“You can do it,” Ana said. “That is, if you think you can squeeze me into your busy schedule.”
“Of course,” Mom said.
“I’ll come back in a few days to have this corrected.”
“Thank you for understanding, Ana,” Mom said. “Giancarlo? Could I see you in my office, please?”
Without waiting, Mom turned on her three-inch heels and went back to her office. Giancarlo followed her, barely picking up his orange-sherbet leather shoes.
The salon was as quiet as closing time before Mom turned off the lights each evening. Violet led Ana over to her station, where she began combing through her hair, talking to her quietly about how they might repair it.
We didn’t have to wait long to hear what was happening in Mom’s office, though. As soon as the door closed we could hear her raised voice, the words muffled but the tone crystal clear. I started sweeping again, just for something to do. The other stylists busied themselves with their clients, but the level of noise had gone way down—everyone now spoke in hushed tones, the situation still so delicate. A woman checked in at the front desk and said to Megan, “I’m here to see Giancarlo?”
Megan tried to put on her best perky face and stuttered, “It’ll be, uh . . . just a few . . . let me see what’s . . .”
Moments later, Giancarlo came out of Mom’s office. His broad, round figure was utterly slumped, and his face, usually so full of life and energy, was blank. He walked past me without a word, heading into the back. He cleared out his cubby, dumping supplies and some photos into a bag, and started out the front.
“Giancarlo . . . ?” I said. I felt like I yelled his name, but really it came out as a squeak.
He stopped by his station and grabbed his stylists’ kit, quickly packing away his scissors and good comb and brush. Without looking at any of us, not even the confused client at reception, he zipped up the bag and walked out of the salon.
CHAPTER 14
As soon as Giancarlo went out the door, I went flying after him.
“Giancarlo, wait!” I called, chasing him past the shops on Camden Way, ignoring the curious looks of passersby who dodged out of my way.
He stopped abruptly and turned back to me. “Mickey, honey,” he said, the anguish clear on his face. Also the anger and frustration—his face was bright red. “I need some time, okay? This is more complicated than you know. Grown-up stuff. I hate even saying that to you but—it’s true. Okay?”
“You can’t be leaving,” I said, not hearing him. All I kept thinking was, He can’t leave.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, much calmer now. He looked closely at me and said it again: “It’s going to be okay.”
Every ounce of my body filled with confusion, frustration, and even anger. What had just happened? Who was Ana? How could my mom possibly fire the best stylist at Hello, Gorgeous!?
“Mom, you can’t be serious,” I said, choking back a cry once we were home later that night. I had only gone back to the salon long enough to grab my bag and run back out the door. No way could I stay there without Giancarlo. “Dad, tell her!”
“Mickey, calm down,” Dad said.
“And what have I told you about getting into my business,” Mom snapped back at me. “You have no say in this, young lady.”
“Chloe, calm down,” Dad said, literally standing between us in the living room as we both overheated.
“Dad, she fired him,” I said. “Over one mistake!”
“One mistake that could cost me my entire business,” Mom said. “Mikaela, haven’t you learned by now just how quickly word travels in the salon world? Everyone knows about the show I did and it hasn’t even aired yet—that’s how fast it travels. So to have a well-known owner come in from Boston and have an incorrect color job done—something not even close to what she asked for—could very negatively affect my business. Not to mention she could sue us in small claims court for the damage to her hair.”
“If she’s such a well-known salon owner, shouldn’t she have known she was making a huge mistake with that color?” I argued. “Shouldn’t she have known she was under the dryer for too long?”
“Do not sass me, young lady.”
“I’m just saying you didn’t even give him a chance to explain or to fix this. Even Devon got probation that one time.”
“That was different, and besides, Giancarlo knows better. I have to say,” Mom said, “that I am not surprised. Giancarlo’s ego has been climbing all week. With every new appointment he got thanks to that blogpost his chest puffed up a little more. To be honest, it was ridiculous.”
“He was just excited!” I said. “He deserved all those new clients. You should have been proud of him and the business he was bringing in.”
“Excellent work is expected, not rewarded,” Mom said to me, a line I’d heard from her before. “Giancarlo is no better than any of my other stylists.”
“He is so,” I muttered.
“Watch your tone, Mickey,” Dad warned.
I slumped down onto the couch. “Who is this Ana, anyway? Why are you protecting her so much?” I asked, because she certainly had Mom on high alert like no one else I’d ever seen—not even Cecilia von Tressell.
Mom sat down in the chair by the couch, resting her head back for a moment.
Dad sat on the end of the couch near Mom. He reached for her hand and said, “I haven’t heard her name in years.”
“It pops up now and then in the trades,” Mom said. “Two years ago she made Boston’s Best Of List for hair salons.” Mom looked at me and said, “We went to beauty school together. We used to be very good friends.”
“Used to be?” I said. “So what, now she’s jealous of you?”
“Not necessarily,” Mom said. “We were very close, best friends through school. We made each other better, really pushed and supported each other. We’d help each other with assignments, give each other feedback, stay after class to do extra work. In the end we were neck and neck for graduating at the top of the class. Then something happened.” Mom paused, thinking.
“What was it?” I pressed.
“As graduation neared, some salon owners from the region came in to scout us—you know, see if they wanted to offer any of us an apprenticeship. Everyone wanted one. Some of the best salons in the country are in this area. I got the biggest offer in class. I knew that made a lot of my classmates angry, but I was so excited to go work for this world-renowned salon. I guess I thought Ana would be happy for me. Once school ended, I started work, and she moved back to Cambridge for a while.” Mom shrugged. “I tried to keep in touch, but she never responded to any of my calls or e-mails. I thought she was just busy like I was.”
I tried to picture Jonah or Eve being bitter about a success of mine, so bitter that they wouldn’t talk to me. Honestly, though, I couldn’t imagine they’d ever do that. Good friends supported each other, right? I thought of my lame attempts to talk to Eve and wondered if I’d been going about it all the wrong way.
“I guess I got so caught up in my career,” Mom continued, “and my goal of opening my own salon that I didn’t think much about it.”
“You tried, honey,” Dad said soothingly. “It takes two to keep up a friendship.”
“I know,” Mom said. She stared down at the floor, her gaze unfocused. “I can’t believe she’s here. I can’t believe she came into my salon. Why wouldn’t she tell me? Why wouldn’t she even come say hello?”
Dad rubbed her forearm reassuringly. Mom rubbed her eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath. Finally she said, “I’m sorry, Mickey, but Giancarlo broke a major rule in the hairstyling business. He didn’t do what was best for his client. It’s our job to guide them toward better decisions. It’s not our job to do something we know will damage someone’s hair. He bent to what his client wanted knowing it would
look terrible—and possibly be damaging.”
Mom pushed herself up from the chair and smoothed down her skirt. “Don’t worry too much, Mickey,” she said. “Giancarlo is a great stylist, and it does pain me to see him go. But as talented as he is, he’ll find another job in no time.”
“So that’s it?” I said, my voice cracking. “He’s out, just like that?”
“No, honey, not just like that,” she said. “He knew the decisions he was making when he worked on her hair. Now he has to deal with those consequences.”
I didn’t know what else to say. Giancarlo couldn’t be out—it was too hard to accept.
“Can I have his phone number or e-mail?” I asked Mom. I wanted to contact him and tell him I was sorry and that he got a totally raw deal.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Mickey,” Mom said. “At least not right now. Let’s give it some time first. Okay?”
It wasn’t okay, but I said, “Fine.”
To Dad she said, “Should we order in tonight? It’s been a long day.”
“Sure,” he said, standing up with her. “I’ll get the menus out.”
I sat on the couch while they went to the kitchen. I couldn’t remember a day when I’d felt so bad. Giancarlo couldn’t leave the salon. Who would help me with my boy and friend problems now? Who would style Eve’s hair for the dance on Friday? Who would make me smile each day at the salon with their crazy outfits? I suddenly realized just how much Giancarlo meant to me. He helped keep me sane and made me feel special. He was my friend.
I had to agree with Mom that Giancarlo’s ego had been the tiniest bit inflated, for a little while at least, but I wasn’t sure that meant he hadn’t paid attention to a client. I thought about Ana and how she’d acted at the salon. I didn’t know much, but I knew what I felt—and I felt like something wasn’t quite right.
CHAPTER 15
“Your face doesn’t look good,” Jonah said as I walked into his living room. I’d let myself in the back door after I pretended to eat dinner with Mom and Dad.
“Real nice,” I said, plopping down on the other end of the couch. “You know how to make a girl feel great.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I just mean you look upset.”
“I am upset,” I said.
“What happened?” he asked. He even turned down the volume on the TV. He had on the singing competition show. I guess he wanted to see the results and if the contestant he’d voted for was still in.
“It’s Giancarlo,” I said, leaning my head back on the sofa. “He got fired.”
“Come on,” Jonah said with a laugh. “He did not.”
“He did,” I said, and the fact that Jonah didn’t believe me for even one single second proved how ridiculous it was. I told him the whole story about Ana and what happened at home. “Mom said his arrogance was what caused the mistake on Ana’s hair and that she can’t tolerate sloppiness like that.”
“So she fired him,” Jonah said, “just like that? I can’t believe it.”
“I know. But it’s really weird, knowing Mom knows Ana from, like, this past life. They used to be really good friends.”
“I guess not anymore, huh?” he said.
“Hardly. Ana freaked out over the whole hair thing. I’ve never seen anyone that mad before.”
“Giancarlo must have been freaked out, too,” Jonah said.
“He was stunned into silence,” I said. “And he’s not someone who’s ever silent.” I remembered the scene, then thought of seeing them at The Kitchen earlier that week. “It’s strange,” I began.
“What?”
“I saw them earlier this week—Giancarlo and Ana. Kyle and I had gone for a walk and we ran into them as they were coming out of a restaurant. They acted kind of weird, especially Giancarlo. Like I had busted him doing something wrong.”
“Like what?” Jonah asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m starting to think there’s more to it than just dinner.”
When I spotted Kyle coming toward me at school the next day, a buzz filled my belly and I had to stop myself from skipping toward him. He gave me a sunny smile, returning my own. Finally, a happy mood returned.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked, turning to walk with me.
“Great.” Clearly I was trying to forget about all the bad stuff that was happening at the salon. But it was hard not to think about it. “Mostly great, anyway,” I admitted.
“Everything okay?” he asked. It made me feel good knowing how much he really cared. I could tell by the way his brown eyes looked into mine.
“Yeah,” I said. “Drama at work. Drama at school.” I smiled to show him it would be okay. I hoped. “Typical stuff.”
“If you need anything, just let me know. ’Kay?”
“You got it,” I said.
“Excited about the dance?” he asked, turning his head just so, enough to look the slightest bit unsure and unbelievably adorable. He bit his lower lip and eyed my own lips . . . “Yeah. Totally excited,” I said as we got to my locker and I quickly spun the combo.
He leaned his shoulder against the locker next to mine. “Me too.”
I got the books I needed and tossed in the ones I didn’t. The whole time he just stood and watched me, a satisfied little look on his face. It made me uncomfortable and happy at the same time.
I closed my locker and instead of pushing off to walk with me, he stayed there looking at me. I stood still, just looking at him and blushing under his gaze.
“What?” I finally said.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just . . .”
He leaned in toward me, a bit puckered up, his face headed straight for my face. Here? In the hall? In front of everyone?
In a flash I turned my head and his lips ended up in my hair by my ear.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I said, mortified. I touched the spot where his face planted.
“No, um, it’s cool,” Kyle said, straightening up and backing away from me a little. “Your, uh, hair smells good.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to regain what little composure I had left. “It better, considering who my mom is. Are you, um, okay?”
“Of course. And if anyone ever asks, your hair tastes like mangoes.” I laughed an embarrassed laugh as we finally started down the hall together.
Oh my god. He had totally tried to kiss me. In the hall. At school!
Did that really just happen? Was he trying to kiss me in public? If nothing else, I was pretty sure that was against school policy.
“Are you okay?” Kyle asked. “You’ve been a bit edgy lately.”
“Just stressed—about Eve and this stuff that’s happening at the salon,” I said. I focused on the hall ahead, trying to avoid looking him in the eyes.
I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Kyle wanted to kiss me and I didn’t know if I was ready. I wanted to help Giancarlo but I didn’t know how. I still didn’t know if Jonah and Eve (and Marla?) were going to the dance tomorrow. Everything was still up in the air because of Eve’s project and Marla being in town. She was always around . . . Suddenly I had an idea that could help Eve and me. And it all had to do with Marla.
“Hey, Eve!” I said, catching up with her in the hallway. “Got a sec?”
“Um, yeah, sure,” she said.
I walked with her, even though it was the opposite direction of where I needed to go. “I was thinking about your project for science.”
She grabbed my arm. “Please tell me you have an idea.”
“Well, not exactly,” I said, patting her hand but really wanting to pry it off my arm. The girl had strength. “But maybe something that’ll help you figure it out.”
She let go and dropped her arm by her side. “There’s nothing to figure out.
I just need an idea.”
“That’s why you’re going to the Feigenbaum Hall of Innovation,” I said as if I were giving her tickets to Six Flags. “You can go there after school and get inspired!”
Her body slumped over the books she held in her arms. “That’s actually really nice, Mickey. But Marla’s here. I can’t just leave her. She likes hanging out with her aunt and cousins and all but by four o’clock she’s about hit capacity for family togetherness. I can’t ditch her after school, too. And as I learned the hard way, she’s not exactly a museum kind of girl.”
“You won’t have to worry about her,” I said. “Because she can come with me after school!”
Eve looked at me sideways. “Come with you where?”
“Just to the mall for a little shopping. Kristen and Lizbeth will be there, too,” I said. “She does like to go shopping, doesn’t she?” Because if she didn’t, the girl was not human.
“She loves shopping,” Eve said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “But . . . I don’t know.”
“About what?” I asked. Maybe I knew, but I hoped it wasn’t what I thought.
“I should call Marla first and see what plans she has.”
“Sure,” I said.
Eve got out her phone right there in the hall and started calling. We moved to the side and leaned against the wall. See what plans she has—sure. I could understand Eve’s hesitation. It’s not like Marla and I had exactly hit it off. But I hoped she saw the free time to focus on her project as more important than worrying about me and Marla. I could—and would—put my loyalty to Eve above my not-so-great-feelings about Marla.
“Hey,” Eve said into her phone. “It’s me. Listen, you know that science project that’s been killing me this week? I have to finish it tonight so I was wondering—do you want to hang out with Mickey tonight? Do some shopping while I work on it?” I inspected my nails and pretended not to be listening as I strained my ears to hear every word. “No, Kristen and Lizbeth will be there, too.” Eve angled her body slightly away from me. “It’s just for a couple of hours. You said you needed a new dress for the dance, anyway. You might have some fun. Fine, I owe you.”
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