Best Friends...Forever? (17 page)

 

I got a text from Vladi the next day, saying his parents grounded him from his phone because he got a C- on an algebra text, so he was allowed to tell me he why he couldn't send or get texts or anything, but that was it. Sure, I guess it made sense, but seriously, why did this have to happen as he was about to tell me how he was feeling? I guess I would have to put any thoughts of him out of my mind until after the whole Wild Card event was over. Meanwhile, I had let my friends know about the competition that weekend.

"Will it be on TV?" Devon asked as we were riding home on the bus.

"No, it's just a webisode thing on their site — under the Michigan section," I said.

"Oh, so like, no one will see it, then," Tori said.

That was what I was hoping for, but it didn't seem nice of her to put it that way. I just nodded in response.

"That's awesome, Landry," Peyton said.

"Will any of the models like Talisa or Rae Ellen be there?" Ashanti asked.

"They said two will be there, but I don't know who yet, because a couple states are doing a wild card thing."

"What if it's Talisa? Wouldn't you die?" India said.

"Or Jem," Ashanti said. "That would be amazing."

"Will you text us to let us know how it's going?" Devon asked.

"I can't contact anyone until the finale comes out. I have to hand over my phone when I get there 'cause they're worried about the results coming out before they upload it. They were super strict about it in the contract," I said.

"Weird, since it's not that big a deal," Ericka said.

I shrugged.

"Well, good luck, and let us know as soon as you can," Ashanti said. "Did you tell Vladi about the contest?"

"Wait? You and him are talking again?" Tori asked.

"We're talking, but no, I didn't say anything to him."

"Probably a good idea. You don't want him to ask you out just because he wants to say he's dating a model," Tori said.

Peyton raised her eyebrows. "Whatever, good luck, and text us when you can."

I got off the bus at my stop and went to start packing.

 

Mom and I drove to Detroit, and we arrived at the hotel — it was huge with big columns and these two stone lions on either side of the entrance. It looked like something from a movie. She parked and started to get out of the car.

"I don't know if you should go in with me," I said. "There are going to be girls here who probably drove themselves. I might look stupid if I walk in with my mommy."

"I don't think they'd let someone your age check in without a parent or guardian. I promise I won't remind you to drink your milk or take your children's vitamin."

"Funny. Whatever."

It ended up that I had nothing to worry about, because when we walked in, the show's greeter ran over to us and assumed my mom was the contestant. At least my mom didn't get obnoxious and start laughing. Somebody handed my mom forms to fill out, and we took my suitcases up to my room. I was hoping the girl I roomed with would be one of those odd-looking model types where a person can't see how they would have a career in fashion, but a photographer with that certain artistic eye for star quality thinks they're great. That way I wouldn't feel so out of place. But when we got to the room, all I saw was a blue leopard suitcase and a million hair products lined up on the dresser.

Mom put my suitcase on the luggage rack and helped me turn the heating vent down, since the room was too warm.

"I should get going. They want you girls in the lobby for announcements."

My eyes started to water, and I realized that I would be on my own. "Just a sec," I said as I headed to the bathroom.

"Hon, do you think you have enough stomach meds?" she called through the door.

"Yeah, I just had to pee," I said, hoping she couldn't hear what a liar I was. Rae Ellen was my age when she went to another country to model by herself, and I couldn't handle two days away from mommy? I had to stop crying and I also had to get my mom to leave, because at least in the room I could calm down, but if I started crying in the lobby, I'd look stupid.

"I think I'm going to fix my makeup if you want to go," I said.

"I can wait," she said.

"It's fine. I wouldn't want you to miss out on…driving back while it's still light out."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" she asked. "I think I'm going to stay for the hair part in case they get any bright ideas about dying your hair. I'll stay in the background, and no one will even know I'm there."

Right, except for the fact she was an older clone of me, and she would have no other reason to be hanging around a salon if she wasn't getting her own hair done. Yeah, not obvious at all that she was checking on me.

I went to the salon with the other girls, while Mom hung back and waited in the lobby, mouthing, "Text me," as my way to alert her if the word "dye" came out of anyone's mouth.

"Landry Albright?" asked the guy behind the desk, whose name tag said, “Rylan.” I nodded and he said, "Okay, come on back, and we'll get you shampooed."

We went to the back room with the sinks, and he washed my hair. I hated leaning so far back, because I always felt so dizzy when I finally sat back up again. After Rylan rinsed my hair, I started to get up and then sat back down fast.

"I'm a little woozy," I said.

"No problem," he said. "It happens a lot. You're probably just nervous about the cameras."

I felt stupid, but he offered me a bottle of water, and I took a sip.

"Feel a little better?" he asked.

I nodded and got up. At least I didn't pass out. He asked if I wanted a magazine, and I nodded. I saw him go over to the table and prayed that he wouldn't pick up the children's magazine with the giraffe on the cover. He walked back over to me with an entertainment magazine and a hairstyle magazine.

Svetlana, the stylist, came over to me.

"Okay, so they want something young and fresh," she said. "That should be easy. Are you okay with losing some length?"

My stomach lurched. "Um, can we just trim it? I like the way it is now. I just had it cut a couple weeks ago."

"It is cute, but it's already looking shaggy. This cut takes a lot to maintain, they want something sleek and modern."

I bit my lip.

"It'll be cute. I promise," she said.

Well, Svetlana was the expert, right?

"So maybe we take it…to the shoulders? Yes?"

I wasn't sure if she was talking to herself or me. Well, shoulder length wouldn't be too bad. I nodded.

"Are you going to keep the layers?" I asked. The layers were my favorite part of the cut. They gave my hair a little oomph.

"Not so much…maybe a little face frame."

"And my bangs?"

"Well, we'll cut first and then decide on what to do with your bangs."

She moved my chair away from the mirror. I stared at the tiny bits of hair falling down on the gown. It seemed like it wasn't too much hair she was taking off, so I started to relax. I began looking at my magazine. She moved my chair sideways and that's when I saw my reflection out of the corner of my eye. I had a bob — not a shoulder-length one either, but a short, just-to-the-chin bob. My mouth dropped open. She had my hair parted in the middle — which I never, ever did when I parted it. My hair — it didn't look like me at all. All my beautiful layers were gone — on the floor. This was a nightmare.

"Um…it's a
lot
shorter…"

"Yes, isn't it great? So much fresher. Now, I'll do a blow out."

I wanted to ask her about the face-framing layers and bangs, because it was so short my hair was almost all one length in the front, but she clicked on the world's loudest dryer and began rolling a round brush through my hair. I tried to speak up, but either she couldn't hear me over the dryer, or she didn't want to. I hated having someone else dry my hair with a round brush. They always pulled my head, and I walked out with an itchy, hurting scalp. She stopped drying my hair and handed me a smaller mirror to check out the back of my hair.

"What do you think?" she asked.

I wanted to say, "I think I feel practically bald and you took the one good haircut I ever had and ruined it."

I didn't know what to say, and I knew she was waiting for me to heap praise on her, but I couldn't. It was so
not
me.

"I usually part my hair on the side," I said.

"We can do that."

I thought maybe it'd look more like me with it parted, but no. Where were my bangs? They were now blended in with the rest of my hair. I felt exposed, and my neck was so naked.

"What about bangs?"

"You don't want to hide behind your hair, do you?" she asked.

That's when I realized it — that was exactly what I wanted to do. "I'm used to having some kind of bangs."

"Well, they wanted to mix up your look, but I guess I could do a long side-swept piece," she said, taking the scissors and barely grazing a tiny piece of hair.

How had my long bangs grown out so fast? Or was my hair so short that the length had caught up to them?

"You look so much more mature," she said. "Definitely older."

Well, that was
something
. But I started thinking about how I had read that guys liked long hair. And that stupid Carey girl had long hair. What if Vladi hated my hair?

"You don't like it?" she asked.

"It's just a lot shorter…and all one length…no bangs…" I said, stammering like an idiot.

"It's super sleek, modern, and fresh. You
needed
an update," she said in that "my-work-here-is-done" way. She walked away, and Rylan came up to me.

"Don't you like it?" he asked.

"It's so short. I loved it before," I said. "And I miss my bangs. She said I shouldn't hide behind them, but…I like that."

He glanced over his shoulder and then picked up the scissors. Rylan combed a section of my hair to the side and gently sheared off a little bit. Then he stepped back and then did a little more. He messed it up with his hands and pushed one side behind my ear.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much. It's still so short, but now it looks like…"

"You're a model?"

"Well, the hair looks like it anyway…until tomorrow when I try to do it myself."

"You are a model, you just have to think like one. My girlfriend has a cut similar to yours. She loves having shorter hair. She says it makes her feel sophisticated."

"Don't guys like long hair, though?"

"Some do, but most guys like a girl who is confident, no matter what her hair looks like," he said.

"That makes sense. I like it now that you fixed it. Thanks for the side bang thing."

"No problem. Just push it back until you walk out of the salon. Svetlana won't care if I style you, but she'd kill me if she knew I tinkered with her 'perfection,'" he said, making finger quotes.

I reached for my purse and took out my phone. "Would you mind taking a picture of me with my hair all full like this?"

My mom walked up then. "Oh wow, Landry. It's so short and sophisticated. I wonder if she could do my hair, too."

That's all I needed – my mom and I looking like little clones — again.
No
thank you.

I told Mom how Rylan had fixed it for me. She walked over to him as he wrote down the styling instructions.

"Do you get a percentage for the products?" she asked. He seemed surprised.

"Yes, but they're giving her some samples."

"Well, what would you recommend?"

He asked if I had a large-barrel curling iron, and I shook my head. Rylan leaned over and whispered they were cheaper at the drugstore.

"What's your
least
expensive one?" Mom asked.

"Thirty dollars," he said.

She nodded at me. "I think I can spring for that."

He thanked my mom. "Landry, maybe I'll get to work on your hair for the next round. Now work that look like the model you are."

Mom said she'd take the curling iron back up to my room. "Then, I guess I'll go…" she said, looking around. "Makeup's next…unless you want me to stay."

I was the only one with a parent hanging around, so I had no choice but to tell her to leave. She walked out of the salon, and I went to find out what they were going to do for my makeover.

I sat down and the makeup artist handed me a sheet with a hand-drawn face on it shaded in with pinks and browns.

"We're doing natural colors. No more black mascara or liner for you. As for the eyebrows, we don't need to color them, but — how old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Can I pluck a fourteen-year-old's brows? What did that stupid form say? Forget it. Not worth getting grief from the parents over it. Next!"

One of the head people at
American Ingénue
walked to the middle of the salon, and the camera followed her.

"We'd like to thank everybody at the Mirage Salon here in Troy and the sponsors for so graciously supplying our girls with gifts. The Little Rose people have provided styling products and accessories for the girls, and Maken Image Inc. has donated their latest ceramic and tourmaline hair dryer to each of the contestants," she said as workers brought out boxes of hair dryers for each of us. I saw that the dryers cost fifty bucks. My crappy ten-dollar one from the grocery store was going in the trash as soon as I got home. The old dryer only had two settings: egg-frying hot and lamb with emphysema attempting to blow.

"As soon as you're done with hair, please move into the lobby until you're called for makeup."

I didn't have to wait too long before someone came to get me. There were two makeup artists, Joi Jasmine and Massimo, assigned to me, and they hadn't decided on my "makeup concept."

"Joi, I thought we decided on natural pinks and soft tones," said Massimo, the man who had shown me the sheet with makeup colors on it.

"It would be more fun to do a smoky eye on her, but with an unexpected color like teal and then have defined lashes. She's got strong features for a blonde, so it would be fun to experiment," Joi said.

"I want to leave it delicate. With that hair color, she could look too harsh with too much eye makeup on," he said.

"Fine, forget the shadow, but at least let's do heavy lashes — lots of lashes," she said.

"Soft is better…"

"What if we do the smoky eye with a lighter shade of teal and just natural mascara?" Joi said.

"What do you think?" Massimo asked me. I was surprised he cared about my input at all. I wasn't used to adults asking my opinion on anything.

I told him that I wasn't good at eye makeup and how I always appeared "kinda goth" when I wore liner.

"I think we could do a defined eye, and we'll show you how to do it so it's not harsh. Do you need oil-free foundation and powder?" he asked.

I nodded, and he and Joi spent another ten minutes fighting over if I was a warm or cool-toned ivory.

"She has a warm tone to her skin…" Joi said.

"Which is why we need a cooler one to counterbalance the sallow tone," he said.

The cameras had just shown up when Massimo started to say how yellow-y my skin was. However, once the camera was on the two of them, they stopped fighting. "We'll mix a little of the warmer base into this cool-toned one and give —" he stopped and checked my name on his sheet " — Landry here a bottle of custom-blended Little Rose oil-free foundation."

The cameraman got closer as Massimo explained that he was going to do a defined eye with natural lips and cheeks on me.

"Reds and dark shades would be too harsh on her lips and bring her jaw out too much," he said.

What was wrong with my jaw? How had I spent fourteen years on the planet not knowing how flawed I was?

"We're not using any highlighter on her because her face is somewhat oval-shaped, although her chin isn't the traditional one. Her features are well-proportioned enough that we don't need to create any extra areas. We will shade around her hair line, but we don't need to contour under her cheeks since she's already thin."

The cameraman moved to the next girl, and I slumped. I was a string bean with a weird chin. Joi told me not to slouch, and Massimo put his hands on my shoulders.