For a moment she didn’t say anything. Then, “I don’t know. I think I just want to do my own thing, keep my own traffic on my own site.”
I felt myself go very still, despite the fact that I was still walking. Like she has so much traffic that I might steal it? Please!
“No, I get it,” I said. “I mean, if your readers are that picky that you feel like you’ll lose them to one good link, then I understand.”
“It’s not that,” Cara said. “It’s just that I want to do my own thing—I’m sure you do, too.”
“I’m not afraid of partnering,” I said, and I realized in the heat of our totally and completely not-arguing we had come to a stop in the middle of the hall. People streamed around us, shooting strange looks our way. “If you’re worried about a little competition then I understand.”
“I’m hardly worried about competition,” she said, looking me dead in the eyes like she wanted to make sure I heard every word. “I don’t trust anyone on my site but me and my teammate. Including you. I can’t have your bad taste driving people away from my good style.”
I could only stare back at her, speechless. My bad taste? She didn’t trust me and my friends? Who did she think she was?
“If that’s the way you want it,” I said coolly, trying to stay calm. I shrugged like I didn’t care—even though I totally did—then turned and walked away.
What else could I do?
Nothing. I could do nothing else—except prove her wrong.
CHAPTER 13
Saturday morning I woke up groggy. Kristen and Lizbeth had invited me to hang out with them and Eve the night before but I wanted to stay home and work on the site. More people needed to know about it, so I spent the night blasting out DIY Do’s to every student and professional site I could think of, even though we only had to promote it to our classmates. When I asked the girls if they wanted to hang out and work, Kristen said, “My brain officially shuts down for the weekend.”
I uploaded some Hollywood glam images of Rita Hayworth and Grace Kelly with instructions on how to do a finger wave, which I got (and sourced) from another site. I also decided on a DIY style I’d try to write all on my own.
I dragged myself out of bed wondering how else I could convince the girls to help some more. Maybe if they had a hair topic they were passionate about they’d be more excited. I rubbed my eyes as I checked the computer. I’d think of something. In the meantime, we had more questions, which meant people were really into our site. Hello, traffic!
I immediately sent them out to the girls. I thought about calling everyone but was pretty sure they were all still asleep. I wanted to talk to them about this when they could focus. Truthfully, I started to think that maybe I should be solely responsible for the questions and save everyone the trouble. I had to check them through Mom or one of the other stylists, anyway, so it would save me time and we’d be able to answer more questions. But we had agreed to do it together and, honestly, there were probably more than I could handle. I decided to start with two and maybe do the others later on my own.
Good morning, beauties! I wrote. We have exciting news—more questions! Let’s keep the momentum going and the content fresh. If you answer this morning and send back to me, I’ll get them checked and preload them to our blog so they’ll automatically post at different times today and tomorrow. This way we won’t have to worry about it for the rest of the weekend. Sound good? Also, since we’re answering two for now, I think we should give an extra DIY accessory and/or Do of the Day—that way we’ve all contributed. Of course, we’ll all agree on the answers but… anyway, here goes.
First question:
Good morning and help! I have a little brother who I love very much but he left his gum on my pillow last night, and then I slept in it. It’s stuck in my hair—how do I get it out without ratting him out to Mom? (He’s not supposed to chew gum and I was baby-sitting.) Thanks!
Second question:
Okay, this is gross and so I hope these questions are private. But here goes: I have dandruff. I wash my hair every day so it’s not like it’s dirty! Do you have any DIY tricks I can do at home so I don’t have to humiliate myself further by getting caught at the drugstore buying dandruff shampoo? My status at this school is on the brink as it is.
And there it is! If it’s okay, I’ll do a styling DIY on my own and post before I go to the salon. Do you guys want to choose who answers what? And since there are two questions and I’m doing a DIY, does someone want to do something else? Too much content is never enough! Write me back ASAP and let me know. Let’s get going! XO Micks
I thought of straight-up assigning questions but didn’t want to appear bossy.
Downstairs Mom and Dad were at the kitchen table having fruit, croissants, and coffee and going over yet another list.
“The schedule is set, all the supplies have been ordered, Megan is confirming appointments in advance,” Mom said, checking things off as she went. “The styling demo is ready to go today… maybe I should call Violet to make sure she has everything.” She tapped her pencil on the table, ignoring her breakfast.
“Chloe, I’m sure everything is going to be fine,” Dad said. “You’re overplanning. You’ll only be gone for a couple of days!”
“And that videographer—I don’t trust that he’ll remember to show up,” she said, writing that down, too.
“Morning,” I said, sitting down across from Mom with the questions I’d printed out. Even though I decided I wouldn’t answer the questions myself, I couldn’t help but think about how I would answer them—they were pretty tricky. Our site was much more involved than Cara’s. She didn’t take questions like we did. Still, I was sure she was watching us, even though she tried to pretend like she had no idea what we were doing. I bet she read every word.
“Morning, sweetie,” Mom said, keeping her eyes on her list.
I sat down and inspected my printout, looking at the DIY style I’d decided to write on my own last night. I wanted to post something cool and retro so I decided to show how to do a hair flip without looking like you were headed off to a 1960s theme party. I thought it would be challenging for me to show something like this because with my curly hair, I couldn’t actually do it to myself. I could show my range as a stylist with this do—knowing how to do a style that doesn’t necessarily work with my own hair.
“Hey, Mom, before you flip your hair on the ends, would you say you should first put a little product in your hair or spritz it as you go?” I asked.
“Oh, did you get your car inspected?” Dad asked.
Mom sighed. “I can’t do everything, Daniel.”
Dad held up his hands. “I was asking because if you haven’t, I can do it for you.”
She paused. “Sorry. Thanks, honey. Yes, let’s swap cars today. Do you want me to pick up dinner?”
“No, that’s okay,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You sure?” Mom asked, eager to make up for being a bit snippy, I think.
“Mom, maybe on the drive to the salon or later today, can I ask you if my answer is okay?” I asked. “For my blog, my school project.”
“Sure, Mickey,” she said, shuffling through the papers that threatened to cover her untouched breakfast. “Actually, maybe you could ask Giancarlo or one of the other stylists? I’m just feeling a little swamped.”
I tried not to feel put off, but with the bounty of questions we already had in our in-box, I knew our site was truly on the verge of overshadowing everyone else’s—and by everyone I meant Cara. Before Mom and I left, I made a few tweaks to my ’60s hair write-up and posted it to our blog, sure it was fine.
“Is he here yet? What time did he say he’d be here?” Mom asked Megan as she walked to the front of the salon.
“I confirmed this morning,” Megan told her. “We’re all set.”
“Violet,” Mom said, turning from Megan at the front over to Violet at her station. “What about you? Are you all set?”
“Ch
loe, we’re fine,” Violet said. “Don’t worry.”
Mom stayed in motion, going back the way she’d just come five seconds ago. “I should never have agreed to go away for this show,” she muttered as she swept across the floor. We heard her bootie heels clomping down the stairs to The Underground.
Megan looked at me and said, “Good thing I didn’t tell her I woke up the videographer when I called. I’m pretty sure he would have slept till tomorrow if I hadn’t.”
I’d thought I’d get a few minutes of Mom to myself on the drive over, but she made me write out more things she needed to do as she thought of them—call the plumber to look at that slight clog in the third sink and remind Megan to update the reservation software. The list was supposed to be shrinking, not growing. But when I tried to remind her of that, she’d just think up one more thing to worry about. I was hoping she’d finally worry about me and school again so I could bring up the blog (finally!), but no dice.
“Might want to steer clear of all owner-types today,” Megan advised before answering the ringing phone.
“You can hide at my station if you want,” Giancarlo said, stocking bobby pins.
“She’s just nervous about leaving,” I said, feeling a bit defensive of everyone’s critical eye toward Mom—even if she was acting like a total freak.
“Of course, sweetie,” Giancarlo said, a halfhearted effort to agree with me. “But I’ve never known a woman who can walk so fast and hard in heels,” he said, looking back to Mom, who was crossing the floor once again. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they could hear her downstairs. I decided that maybe the best plan of action really was to stay out of Mom’s way.
I went to the back to fold the towels that had just come out of the dryer. Mid-fold my phone buzzed in my apron with a new text. I was expecting to hear back from the girls at any moment. But the text was from Kyle.
Jonah said you’re afraid of roller coasters that flip upside down but I defended your honor and called him a liar.
I smiled. He must have stayed over at Jonah’s last night. Too bad I hadn’t stalked him again.
Jonah’s right. I have a fear of slipping out of the seat. All other rides are fine.
I hit Send and then dropped my phone back in my apron pocket.
Once the salon opened and Mom started working on her own clients, most of the stylists—and myself—were clear from her constant and urgent demands. Soon it was time for Be Gorgeous, our weekly styling session, done this week by Violet. As Violet got herself and her model ready for the demo, Scott, the college videographer, showed up—looking a bit sleepy, I might add.
I checked my phone for new messages from the girls but nothing so far. I suppose it had only been a couple of hours since I e-mailed them the questions—they might not even be up yet—but I was anxious to make sure it all got done.
I went to the front to meet Scott so Megan could check in other clients. Scott had been filming our Saturday sessions for a couple of weeks. He edited and uploaded the Be Gorgeous sessions each Saturday, having them in place by Sunday morning. Mom didn’t like the slow way he moved or his unkempt black hair. She said she didn’t trust a person who couldn’t figure out how to use a comb.
“Hey, Scott,” I said. He leaned against the large front window of the salon, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his camera down by his side. He didn’t even bother using a case for it.
“Yo, Mick,” he said.
“Ready to set up?”
“Yup,” he replied, slowly pushing himself off the window.
As we finished setting up the chairs, Violet got herself ready for her demo—today she was showcasing different ponytails, like knotted as well as poufy. I thought once again of having an all-ponytail day—if Violet was doing ponytails it must be a good idea. I pointed to the spot Scott could set up his tripod and get his audio ready. As I watched him set up, I started thinking.
The camera he had was obviously nicer than what I had on my phone, plus he had the audio equipment and the editing software as well. Once it was put on the Web site there was always a nice intro with graphics and music and our logo in the bottom corner.
“So, Scott,” I said as he plugged in cables and cords. “Ever do any freelance video work?”
“What do you think I’m doing, Pint Glass?” he said without looking at me.
“You know what I mean, other stuff,” I said. “And don’t call me Pint Glass.”
“Whatever,” he said.
“Because I have a really big project that I could use some help on,” I said, picturing myself starring in a tutorial on how to properly do a hair flip. Kristen could be my model! Video was what our site was missing!
“I don’t do kids’ projects,” he said. “Kid.”
“Whatever,” I said back to him. He didn’t have to be a jerk about it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
We should totally do Six Flags this summer. I’ll teach you the trick to upside-down rides.
I loved the thought of a way-in-the-future date with Kyle. Even though I was on the floor in full view of clients, stylists, and Mom, I quickly texted back.
Totally!
“Mickey,” Mom said. I quickly dropped my phone in my pocket. She raised an eyebrow. “Help line up these chairs, please.”
Once the demo session got started the salon quieted down. I knew that when it was over in about twenty minutes it’d be crazy again, so I whispered to Mom and asked if I could go in her office and check on my school project.
“Make it quick,” she said, keeping a watchful eye on the activity on the floor.
I shut the door to the office and went straight to the computer.
The girls had e-mailed me back. Finally! They’d even answered the questions. What a great team we were! I was so glad I hadn’t tried to boss them.
Lizbeth had the first question: What a great little brother you have (ha-ha). A good trick to getting gum out of your hair is to spread a little peanut butter on the trouble spot and gently brush out. Kind of gross, I know, but it should come right out. If not, sounds like the hair gods are trying to tell you something, and that something is that it’s time for a new cut. Good luck!
Eve answered the second: Don’t be embarrassed about this! Dandruff can be caused by stress, so maybe you should cut back on the homework. (Just kidding!) It can also be caused by using hair products, so check with your stylist on what you should use. To fix the problem now, we have this great at-home treatment: The secret is to wash your hair with vinegar. It sounds weird, but this is a great home remedy that will get those nasties out of your hair. Mix apple cider vinegar with one part vinegar and two parts water. Apply all the way to the scalp and let dry. You don’t even have to rinse!
Kristen wrote: What should I do?
I wrote Kristen back, including the other girls, and said, How about something about headbands? You like to wear them, right? Like, maybe which ones don’t give you a headache by third period, or what to do if you want to take it off in sixth but you have a band ring in your hair?
She and Lizbeth were probably together, so maybe Lizbeth would help her get it done. We’d have a ton of stuff to post throughout the weekend!
Before going back out on the floor, I jumped over to Cara and Maggie’s blog to take a closer look at what they were doing. The muted look of their site was the exact opposite of our energetic, in-your-face approach to beauty. I didn’t want to admit it, but it was almost like she’d looked at our blog and decided to do the exact opposite of everything we’d done. Except the stuff she’d copied, that is.
They had Today’s Style plus pictures of cute, put-together outfits and listed where they got each item.
I was ready to fly into a jealous rage but somehow managed to calm myself, thinking that it was actually a boring design with no pop, no fun—which is how fashion should be. I believed it until I saw the sidebar marked Many Ways.
I clicked through and saw that it was a section that showed different wa
ys to wear the same thing. Today, apparently, it was a silk scarf worn as a headpiece sort of thing. Maggie posed with it covering her bright red hair and tied under her chin—like anyone our age would want to wear that! Maybe if you’re a thirty-year-old driving around Spain in a convertible in the 1960s. More thumbnails showed Maggie wearing the same scarf in four other ways: as a belt, a headband, a necktie, and an armband (for real?!).
I sat back in Mom’s ergonomically correct chair. Cara’s ideas for the scarf seemed a bit silly—I mean, Maggie really worked it in the photos even though I couldn’t imagine wearing a silk scarf over my head—but maybe she was on to something with the whole different-looks thing. Maybe it was clever. But I knew we could do better. Much better. We just had to push ourselves, get creative—work hard.
I checked again to see if Kristen had sent in anything on headbands—she still hadn’t.
I eyed Cara’s blog, all clean and professional-looking and whatever. I refreshed again to see if Kristen had sent in anything. I shouldn’t have been surprised—and I wasn’t, not really. I was just frustrated and starting to get angry. I realized I was gnawing on my lower lip and thought that it might be time to take matters into my own (very capable!) hands.
Outside I could hear the shuffling of Violet’s demo wrapping up. I quickly wrote out an answer to the proposed DIY about headbands I’d sent Kristen. I wrote about trying an elastic headband that might not hold your hair back as well as a plastic one, but described how you can style your hair back first to give it that extra hold. Just as I was finishing, the office door swung open.
“Mikaela!” Mom snapped. “We need you back out here now!”
“Coming!” I said. I decided to refresh and check one more time for a message from Kristen just to give her the benefit of the doubt, and what do you know—a new message from the woman herself. Typical.
Maybe we say something like: The plastic headbands are the best to keep your hair in place. If it’s too tight, try bending it out a little to ease the pain. What do you think? Also, L and I are going to the mall this afternoon so I can totally scout out a Do of the Day. Cool?
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