by Sarah Dessen
“Hey,” I called out to Benji. “Want to ride along?”
He looked up at me, his face hopeful. “Really?”
“If your dad says it’s okay.”
“He won’t care,” he said, abandoning the cards and literally running over to me, as if at any moment I might rescind the offer. “He probably won’t even notice.”
“Go ask him anyway.”
I stood there, watching, as he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. On the landing, he cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled towards the bedroom, “I’m leaving! With Emaline!”
“What?” came my father’s voice, muffled by the door.
“I’m leaving!” Benji repeated.
“What?”
“I’m leaving! Back later!”
The response to this—if there even was one—was lost in the din of him bounding back down the steps towards me. I figured if it wasn’t okay, my father would emerge, but after a beat, it was still just us.
“All right,” I said. “Guess it’s a go.”
“Awesome!” Benji hollered, pushing past me out the door and running down the front walk. He was so excited, even though he, like Morris, had no idea where we were going. I shut the door behind me, then followed him at a more subdued pace, wondering if my father was watching us from his window upstairs. All the way to the car I thought about turning back to look, but in the end, I decided against it.
* * *
“Wait a second.” Daisy turned around, the wax applicator in one hand. “You did what?”
I glanced at the older woman on the table in front of her, who was lying flat on her back, purse in her lap, her hands folded over it. I’d only come back to the waxing room to let Daisy know I was outside waiting. Sharing my personal life in earshot of a stranger with a hair management problem was another thing entirely. “I’ll just be outside, okay?”
“Why?”
I nodded towards the woman on the table. “You’re kind of, um, busy?”
“Oh, Jean? Don’t worry, she’s really hard of hearing.” She blew on the wax for a second, then leaned close to the woman’s ear. “I’m going to start now, okay? Are you ready?”
The woman opened her eyes, blinked, then cupped her hand behind one ear, looking confused. Daisy held up the applicator. She nodded, smiled, then closed her eyes again.
“Okay.” She bent down, carefully smoothing wax under the woman’s already thin brow. “Now go back to the beginning. Because either I’m going deaf, too, or you just said something totally crackers.”
Crackers, I thought. That was one word for it. “Well,” I said, as she picked up a piece of muslin from the shelf beside her and carefully pressed it down on the wax, “Luke and I broke up this morning. And then I kissed someone else at Big Club.”
She ripped off the paper, one quick stroke. On the table, Jean winced, but kept her eyes closed. “And this kiss, was it with someone you know, or just a random person?”
“It was Theo,” I said.
I watched her dip into the wax again. “You kissed a guy you just met in Big Club?”
“We were buying a toaster oven,” I said, like this explained everything.
She turned to look at me, blowing on the wax, her expression incredulous. “Are you serious?”
“It just kind of happened.”
“Which part? Breaking up with your boyfriend of three years, or making out with someone else you barely know moments later?”
“It was not moments,” I pointed out as she started on the other eyebrow. “There was at least a couple of hours in between.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” she said sarcastically.
There was a knock at the door of the waxing room. Before we could even ask who was there, Mrs. Ye was sticking her head in, looking at me. “You bring boy here?”
“What?”
“Little boy outside. He with you?”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly remembering I’d left Benji up front, examining the array of polishes. “Yes. He’s my brother.”
Mrs. Ye nodded, then shut the door again without further comment. To Daisy, who was looking at me with a quizzical expression, I explained, “I’m sort of helping my father out. He’s swamped with stuff right now.”
She leaned over Jean’s face, and started plucking, a series of quick little stabs. “Helping how?”
“Just entertaining Benji until we can find someone else to do it.”
“Okay, wait a second,” she said, holding up her free hand. The plucking continued with the other, at a quick speed. “So what you’re saying is that since I saw you yesterday, you broke up with Luke, kissed Theo, and offered to help out your deadbeat, undeserving father.”
I thought for a moment. “Yes. Oh, and I also introduced Theo to Clyde and agreed to help them get together for an interview.”
Now, she stopped what she was doing and looked at me. “Do you understand how insane you sound right now? How could your whole life be so different in less than twenty-four hours?”
“Because that’s the way it is around here,” I told her. “Nothing happens for ages, and then all the changes come at once.”
“Not that fast,” she grumbled.
“Well, then, maybe I’m just actually having a summer,” I offered. “You know, a big one where Things Actually Happen. Hey, it’s like I’m a tourist or something!”
“Emaline, stop. Seriously.” She shook her head, then switched to the other brow. Outside, I could hear Mrs. Ye barking at someone in Vietnamese. “Although I will admit you are acting like one. I can’t believe you’re already in a relationship. What’s next, chest hair and Jell-O shots?”
I made a face. “It’s not a relationship. Or Jell-O shots. It’s one kiss.”
“You were with Luke for more than three years.”
“He cheated on me, Daisy. Went to meet some girl at Tallyho.”
She looked at me again, this time with pity. “Oh, Emaline. Really?”
I nodded. You’d think each time I said this, it would hurt less. Nope. I felt tears gathering in my throat again. “Look, I should go. Benji’s here, I have stuff to do. Can we talk later?”
“Wait, I’ll walk out with you.” She picked up a hand mirror, then leaned down to Jean again. “I’m finished,” she yelled, loudly and close enough to her ear to cause deafness, had it not already been accomplished. “Would you like to take a look?”
Jean opened her eyes. When she saw the mirror, she sat up, then took it, surveying her reflection. “You do such a lovely job,” she told Daisy, in a normal tone. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Daisy hollered back at her. “Have a good day.”
Jean nodded, then slid off the table, still clutching her purse, and I stepped back to let her pass. Then I watched as Daisy ripped off and replaced the paper cover on the table, put the top back on the wax, then dropped the tweezers with a plunk into a container of cleaning solution. Just like that, everything was clean and reset. Unlike so much else in the world.
Outside in the salon, we found Benji examining the display of gel fill-ins. “Hey Emaline,” he called out when he saw me. “Did you know they use wood sanders to file these things?”
“I did not,” I replied.
“It’s so cool! They have to wear masks and everything.”
I smiled, then turned to Daisy, who was behind me. “Benji, this is my friend Daisy. Daisy, Benji.”
He stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Daisy, impressed, took it. “And you as well. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m just along for the ride right now,” he explained, all casual. “I’m hard to entertain.”
She looked at me, raising her eyebrows. I shrugged, then said, “We’re on our way to the office. There’s some kind of towel crisis.”
“Sounds serious,” she said, as we started outside.
“Margo’s got some new system, all computerized,” I told her. “It’s working as well as you’d expect.”
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“Well, maybe you can totally shake it up for her,” she suggested. “Change everything, really quickly. Since you’re on a roll with that today, and all.”
I just looked at her. “I’m really not doing it on purpose.”
“I know. It’s just …” She glanced at Benji, choosing her words carefully. “A lot to take in.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “Before I forget. This will cheer you up. Wait right here.” I watched her as she went back inside, over to the coat rack by the door, and removed a hanging bag. She unzipped it as she walked back. “Check these out. I found them last time I was at Dolly’s, that vintage store in Durham I told you about? They’re for the Beach Bash.”
I looked at the contents, which appeared to be two very fluffy and ruffled dresses, one pink, one blue. They looked like something Little Bo Peep would wear. In Candy Land. “The thought of wearing this is supposed to cheer me up?’
“They won’t look like this,” she said, sounding offended. “Once I’m done, you won’t even recognize them. But the colors are perfect, since I’m thinking of going with a candy theme.”
“We’re wearing candy?”
“The theme, the vision, is candy.” She sighed, looking at Benji. “Do you know your sister has no sense of fashion-forwardness whatsoever?”
“What’s fashion-forwardness?” he asked.
“Must be genetic,” I said. She zipped the bag back up, turning her back to me. “Hey, hey, I’m just joking. I know they’ll be great. They always are. You’re a genius, Daze.”
This made her smile. “We do have a reputation to uphold.”
“You do,” I said. “All I have to do is wear what I’m told and show up.”
The truth was, I would have liked to be able to take some credit for the fact that Daisy and I had won the Best-Dressed Couple award at the annual Colby Beach Bash for two years running. But it was all Daisy, ever since we’d started attending together in middle school. She was the one who spent the year searching out fabrics, patterns, and inspiration in order to come up with the perfect vision, which she then executed, single-handedly, to her typical high standards. I just got fitted a few times and poked with the occasional straight pin, a small price to pay for half the bragging rights.
“I can’t believe the Beach Bash is happening so soon,” I said to Daisy now, as she hung the garment bag over one arm. “I feel like we just graduated.”
“Thirty-six days to go,” she told me. There was that exactness again; the girl lived by her calendar, with several backups. She was like NASA she was so organized. “Not that I’m keeping track.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
She gave me a sympathetic look. “Maybe explain to your brother what fashion-forward means.”
“I will,” I told her. “As soon as I figure it out myself.”
She smiled, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. “Call me as soon as you get off work. You hear me?”
I hugged her back. “I hear you.”
“Nice to meet you, Benji,” she said, turning to go back inside.
“You, too!” he replied. And then, again, he was running out ahead of me to the car, like a dog on one of those retractable leashes, grabbing all the distance possible before he got pulled back.
In the car, I checked my messages. Besides the text earlier from Margo in response to my inquiry about more towels—No towels. Come back for further instruction—I had two new voice mails.
“Emaline, hello, it’s me.” Pause. “Um, Theo.” Another pause, during which I could think of nothing but that kiss among the toasters. “I just spoke to Ivy and she’d really like us to go ahead and nail Clyde down for an interview as soon as possible. I mean, you know, at his convenience, of course. But today. Preferably soon? So if you could”—here, someone in the background was saying something—“call him and set that up, we’d really appreciate it.” More direction from Ivy. Then, “Just call me back as soon as you can. Thanks!”
I hit Delete, looking at Benji, who was fidgeting in his seat, tapping one foot while drumming two fingers on the open window. The next message began.
“Emaline, it’s me again. Theo.” I sighed, then cranked the engine. “So Ivy thinks it would be best if we could just get Clyde’s direct number? So that we don’t have to bother you with these requests? I explained to her that he preferred to go through you, but”—muffled noises, voices, static—“anyway, if that’s possible, you can just text his info to me and I’ll take it from there. But if not, you know, just call me back”—more muffling—“as soon as you can. Thanks!”
“Oh for God’s sake,” I said out loud. Pushy, driven, whatever they chose to call it: it was still annoying.
Instantly, Benji froze, dropping his drumming fingers, silencing the bouncing leg. “Sorry,” he said quietly.
“No, no.” I waved my phone at him. “Them, not you.”
“Oh.” He brightened visibly. “Okay.”
We pulled out into the traffic, and I looked over at him again. He was such a kid, all impulse and emotion, but he was young; it made sense he was so easy to read. I could only imagine how he’d take the news that his parents were divorcing, whenever they did finally tell him. It broke my heart just thinking about it.
When we got to the office, we found Margo in the conference room, sitting at her laptop. All around her, on the table, chairs, and every other flat surface, were towels. All white, all sizes: bath, washcloth, hand, mats. It was like the linen closet had exploded, albeit very neatly.
“I thought we were out of towels?” I said.
She looked up at me, her expression irritated. “I didn’t say that. I said there were no towels for you.”
“Okay,” I said. “But I don’t actually need any. The clients do.”
“This morning, at the meeting,” she said, in a way that made it clear a scolding was to follow, “I carefully detailed the new, computerized system I have implemented for inventory of the towels. Ten minutes later, you went back to the storeroom and took a bunch, ignoring everything I said. “
Beside me, Benji was watching this exchange, looking at Margo, then me, then back at her again. I nodded in his direction, saying, “You remember Benji, right?”
She gave him a glance. “Oh, yes. Hello.”
“Hi,” he said. “That’s a lot of towels.”
“Yes, Benji,” she replied, in the same know-it-all tone, “yes, it is. It is, in fact, all the towels we have here at Colby Realty for midweek replenishment for renters. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s necessary to have this many so we can always be sure we can meet the needs of our guests.”
“Margo,” I said, “he’s a kid. He doesn’t care about this.”
“The point is,” she continued, ignoring me, “I developed a system to ensure we always know how many of each kind of towels we have at our disposal. All that is required to make the system work is that each employee who checks a towel out logs it in the database. Is that so complicated?”
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” Benji replied obediently, at the same time.
“We don’t need an exact count, just a general idea,” I said. “It’s towels, not radioactive material.”
“And you are not in charge here,” she shot back. “I say we are using this system, so we are. End of conversation. Now come in here and get a refresher course so I can get back to work.”
For a moment, I just stared at her, and she held my gaze, just as fiercely. Under other circumstances, I would have held my ground like I usually did. But beside me, Benji was fidgeting again.
“Fine.” I stepped into the conference room. “Refresh me.”
“Gladly.” She pushed out the chair beside her, and I slid in, gesturing for Benji to sit as well. “Now, we’ve put a computer in the storage room for inventory use. What you’ll do, when you need towels, is open up this Excel file labeled ‘Linens,’ and then …”
Fif
teen minutes later—which was about fourteen more than was necessary—she was done. I stifled one last yawn. “Got it. Anything else I need to know right now?”
Margo glanced around her. “No, I don’t think so. Just put all these towels back in the storage room, separated by type, and we should be good to go.”
“Me?” I said. “Why do I have to put them back?”
“Because it’s your fault I had to do this exercise in the first place. If you’d been paying attention this morning, none of this would have been necessary.”
Not for the first time that day, I was sorely tempted to pull her hair or frog-punch her, like when we were kids. Instead, I just reminded myself that, soon enough, I’d be gone from here, with towels—and Margo—no longer my daily cross to bear. Then I picked up a stack of washcloths.
“I can help,” Benji said, grabbing another pile from the table. “Where do they go?”
“Thanks,” I said. “Follow me.”
I was on my second trip to the storeroom when my phone rang. I shifted the tall stack of mats I was carrying to the other hand, then fished it out of my back pocket. “Hello?”
“Hey, Emaline, it’s me.” A pause. “Theo.”
“Hi,” I said, navigating the hallway. “Sorry I haven’t been able to get back to you. Things are sort of—”
“So look, Ivy really feels,” he broke in over me, “that it would be best if you just gave us Clyde’s contact information. She’s concerned that having you as a go-between will, um, complicate things.”
Of course she was. “No,” I said, “what will complicate things is if he won’t talk to you because you’ve deliberately chosen to ignore the parameters he set up.”
I waited for a crack about this word being an SAT basic. Instead, there was just silence. Then, “True. But as a filmmaker and documentarian, her relationship with her subject is crucial. Anything that diffuses or distorts it can endanger the project.”
