in. After my spectacular display of grace when I’d tackled Devon’s cart, I figured my best bet was to keep my trap shut and my broom moving. And move it I did—in a wide circle around Devon’s station as she worked on the client.
Still, it was like she wanted to punish me for disrupting the perfect order of her little trolley cart thing. “Hey,” she called to me as she sheared the woman’s long red hair. “Bring me a water, will you?”
What I wanted to say was, “Pardon?” A little please and thank you wouldn’t have killed her.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the drinks station and when I brought it to her she was laughing her head off. Probably talking about my fall.
“She must have been freaking out,” the woman laughed. (About my fall?)
“She was speechless,” Devon said. (No, I wasn’t!)
“Here’s your water,” I said, holding the bottle out to her and being all, I’m standing right here so you can quit talking about me!
She ignored me, so I placed the bottle on her counter and walked away, intent on sweeping under the accessories counter before she could ask me to do something else.
Still laughing, Devon lowered her voice and said, “It’s not every day I make a girl go bald!” Then she and her client started giggling again.
Say wha . . . ? I almost tripped over my broom. I couldn’t believe it.
Look, I’m no snitch, but for a moment I seriously thought about marching right back to Mom’s office and telling her. Devon must have given some poor woman such a bad haircut that the only solution was to shave her head. My brain didn’t even know where to start. How could Mom have hired her if she was a menace to all heads of hair? It was like hiring a thief to work in a bank.
It’s not like I needed an excuse, but now there was no way I’d ever let her get near me with a pair of scissors. I’d let Jonah cut my hair before her. I’d get myself fired before I ever let her come near me—that’s how dead set I was on never, not in a million years, letting Devon within four feet of my head with a pair of scissors. EVER.
CHAPTER 7
At the end of the day, as I was getting my bag to head home, I spotted the bottles of spring nail polishes, now neatly lined up on the storage shelf—including Peppermint Shake and Cornflower Blues. I had kind of already promised them to Lizbeth and Kristen, but after the day I’d had, there was no way I could have asked my mother to let me just have them.
I couldn’t stand the thought of showing up to school empty-handed on Thursday. And like I said, those two colors weren’t likely to be missed. So I decided to take them. I snatched the two bottles and dropped them in my bag and, just like that, the deed was done.
As I left the back room I almost bumped into Rowan as she came out of the small, private treatment room. She startled me so much, it’s a miracle I didn’t drop my bag. Can you imagine how awful that would have been?! The bottles spilling out onto the floor, Rowan catching me red-handed and telling on me to Mom, who would have grounded me for life?!
“Easy, girl,” Rowan said, her kelly green eyes looking down at me suspiciously. Okay, maybe not, but that’s how it felt. I wondered if I shouldn’t sneak them back onto the shelves (“Why, how did these get in my bag?”) but instead I hustled out the door and headed home.
The next day at school I kept an eye out for Lizbeth and Kristen, feeling a twinge of guilt for taking the polishes.
I didn’t have any classes with them, so I had to be a bit stalkerish looking for them in the halls. I also checked the bathroom before and after every class. (I will only admit to this being borderline pathetic.) By the time lunch rolled around and I still hadn’t seen them, I decided to hang around outside the cafeteria hoping to casually bump into them. Easy.
“Waiting for me?” Jonah asked as I leaned against the wall. Kyle was with him, his hair hanging down over his eyes.
“How’d you know?” I said. “And now that you’re here, go fetch me my lunch and warm up my seat.” Kyle was once again staring at his shoes. “Hey, Kyle. What’s up?”
He muttered in response.
“You coming over tonight?” Jonah asked. “I got this killer new game with these amazing new graphics . . .”
Just then, I saw Lizbeth’s honey blond hair bobbing down the hall toward us. Finally!
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said to Jonah, trying to nudge him into the cafeteria so that I could have some time of my own with Lizbeth and Kristen.
“This new game has, like, orbit levels and aliens, but not the stupid kind that are totally lame. Hey, why are you shoving me?”
“Those orbits sound amazing. Totally. So, yeah! We’ll see the aliens tonight, okay?”
“What’s your problem?” Jonah asked.
“Great! Aliens it is!” He looked at me like I’d suddenly sprouted antennae. “Sorry, I mean I’ll meet you inside, probably,” I finished, because maybe I’d end up sitting with the girls. “Bye!”
“You are so weird and annoying sometimes,” he said, and he and Kyle finally left me alone.
I panicked as Lizbeth and Kristen got closer. How should I approach them? Would they think I was totally weird? Would they know I was stalking them? Wait, no, I was not stalking them. Just looking for them. Totally different.
I stood in their way like a support beam and they practically slammed right into me.
“Oh, sorry,” I said.
“No probs,” Kristen said. She had on the most adorable blue, teal, and white sundress.
“Hey, Mickey,” said Lizbeth.
“Hey,” I said. “Hi.”
They continued walking. My mind went blank. I stood immobile, watching the moment pass me by. Why couldn’t I speak up? Why couldn’t I say anything? Why was I so—
“Wait!”
Smoot
h, Mick. Real smooth.
They turned back to look at me. Kristen crinkled her brow. I thrust the polish bottles toward them. “Here. These are for you.” They both stepped forward, looking at my outstretched hand as if I were holding a poison dart frog, which of course would leap and attack them at any moment. (Familiarity with amphibious life, courtesy of one Jonah Goldman.)
“Oh,” Lizbeth said when she saw it. “Our polish. Cool.”
“Awesome, thanks,” Kristen said.
“You’re welcome,” I said as they both took a bottle. Then, before I realized what was happening, Lizbeth was saying “See ya,” and I was watching them walk into the cafeteria. Without me. Clutching bottles of nail polish. Bottles that I had stolen just for them.
Now I could admit to full-on pathetic-dom.
I sighed and went to sit with Jonah and Kyle. “Glad you could join us,” Jonah said when I asked him to scootch down to make room for me. “Now you can be our judge: Who has the biggest bicep?” I sighed as they flexed their sad, little muscles, realizing I might be forever exiled to the sad land of boydom.
Why was I such an idiot? There was nothing about Lizbeth and Kristen that was so special I couldn’t approach them. It’s not like they were starring in their own vampire movie with the planet’s hottest leading guy or anything. They were regular people, just like me, so what was there to be nervous about?
I found myself thinking of Giancarlo. He’d probably say something like, “Honey, who are they? Those girls should be intimidated by you.”
So I went back to my stalker ways and kept an eye out for them after school. I was standing in the foyer, digging through my bag and folders, doing anything to look like I was doing something, when Lizbeth turned the corner toward the front doors of the school.
“Oh!” she said just before our foreheads met like rams in a fight.
“Ow!” I said as bright stars swirled in the space between us. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Lizbeth laughed, rubbing her head. “I don’t really use this much, anyway. Are you okay?”
“I think so.” I said. We stood for a moment kind of laughing and rubbing our heads. I knew that if I didn’t start a conversation then, I’d be angry with myself for days.
“Speaking of heads,” I began. Lame, but I forged ahead. “How’d that quiz go? In Ms. Carter’s class?”
Lizbeth stopped rubbing her head, then said, “Oh my gosh. The quiz. I am so rude. I never thanked you a million times for telling us about that. I got an A.”
“Awesome,” I said, feeling amazing. We started out the front doors and down the steps.
“Do many of the teachers come into your salon?” Lizbeth asked.
“She’s the only one I’ve seen.” I had a thought—a risk I wanted to take. I said it before I gave myself any time to think about it. “Lots of kids’ parents, too. You know, like”—I lowered my voice—“Matthew Anderson’s mom.”
Lizbeth’s eyes darted toward me. I held my breath. “I had a feeling you might have overheard us that day Kristen and I were there getting manicures.” She sounded grateful for the chance to talk about him, which was a huge relief. A comment like that could have landed different ways. Lizbeth could have been mad that I was butting in.
“He’s cute. I mean, I don’t like him,” I added because I didn’t want her to think I was going after her man or anything. He was cute, though, if you liked the preppy kind. I don’t think he’d been seen in a shirt without an alligator on it since he left the hospital after his mother gave birth to him. “Just so you know . . .”
Lizbeth nodded her head slowly. “He is cute. Just please don’t tell anyone, okay? Kristen loves to tease me about it just to see how far she can go. It makes me nervous. He doesn’t know I like him and, well, I’m not ready yet for him to know.”
“Don’t worry. Secret’s safe.” I mimed locking my lips.
She smiled. “So with that and Ms. Carter’s quiz, you must hear tons of good stuff at the salon, huh?”
“Yeah, I hear stuff.”
“Anything juicy?” Lizbeth asked. Her amber eyes lit up, like she really wanted to hear some good dirt.
“Well,” I said, trying to think. I didn’t want to let her down. She obviously appreciated the quiz notice, but didn’t seem to care about the nail polish. And now that she’d confessed her secret love, I felt like I had to give her something good, too. I didn’t have much to offer, though. Except, well, there was that one thing. “We have this new stylist at the salon, Devon. And, um, I heard her telling this one customer that at her old salon she accidentally made a client of hers go bald.”
“No way!” Lizbeth cheered.
“Totally,” I said. “It’s probably why she had to leave Boston and move here. Maybe she was run out of town or something.”
“Making someone go bald. Wow, I can’t imagine,” Lizbeth said, shaking her head. “Her name’s Devon?”
I nodded.
“I’m staying away from her, that’s for sure.”
“Me too,” I said. “And wouldn’t ya know—she’s trying to get me to let her cut my hair! It’s getting to a point where I almost have to duck every time I see her!”
And there it was—a whole conversation with Lizbeth Ballinger. Friday night slumber parties and family vacations couldn’t be far behind!
Just as I was worrying about what to say next, Kristen came over and joined us, and Lizbeth’s mom pulled up in her car. I was saved. “Hey, guys,” said Kristen, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you on the ride home. It’s a good one,” said Lizbeth as she and Kristen got into the car.
“And thanks again for the polish!” Kristen shouted out the window.
As I watched the car get farther and farther away, I felt as if the faint light of my personality was starting to shine through a little brighter.
CHAPTER 8
The first thing I saw when I walked into the salon on Saturday was Giancarlo in all his Giancarlo glory: a draped black and yellow gown ensemble that looked like a choir robe with slits up the sides, yellow pants underneath, and black leather slip-ons with a silver buckle.
“Wow, GC,” I said. “That’s really . . . something you have on there.”
After stashing my bag and putting on my smock, I got my broom and started working. I was determined not to make a single mistake all day long and to stay completely focused on the task at hand. Then this happened:
“Has anyone seen a couple of bottles of the new spring polishes lying around anywhere?” Karen asked from her manicure station. “I’m out of two new colors and I’ve barely used them.”
As you might imagine, this question kind of took me out of my zone.
“Not me,” Giancarlo answered. “I only steal the cheese samples at Whole Foods.”
“If they’re free samples, then you’re not stealing,” Violet told him.
“Oh,” Giancarlo said. “Rats. I thought I was being naughty.”
“I did inventory myself just last weekend. I know they’re back there. Maybe someone just moved them? Which colors are you looking for?” Violet said to Karen.
“Cornflower Blues and Peppermint Shake. Mickey, have you seen them?” Karen asked.
I could feel those evil little sweat monsters form over my upper lip. I shook my head no and casually said, “I think I saw some in the back on Wednesday.” Right before I swiped them.
I wiped off some of the sweat, then looked for something to sweep up, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.
“Well, they weren’t there when I looked a minute ago.”
“I’ll definitely keep an eye out for them,” I told Karen as I swept my way away from her.
The day calmed down a bit, even though the stream of clients stayed steady. Steady, except for Devon, that is. For the first part of the day I only saw her work on one client.
Giancarlo sat down his next client: a mom-age lady who was getting a trim and her gray roots
touched up. “Mickey, darling,” Giancarlo called to me. “Come grace us with your presence.” I swept on over to him. “What do you think of Miss Lily here going for a brighter color, like blond?”
“Not blond!” Miss Lily said, clutching the ends of what I would call her dark, ash blond hair. “I don’t want to look like Marilyn Monroe.”
“Lily, honey, you wish,” Giancarlo said. “I mean more of a honey blonde. Something a little spicier than the drab color you have now. If I look at it any longer I’m sure I’ll slip into a coma.”
“But I’ve been using this same color for fifteen years,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “Exactly. A lighter color will complement your skin tone much better. Right, Mickey?”
Giancarlo was probably just being nice by asking me, but I didn’t care—I took the question seriously. When I looked at Miss Lily, something about her hair color (gray roots not included) and skin color did seem a bit off. I guess because it looked so unnatural together. Maybe a brighter color would work better.
“I think it’ll look really pretty. Something punchier,” I said.
“See?” Giancarlo said. “You can’t say no to punchier. And you have to listen to her because she’s Chloe’s daughter.”
Miss Lily eyed herself in the mirror and said, “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try something new this once.”
“Exactly!” Giancarlo said, clapping his hands together. “And your husband is going to love it!”
I went back to my sweeping, but not before Giancarlo gave me a thumbs-up. I didn’t really think I’d done much to help, but it made me feel good anyway.
A little later, Jonah dropped by, skateboard in one hand and a paper bag in the other. “Your dad offered to give me some of those awesome homemade brownies if I agreed to take this to you. I think it’s a tuna sandwich with an apple and a brownie,” he said, handing me the bag, then coming behind the accessories counter like he owned the place.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the bag while Jonah leaned on the glass counter. I swatted his forearm. “Get your sweaty arms off that. I was just about to clean it.”
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