Rowan had just walked a client out. “I’ll be in my office,” she said, referring to her facial room. “No disturbances!” She practically raced back and sealed the door shut.
Giancarlo had just finished up his client. “I’m out of here,” he mouthed as he dusted off his chair and peeled out the door.
Piper, who didn’t have a client, either, shuffled her apple-red Vans after Giancarlo and whispered, “Don’t leave me here!”
Violet cut her eyes at both of them and said, “You guys. Come on.” She said it like, Be cool, relax, and don’t make a scene. Not that Giancarlo or Piper listened to her, salon manager or not. I so wanted to leave with them, but there was no way. Unlike the stylists who could leave the premises in between customers, my job required me to be on the floor the whole time. And, also, I had to at least try and see if I could squeeze in my Maggie–cell phone pitch at some point. Though with Mom supervising every move Devon made, I didn’t know when I’d have the chance.
Here’s the deal: Before Mom hires a stylist she doesn’t know or who doesn’t come personally recommended, she has them cut someone’s hair while she watches. It’s usually someone who wants a free cut and doesn’t mind letting an unknown stylist take a pair of sharp scissors to her head. But never, in all the years Mom had owned the salon, has she had to watch one of her own stylists after she’d been hired, as far as I knew, anyway. For Mom to do this to Devon—who supposedly had a lot of experience—meant that things were really bad.
“So,” Devon began. “What are we doing today?”
“Well, I like my length up here,” Mrs. Williams said, fingering the top of her brassy red hair as Devon and Mom looked at her in the mirror. Mom stood right next to Devon, not even trying to hide the fact that she was watching closely. “I actually want the front layers to grow out a bit, but you can do whatever you want with the rest.”
“Okay,” Devon said, eyeing Mrs. Williams’s hair carefully but glancing over at Mom every few moments or so. “What if it was blunt here . . . ,” she said, indicating the sides. Her voice had the slightest quiver to it and it seemed an octave higher than usual. “And we made the back into some piecey layers?”
“Fine by me,” she said.
“Great,” Devon said. Mrs. Williams was about to get up from her chair to get washed when Mom stepped in.
“Are you sure doing the sides that way is right for her face?” Mom asked. Devon and Mrs. Williams froze on the spot. “She has such a beautiful diamond-shaped face, sharp angles at the sides will give her a cone head look. As beautiful as you are, Janette, I don’t think you want that.” Mom smiled at her.
“No, thank you,” Mrs. Williams said.
“I think something softer on the sides would be better,” Mom said to Devon.
Devon’s matte red lips pulled into a tight buttonhole, and when she spoke she seemed to calculate each word precisely. “Okay. Sounds good.”
Mom finally left Devon’s station to let her cut in peace, but Devon would have murdered me if I tried to talk to Mrs. Williams right then. Murdered me or balded me.
Once Devon was finished, Mom inspected Mrs. Williams’s hair with the thoroughness of a teacher grading our year-end tests.
“What’s this?” Mom asked, holding pieces of her hair between her fingers. “Uneven.” Mom took her own scissors and with one snap made them perfect. She did this in a couple of other places as Devon stood by with her arms wrapped around her waist and her neck turning red.
Mrs. Williams said she liked her cut, which was a good sign, but Mom had to make several adjustments before the final result. When it was over, Mom thanked Mrs. Williams and said she hoped to see her again. Then Mrs. Williams walked out the door, and so did my chance to win the day for Maggie.
“Well,” Mom said to Devon. “How do you think you did?”
Devon couldn’t even respond. She burst into tears. Mom put her arm around her and guided her back into her office and shut the door. Those of us still on the floor let out a big sigh.
“That was intense,” Violet said.
“I wouldn’t be able to work if someone was hanging over my shoulder like that, either,” Megan said.
“You would if you were talented,” Violet said. “I just mean a stylist should be able to work no matter what. You can’t lack confidence when you have a pair of scissors in your hands.”
Soon Giancarlo and Piper came back with paper cups of CJ’s coffee and a bag for me that held a chocolate cupcake. I loved everything from CJ’s, but I wasn’t sure I could stomach eating just then.
“Where is she?” Piper asked.
“In Mom’s office,” I said.
“You guys were smart for leaving,” Megan said. “It was intense in the worst way.”
“Poor Devon,” Piper said. “I wonder what the deal is? She came so highly recommended from that fancy place in Boston. Violet talked to the owner herself when we were checking her references.”
“I don’t know,” Giancarlo said. “But she better figure it out quickly or she’s out on her can.”
A new client walked in, and we all got back into our places, looking like a normal, working salon. I took my cupcake to the break room for later. Mom’s door had popped open just enough for me to hear her say, “. . . maybe some classes to sharpen your skills. I can’t hold your station forever, but maybe for a few more weeks . . .”
CHAPTER 17
On Thursday, I was getting a sip of water before homeroom; when I finished I almost rammed right into Maggie, who then practically pinned me against the wall. She got so close, I could see a tiny crust of red jam on the corner of her mouth from breakfast.
“Oh my gosh, Mickey!” she said. “My mom was there! How’d it go?”
Please tell me you’re kidding. I knew she’d ask me. But she had to know that Cara’s mom agreeing to get Cara a cell phone didn’t automatically mean Maggie’s mom would do the same.
“I, well . . .”
Breathlessly, she began, “I have the perfect phone picked out and all I need is the word from Mom to order it online. I’ve totally made it easy on her—she doesn’t even have to drive me to the mall. So? Tell me! What happened?”
“Well, the thing is,” I said. She was so eager I almost couldn’t look at her—but she was so up in my business I didn’t really have a choice . . .
“I, um, didn’t get around to it.”
She blinked. “You didn’t get around to it? But you promised.”
“I didn’t promise,” I said.
“You totally did.”
I was a hundred percent sure I didn’t promise, but in that particular moment it didn’t seem helpful to tell that to Maggie. “It’s just that things were kind of crazy last night and it was never the right time.”
“Crazy?” she snipped. She propped her hand on her hip. “What do you mean, crazy? Did someone else go bald or something?”
“Someone else?”
“You should be thankful I sent my mom there—I totally took a chance. I was practically sacrificing her beautiful hair for you and I get nothing in return? That’s so not cool, Mickey.”
“Look, I’m sorry. But wait, what do you mean, did someone else go bald?”
She stepped back from me and held up a hand. “You can’t just make a promise and then not keep it. That’s, like, a rule!” She stormed down the hall away from me, her pastel, yellow pleated skirt swishing aggressively as she went.
My day sure was getting off to a terrific start. All I wanted was to know what in the world she was talking about. Who went bald in the first place?
I started toward homeroom, and when I turned the corner I spotted Lizbeth rushing to her own class, her hair flying behind her. We hadn’t even been friends for very long and I may have already ruined it. That first day we talked after school was only a couple of weeks ago, the day I gave her and Kristen those stupid nail polishes. The same day I’d told her about Devon and the balding.
Wait a minute . . .
My s
tomach dropped through the floor.
Could Lizbeth have possibly told people about that—so many that now there was a rumor spreading around town? Could that have been the reason Devon wasn’t getting any clients? What if all this time it was my fault that Devon’s station was empty? How could I live with myself if it was?
On my way out of homeroom, I spotted Kristen in the hall. I took a deep breath and decided to approach her. She was surrounded by a group of friends, which did not include Lizbeth. Normally the two were inseparable. I hoped Lizbeth had just left early for a doctor’s appointment or was in a different part of school just then.
“Hey, Kristen,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous. After all, I hadn’t done anything wrong to her. “I’m sure you already have plans but, um, if you want, I’m probably going to sit with Eve at lunch today. Do you want us to save a seat for you?”
A faint smile crossed Kristen’s face. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” she said to the girls, who nodded and walked away. “Thanks, Mickey. That’s very nice. But I’m not really in the mood. I think I’m going to go hide out in the nurse’s office, fake some stomach cramps or something.”
“Are you sure?” I said. “You have to eat.”
“Yeah, well . . . I guess I’m not really up for mystery meat or whatever else they might be serving.” She added a little giggle at the end, but it was obvious how sad she felt.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I think she understood exactly what I meant.
“Thanks for asking, though,” she said before heading toward the nurse’s office.
I met Eve right outside the cafeteria and as soon as we walked inside, she made a beeline for Jonah’s table, which I wasn’t expecting. I wasn’t sure how Jonah would feel about me sitting at his table, but by that point, it would have been pretty awkward for me to try and get Eve to sit anywhere else.
Eve chattered away about English class while we ate. Kyle never talked, Jonah was sulking—he wouldn’t even look at me—and I couldn’t stop thinking about Kristen and Lizbeth.
“What do you think, Mickey?” Eve asked, breaking into my thoughts. “You think Ms. Carlisle is going to make us do a report on it?”
“Oh, um, yeah. Probably.” I had no idea what it was because I was off in Obsessoland. I shot a look at Jonah, but he took one last bite of burrito, dropped the rest on his lunch tray, and stood up.
“See you guys later,” he mumbled.
“Hey, wait,” I said, and he grudgingly looked back at me. “Where’re you going?”
“I’m done,” he said.
For a moment, it looked like Jonah was going to say something else. Instead, he grabbed a napkin off the table, crumpled it on his tray, and muttered a good-bye.
“Bye, Jonah!” Eve said, trying to sound chipper.
If Jonah kept running away every time we came within two feet of each other, then how in the world was I ever going to get him to tell me what he was so angry about?
Right after lunch I spotted Lizbeth coming out of the library and all my Jonah worries gave way to my Lizbeth worries. I wondered if she had eaten in there alone.
I so didn’t want to talk to her. Well, I wanted to talk to her, but not about what I had to talk to her about. I sucked it up and approached her, anyway.
“Hi, Lizbeth,” I said, trying to act like everything was fine. “How’s it going?”
Her light brown eyes cut through me with such intensity they seemed lit from behind like a demon’s in a horror movie.
“Are you seriously talking to me?”
Panic rose inside me. I knew she’d be upset—but I didn’t know how to handle it, so I tried to play dumb. “Um . . . yeah? I mean, are you and Kristen fighting?”
“No, we’re not,” she snapped. “We’re not even talking. At all. The fight is over and so is our friendship. So thanks a lot for opening your big mouth to her about the fund-raiser. What were you—eavesdropping the whole time or something?”
“No, I mean, I’m sorry, but I—”
“And what was that whole thing with the nail polish? Did you steal those?”
“Of course not!” I protested. Because taking and stealing are totally different. My stomach clenched at the mention of them, though.
“Because I didn’t ask you to do that,” she pointed out.
“I know, it’s not a big deal, really.”
“Whatever.” Her voice quivered, and I could tell she was trying to get away from me, but I couldn’t let her go without at least finding out about Devon. Maybe I could fix one messy situation in the thousands I had racked up. “Look, I’m really sorry about you and Kristen. I honestly am. I’ll talk to her if you want me to—”
“Don’t even.”
“Okay. I won’t talk to her,” I said, speaking as quickly as I could so I could cram in my Devon question before she got away from me. “Listen . . . I know you want me to leave you alone, but there’s something I have to ask you. Did you say anything to anyone about Devon? Like, about what kind of stylist she is? Because things are really bad for her at the salon and I was just wondering if, you know, you told anyone that story I told you about her.”
Lizbeth put her hand on her hip in a very snotty way that made me nervous. “First of all,” she began, “yeah, I told some people about her making people go bald. Why shouldn’t I have? Your mom shouldn’t even have someone like that working there.”
“You don’t understand—I’m not even sure that story was true.”
“Oh, great—now you’re a liar and a thief!” she said.
How could I explain that I’d only done all these things because I wanted her to like me? It was so pathetic, I almost couldn’t stand it.
“Also, just so we’re straight,” she continued, “whether or not I invite Kristen on Saturday is none of your business.”
“I know it’s not my business. I only said something because . . . I just assumed she’d be going!” I said.
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t assume things about people you don’t even know. Kristen either steals away attention from every guy I’ve ever liked or she makes a fool of me the way she did with Matthew at the game. Why would I want to deal with that at the fund-raiser?”
With that, Lizbeth pushed past me and stomped down the hall more upset than ever. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Everyone was miserable and unhappy. And it was all my fault. I just wanted to go back to being the girl who got people cell phones and gave everyone a heads-up on pop quizzes, not the girl who spread rumors that weren’t true, got people fired, and broke up best friends.
I had to figure out a way to make it all go away before everyone hated me for life—and also before Mom found out.
CHAPTER 18
As I finished getting ready Saturday morning (aka frying my hair with a curling iron and then shoving the whole mess into a ponytail holder), I looked out my bedroom window to see what Jonah was up to. I could see a flash of boy leg in the living room—no doubt it was him playing Warpath.
I crossed the backyard and started into the house from the back door, doing my usual two knocks followed by letting myself in. Only this time, after I knocked, I turned the handle and found that the door was locked. I was sure Jonah was home, so I knocked again. After a moment, the door opened.
“Hi, Mickey,” Mrs. Goldman said.
“Oh, hi. Is Jonah here?”
“Well,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I’m afraid he’s not available, sweetie.”
Not available? I couldn’t believe my ears. Jonah must have told his mother not to let me in. And she hadn’t tried to talk him out of it, which meant she agreed with his reasons, whatever they were. “Oh,” I managed to say. “Okay. Well, could you just tell him I came by? To see what’s up?”
“Of course, Mickey,” she said. “I’ll tell him.”
I felt so hurt I practically had to drag myself to the salon.
“There’s no spring to that step,” Megan said when I got to Hello, Gorgeous!
/> “What’s there to spring about?” I asked.
It was a regular Saturday with a steady flow of customers, the phone ringing every ten seconds and the sound of Giancarlo’s laughter floating through the salon. I carried a stack of fresh towels to the sinks and then went to the front to see if Megan needed anything.
“Want to grab a diet and a regular?” Megan asked as two women took a seat in the lounge. She had the phone in the crook of her neck and greeted a third woman as she came in the door.
I got the drinks, opened them carefully, and handed them to the women.
“Katie?” Megan said, hanging up the phone and looking at a slim woman in capris and wedges. “Piper is about ready for you. She’ll be up in one sec.”
“I’ll show her to the changing room if you want,” I said.
“You’re a lifesaver, Mick,” Megan said.
I smiled at the woman in the lounge. “Katie? Right this way.” We walked through the thick of the salon chaos. Giancarlo almost ran over us carrying back an extra dish of dye, and Piper carried a section of brunette hair extensions that fluttered behind her like streamers. “Some days I feel like I’m in a real-life video game, dodging stylists to get through this craziness.”
Katie laughed and said, “Yeah, it’s insane here today.”
I shrugged. “It’s always this crazy on Saturdays.” I opened the dressing room door. “Right in here. Piper should be ready when you get out.”
“Thank you,” she said.
The only part of the salon that wasn’t crazy was Devon’s station. Even Devon herself seemed to have abandoned ship, leaving her station stylist-less.
I found her in the break room when I went back to take my own break. She sat staring at the wall across from her, gnawing on an apple slice. Her short black hair was as straight and shiny as ever, but she wore all black—baggy cargos and an equally baggy top—and not a single splash of color.
“Hey, Devon,” I said, getting my bag from the shelf. I dug out the turkey with provolone wrap Dad had packed for me and set it on the table.
“Hey,” she said, not moving her eyes from the wall. She put the half-eaten apple slice on the plastic bag in front of her, barely moving.
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