Best Friends...Forever? (8 page)

 

The next day Mom told me Mrs. Myeski had called and wanted me to get my hair cut so I'd have more variety for my portfolio. Plus, she said the
American Ingénue
people wanted to use some of the girls who didn't go on in the last competition for online videos to promote their sponsor's products, and they had specifically requested me for one of the hair makeover videos. I wasn't sure whether to be flattered they wanted to use me or embarrassed it was for a hair makeover segment. I was nervous about it, but Mom said Mrs. Myeski had said there would just be a couple of people there to film it and there was a chance they might not even upload it on their website. My fears were overtaken by the idea of some casting director out there seeing me on one of these videos and thinking I was the perfect person to star in a brand new movie, music video, commercial, or TV series. So of course, I said I'd do it.

Mrs. Myeski said we were going to do it after school, and they were going to film me as I got my hair trimmed. I liked the way the last hair stylist cut it, so I wasn't nervous about getting my hair cut. Mom drove me to the salon and let me go in while she parked. The lobby was painted a shimmery copper color, and there were big marble columns. Even the counter was shiny mahogany. Sheesh, my mom used to take me to get my hair cut at a place that had a baby airplane chair and offered free balloons and cookies when they were done. I never took a balloon, but even I wasn't about to pass up a free cookie. This place wouldn't have cookies; they'd probably have those brick-like cookies that coffee shops served with espresso. I never got why anyone bought those. They tasted like dried-out sponges.

"Hi, I'm Landry Albright," I said, walking up to the desk. "I have a five o'clock with Michaela."

Michaela came up then. "We had a cut in mind for you," she said. "It's layered around your face, with your longest layer a little past your shoulders. The bangs are jagged but still soft, and the color will stay the same."

I sat in a plastic chair and waited for the camera guy to set up. Michaela showed me a picture of a girl with face-framing layers to give me an idea of what my hair would look like. My mom had a similar hairstyle, which was depressing. Who doesn't want to look and be trendier than their mother? Since I had started the Little Rose competitions, it seemed like everyone thought she was the model and I was trying to catch up to her.

"C'mon," Michaela said, motioning to me. "They're coming by to film us next."

A guy holding a microphone on a weird-looking crane stood behind me as I sat in the chair. Michaela repeated what she had told me we were going to do to my hair.

"The bangs will be side-swept and layered around the face to emphasize the cheekbones and eyes," she said, playing with my hair. "The layers will work to soften her features, too."

Wait? What was wrong with my features? Soften them? I knew I had my dad's chin, but did I get manly features, too?

I didn't have much time to worry about it because they took me over to get a conditioning treatment. As they put the cream in my hair, I realized they were going to show me on TV with goop in my hair. Some of the girls in the salon appeared like bathing suit models with their hair wet around their faces. However, after Michaela's assistant finished conditioning me, I was more like a little kid getting out of a pool.

"We needed to do a deep-conditioner on this one. That's the problem with fine, blonde hair," she said. "It tangles so easy."

Great, she just announced on camera that my hair was a problem. Maybe later she could make a list of all the things that were wrong with me.

"We briefly considered doing low-lights on this one," she said to the camera as if I wasn't there. "But her hair color is so unique that we decided to let it stand on its own.

"Kaylee! Where's my razor?" she yelled. "Have you ever had your hair cut with a razor?"

I shook my head as Kaylee ran over with a long, silver razor. Instead of cutting my hair, Michaela moved the razor around quickly, swiping at my hair until chunks fell out. If I hadn't been on TV and they didn't say that Michaela had done Miss Cherry Picker Michigan's hair, I would have screamed, "Get away from me, you crazy woman! You're going to slice my neck open with that thing!" and threatened to mace her with conditioning spray. It was like watching one of those Japanese guys with a sword, the way she was swinging that blade around. I thought for sure my manly features would have gotten cut up, but when she finished, I was cut-free.

"Now to dry. We're using the new line of Little Rose hair products. For — " she paused and glanced down at the card on the workstation" — Landry here, we're going to use a liquid mousse mist for volume and some water-based wax to define the ends."

Kaylee handed her a large round brush, and Michaela began rolling my hair around as she dried it. I wasn't allowed to use a brush like that since I had gotten one caught in my hair in the third grade. It was when I was watching TV with my dad and I didn't understand how the brush worked, so I rolled my long hair onto the bristles right up to the scalp. Problem was, it got stuck, and even my mom couldn't figure out which way to unroll it. I remember her saying it should have been obvious which way to roll it out, but either way she moved it seemed to cause more problems. In the end, the brush had to be cut out, and I spent the rest of third grade and part of fourth with my hair combed over to hide my short patch. It wasn't until the end of fifth grade that I could start letting my hair grow long again.

Michaela moved my chair around because the cameraman complained he was in a tight corner and it was hard to shoot me without his reflection getting in the mirror.

"You should probably repeat the process you did on her in case we have to edit the earlier footage," the cameraman said.

She kept working, but I was upset I couldn't see what she was doing anymore. Not that it would help because I was hopeless when it came to my hair, but I at least wanted to see how it was turning out. I had no idea what to expect since all I had seen was shaggy, wet jagged hair that looked like a rat had nibbled on it.

"We decided not to take too much length off her," Michaela said to the camera. "At first we considered doing a short bob, but then decided that some length would suit her features better, so we decided to go with a razor cut and layer the hair to soften her."

I wished she would just shut up about my manly features.

"This cut is also age-appropriate, and she can pull it into a ponytail and have the bangs frame her face," she said.

"What do you think of your hair?" the cameraman asked.

"Can I see a mirror?" I asked. Kaylee handed me a mirror and my hair had gone from long and straight to jagged and shoulder length. She had taken a lot of hair off, but it was cute. And made me look more mature. It would probably never look like this again with the nicely defined layers and side-swept bangs, but for the moment, I was pretty and looked like I could say I was a model without feeling like a fraud.

"I love it," I said. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. The Little Rose people have a gift bag of samples and a hair appliance," she said, handing me the bag. As soon as the cameraman moved away, she told me I was the only girl who had thanked her.

"I used to model," she said. "And my hair was fine like yours, and the first thing the modeling agency did was have it chopped off. It was like the style from one of those boy band members from the sixties. Then they bleached it blonde, and I did get in a magazine, but losing my hair like that was so traumatic. They wanted to cut your hair into a short bob, but I knew this would be more flattering in the end, and they agreed."

I probably would have had a stroke if they had tried to cut off all my hair. I hated to admit it, but I liked to hide behind my hair, and I liked long hair. This wasn't quite long hair, but I could still do a ponytail, and I felt the bob they had mentioned would have made me look too plain. I opened my bag and found some tiny shampoo bottles, a large, round ceramic brush, and a round brush attached to a blow dryer. Well, my mom couldn't take away two free round brushes from me, especially ones she didn't know about. Besides, I was almost in high school, and I wasn't dumb enough to get a brush caught in my hair twice.

We got home, and Mom heated up some leftover chicken. We sat down to eat when my phone sounded that I had gotten a text.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing….just curious who texted me."

"Your head almost spun off."

I shrugged.

"You expecting news, or is something going on?"

"Just wanted to see. That's all. Can I go take a peek?"

She nodded. I went to my phone, and it was from Vladi. My whole face lit up. Actually, I think I was beaming enough to be seen from space.

"Okay, give. What's up?" Mom asked.

"Vladi just wanted to see how my day was," I said, sitting back down and taking a huge bite of my dinner to avoid talking.

"So you two are just friends then?"

"Yup."

She continued to eat, while I felt like I was going to explode.

"No, he asked me out,” I said.

"Out? Out where?" she asked.

"No, not like, 'out-out,' just…out."

"I don't follow. Is there a translator guide for this?"

I took a deep breath and told her Vladi was my boyfriend. She chewed her chicken and stared into space. Okay, that was weird. I thought she'd react or
something
— either banishing me to my room and telling me I would never date or squealing how cute he was. Well, the second reaction was a little unlikely, but some kind of reaction was necessary. But there sat my mom, staring into the distance.

"Um…what are you thinking?" I asked.

"I'm conflicted right now."

Great. She probably
was
about to banish me to my room á la fairy-tale style. Or she'd call Dad and let him be the bad guy. I asked her what she meant.

"If I should let your Grandma Albright know so she can go into panic mode, or if the idea of me letting you have a boyfriend would, once again, reflect badly on my parenting skills because, in her eyes, I shouldn't have even allowed this to happen," she said. "Plus, she'd probably call your other grandmother, who would lecture me on how you're too young for boys."

"Grandma Dombrowski and Grandma Albright talk?"

"Talk, compare notes…"

"What do you mean?"

"A mother never stops interfering in her kid's life even after she's an adult and has a child of her own." Then she added, "Except I won't do that to you, because I'm a cool mom."

I started to laugh but quickly realized she was being serious and pretended it was a choking fit instead. If I wanted to keep Mom off my case about Vladi, it was in my best interest to let her
think
she was a "cool mom."

"Oh, right. Yes," I said.

"And when you get married, you inherit a second mother whose only job it seems is to criticize you."

"I have one of those
now
," I said with a smile.

"Oh, har har, young lady. You have no idea, kid. They don't tell the bride what she's in for at those wedding showers. They just give her a blender."

"Okay, don't get married. Got it. Besides, Vladi hasn't asked yet."

"Such a little comedian tonight, aren't you? Finish your dinner and then you can text Romeo back," she said, laughing.

 

I got up an extra hour early to do my hair before school. Getting in the shower, I washed it and attempted to dry it with a round brush, but I did more harm than good with it. Then I plugged in my new round brush dryer, which gave off a burnt plastic "new dryer" smell. I tried to roll my hair onto it like Michaela did. My arms started to hurt from holding it, and I felt hot and sweaty. Why did drying my hair make the bathroom feel like a sauna? When I was done, my hair was full and beautiful. I took a selfie to capture the look, since I knew it'd fall before too long. I grabbed my bag and walked to the bus stop. Tori's mouth dropped open.

"Wow, Landry. You got your hair chopped."

I nodded.

Ericka tilted her head. "Oh, you finally did something with it."

I waited for her to follow up with some sort of compliment, but nothing. So I told them about the stylist cutting it with a razor.

They nodded but said nothing. Not even, "It looks less pukey than before."

"It's easier to curl now," I said.

"But it's
not
curly at all," Ericka said.

"Well, I — I used a one-and-a-half-inch round brush. I just meant that it's easier to style it around a round brush."

"Well, at least when your hair falls, it'll probably look okay just being all straight with this style," Ericka said. "So that's a plus."

The bus pulled up, and I got on behind Ericka. People made little comments as I passed like, "Oh, wow, your hair is so choppy," and, "That's so drastic." And then there was my favorite — the weird look with the "Do you like it?" comment, as if they wondered if I realized what a hideous mess I was.

I gritted my teeth and nodded. Tori and Ericka moved into a seat, and I was left to sit alone behind them — as usual.

"Well, models do sometimes get weird and modern cuts," Ericka said quietly to Tori. "I'm so glad I didn't get picked for that modeling thing."

"Oh I know, I'd die if I couldn't pull my hair all back into a ponytail," Tori said.

"I know, right? It's going to look so bad after gym."

I stared out the window until we arrived at school. I decided not to let their comments bother me, and I pulled out my new Little Rose lipstick and gloss. As I gave myself an internal pep talk, I once again felt pretty and confident as I walked off the bus and down the path to meet up with my friends.

"Landry, I don't think Ms. Ashcroft will allow that lip stuff," Ericka said, turning to look at me.

I stepped back. "Oh, well...maybe I can just blot it a little."

"I doubt it, it's super bright," she said.

I asked Tori and Thalia, who walked over.

"It is a little bright," Tori said, shrugging.

I reached in my bag for a tissue and started to blot the color off my lips.

"I like it," said Thalia. "It's the perfect color for you."

By lunchtime, my cute, piece-y layers were no longer defined and magazine cover worthy. I would have been okay with that had Ericka not called attention to it.

"Oh wow, what a shame your hair went limp. Too bad, it was the best your hair has ever been," she said.

"Thanks," I said and then felt stupid. That wasn't an actual compliment, was it? I couldn't tell if she had insulted or praised me. I didn't
think
it was a compliment, because those made me feel good, but I just felt judged. It wasn't that big a deal that my hair wasn't perfect, but why did it feel like Ericka was going out of her way to make me feel less than pretty? If she was my friend, shouldn't she want me to feel good about myself or, at the least, not make me want to put a paper bag over my head?

****

When I got home from school, I got a call from Dad about him coming to town for a few days.

"Hey, kiddo. Tried calling your mom, but she's at a conference, so I thought I'd tell you instead. I'm doing one of the guys here a favor, so we're switching vacation days. I'm coming this weekend instead of next weekend."

"Cool! What time does your train come in? Are you going to be here in time for parent night tomorrow?" I asked.

"There's a parent night at your school tomorrow? Your mom didn't mention anything."

Probably because I forgot to tell her about it. Whoops. Oh well, she had been so distracted with work, she'd probably think she forgot it.

"Would it be okay if I went, too?" he asked. "Hey, kid, my shift's about to start. Can you talk to your mom about it, and I'll call her tomorrow morning before I leave, okay?"

Mom came home about an hour later with take-out from the Italian place near her office. We stuffed ourselves with baked ravioli and garlic bread and then watched a TV movie. Mom fell asleep during the film, so I stayed up to watch the end of it.

It wasn't until I got into bed that I remembered that Dad wanted me to make sure it was okay with Mom if he came to parent night. I went into the living room where she was still curled up on the couch.

"Mom?" I whispered. She murmured something. "Dad wanted me to…"

She was completely out of it, so I went back to bed. Besides, Dad said he'd call her tomorrow. He probably sent her a text about coming this weekend anyway.