Foiled

by Taylor Morris

Once the four of us were settled at our table with our lunches, Kristen leaned her head in toward us and said, as if she were letting out a long breath, “Oh my gosh, they are so cute!” We all started laughing. “I mean, okay, I’m still bummed they weren’t there for the fund-raiser. I keep thinking about how amazingly the night could have gone if they had been. But it seems like they had no idea whatsoever that we’d be there, so there’s no way we can take it personally,” Kristen said. “Right, Mickey?”

  The girls thought that because I’m best friends with a guy, I’m somewhat of an expert on them. Which was hardly the case. But I did like being asked.

  “Yeah, totally. No guy would rather go to some dress-up dinner than a baseball game. Like, ever, in the history of boys.”

  Lizbeth and Kristen nodded, satisfied.

  “You’re looking better after seeing Tobias,” I said to Kristen. “You looked pretty upset this morning.”

  “Ugh, that,” she said. “My aunt’s radio station is not exactly the kind of radio station I thought it was.”

  “Then what kind is it?” I asked. I looked at Lizbeth, who had her head down, stifling a giggle—unsuccessfully. She practically snorted. “Come on. What kind is it?”

  Lizbeth grinned. “All talk, all the time. All boring.”

  Kristen sighed. “This great-aunt of mine has this radio station in a dingy, little office that is practically an outhouse, and all these old guys sit around all day talking into an old mic about old people stuff.”

  “She’s your aunt and you didn’t know this was what she did?” I asked.

  “Great-aunt, and obviously no, Mickey, I didn’t know.”

  “So-orry,” I muttered.

  “I just thought it would be something cooler, like a fancy satellite station where I could have, like, just an hour a day to play whatever music I wanted or interview cool people—like maybe Rihanna or Katy Perry—and basically get some decent but fun experience. But no. I’ll be getting coffee and Metamucil for a bunch of oldies while they talk about their jacked-up digestive systems,” Kristen said.

  Jonah and Kyle came and sat down at our table. Last week I’d sat with the girls a couple of times and with Jonah and Kyle a couple of times, but on the days when we had assembly together right before lunch, we kind of just stuck together for lunch, too.

  Jonah slumped against the table, burying his face in his hands. Kyle tried to suppress a smile as he dug into his sack lunch.

  “What are you so happy about?” I asked. Kyle shrugged and basically looked more animated than I’d ever seen him, his face flushed and sort of lit up. “Tell us!”

  “I’m working at the firehouse, that’s all.” His cheeks stretched into the kind of smile that, if his face had allowed it, would have gone all the way to the industrial microwaves in the back of the caf. For the first time I noticed he had a crooked tooth, one that leaned slightly over the tooth next to it like the two were fighting to be in front. Kind of cute.

  “Okay, that is cool,” I said of his firehouse gig.

  He nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. Through a mouthful he said, “I know. I just hope there’s a fire when I’m there.”

  “Kyle!” Eve said. “Don’t say that.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said. “You know what I mean.”

  “Your turn, Goldman,” I said to Jonah. “Tell us what you got.”

  “Yeah, Goldman.” Kyle grinned at me, then looked back to Jonah. A tiny zip went through my stomach. “Tell them.”

  We waited for Jonah to remove his face from his hands. He took a deep breath and said, “I have to work at the antique store on Camden Way—Loretta’s Treasures. It’s bad enough my mom drags me in there sometimes. Like I want to work there?”

  We started laughing and Kristen said, “Maybe talk radio isn’t so bad after all.”

  “The worst part,” Jonah said, “is that I have to work in the toy department. This Loretta chick must think we’re all seven years old or something.”

  “It could have been worse,” Kyle said. “You could have gotten that job at the baby clothing store.”

  I laughed, picturing Jonah selling bibs and onesies. Kyle smiled back at me. I liked that he was getting in on the convo. He usually didn’t, at least not while I was around.

  As Jonah and Kristen moaned about their jobs, I asked Lizbeth, “Did Mom say what you’re doing at the salon?”

  “I’m only working on Saturdays. She said something about helping out in the front with Megan.”

  “Really?” Working the front of the salon was a big deal. It means you’re the face of Hello, Gorgeous!, giving clients their first impression of the salon when they walk in. Mom had taken her time finding just the right person in Megan because the job is so important to her.

  When I realized I hadn’t said anything, I said, “It’s just that that’s a huge deal, working the front.”

  “It is?” Lizbeth asked, looking slightly panicked.

  “Yeah, but it just means that my mom has a lot of faith in you. That’s a good thing,” I added. Even though she’d be working with Megan, I could still show her the ropes, and we could definitely still have fun on the job.

  “Okay,” Lizbeth said, and her face seemed to relax a bit. “I just hope I don’t mess up. Mostly I’m excited because I think it’s going to be so fun.”

  “No fair,” said Kristen, who’d been listening in. “You guys are so lucky. I’m going to be stuck in some tiny office with the elderly while you guys are glammin’ it up.”

  “That just means you’ll have to schedule a treatment or something so you can come see us,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Kristen said.

  I pictured myself and Lizbeth ruling the salon while our friends visited. In my head, it looked like the best job in the world. Which, of course, it was. And it was about to get better.

  CHAPTER 6

  “So you’re pretty excited about Lizbeth working at the salon, huh?” Jonah said as we walked home.

  I smiled. “How’d you guess?”

  “Because you had that same stupid grin on your face through most of lunch that you have on now,” he said, but not in a mean way. Jonah just knew me very well. Better than anyone.

  “It’s going to be fun,” I said. “Even though Mom is already telling me to make sure we work and don’t goof off. Besides, it’s not like we’ll be glued to each other—I’m all over the place doing my job, and Lizbeth will be up at reception.” I pictured Lizbeth and Megan up front, working together and greeting clients. “It’s a little weird . . .”

  “What is?” Jonah asked.

  “Not weird, I guess,” I said, thinking. “I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal but . . . I don’t know.” I guess I didn’t know what I was feeling.

  “You feel like she’s on your turf or something?”

  “It’s not that. I was just surprised to hear that Mom put her at the front of the house. It’s an important job,” I said. It wasn’t even the job I wanted; it was just that Mom had put her faith in Lizbeth so quickly. “But I am excited about her being there. I really think we’re going to have fun.”

  “Then don’t make a big deal about it. I mean, it’s not like she’s going to be so much better than you that your mom fires you and keeps her,” Jonah said.

  “Hey, Mickey,” Devon said on Wednesday. She had just walked a client out, her halter sundress making her seem sunny despite her tough-girl attitude. She’d had tons of new business since Be Gorgeous began. People loved her funky style and the way she was incapable of giving a simple cut. Every style had to have that something extra to make it special and unique. “I hear we’re getting some fresh meat here on Saturday.”

  I swept the small pile of hair into my little dustpan. “Yeah. My friend Lizbeth.”

  “A little friendly competition, huh?”

  “Not really,” I said. Another thing about Devon? She was a genius at finding anyone’s Achilles’ heel.

  “Isn’t she the one who helped out with Jill last
weekend?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “How do you think she got the job?” I knew Devon was trying to tease me, but I wasn’t going to let her get to me.

  I did a full sweep around the salon, making sure I got every last piece of hair. I had to do an amazing job every day, but especially today, because it was my first day back since the dye incident. I had to make sure Mom knew that it had been a freak accident and it wasn’t dangerous or something to have me work at the salon.

  “Mickey,” Devon called as she seated her next client over at her station. “We need a second opinion.” I walked over to her, wondering if this was her way of showing me she wasn’t upset about the dye-spewing accident. I’d gladly take it. “What do you think of these colors?”

  Devon held two swatches near the woman’s eggplant-colored hair. That color was so three years ago, if it was ever at all.

  “I want something a little brighter,” the woman said. “Not so dark and gloomy.”

  I thought carefully about the colors before me, considering how they’d look with her skin tone and what I guessed was her natural color showing through her roots.

  I pointed out a rich red with something like sunkissed highlights. “This one,” I said. “It’ll look good, I think. Like you’ve been getting some sun at the lake.”

  “Um, well, I’m not sure,” the woman said.

  “Yeah,” Devon agreed. “I think it’s a little brassy for your skin tone. Too harsh. I think maybe this one would work better. What do you think?” she asked her client.

  After the woman agreed to the color Devon had chosen, she told me thanks and sent me on my way. I felt embarrassed for giving bad advice, but I tried not to let it get to me.

  Later, Megan asked what I thought of a new barrette they were thinking about ordering—a large clip that kind of looked like a brooch with gold-toned rhinestones.

  “I like it,” I said. “It’s pretty. Retro.”

  Megan held it in her palm, inspecting it. Then she put it up to my head and looked again. “I don’t know,” she said. “Kind of grandma-ish.”

  I was embarrassed by Megan’s comment, like I had suggested the ultimate in bad taste.

  For the rest of the night I stuck to the one thing I had actually become good at—keeping the floors clean. At least that was something that was pretty hard to mess up, even for me.

  That is, until Lizbeth started working.

  CHAPTER 7

  Saturday I went with Mom to the salon early to help open up. She said Lizbeth was supposed to be there half an hour before opening, and I wanted to be there to make her feel welcome. I even asked Mom if we could pop into CJ’s for some welcome-to-work muffins and donuts.

  “Thanks for coming in early, sweetie,” Mom said as she flipped on the lights and booted up the front computer.

  “I want to be here when Lizbeth gets here,” I said, setting down the bag from CJ’s. “Show her around and stuff.”

  “I’m sure Lizbeth will appreciate that. Just make sure you remember your job,” Mom said.

  Why did she always have to squash the enthusiasm? Mom didn’t get that I was there early to go above and beyond and all that rah-rah employee stuff. I should have been getting extra credit, not a warning.

  The stylists began arriving to set up or just drink coffee and gossip, each looking more fabulous than the last. Giancarlo, whose goal in life was to never be outdone, wore a pink paisley blazer with a tight white shirt and black jeans. When Violet arrived, she looked even more polished and pressed than usual in a form-fitting black dress with a soft gray cardigan cinched with a black belt. Even though she was the salon manager and a top stylist, today was her first Be Gorgeous demo, and the girl looked ready to blow them all away.

  I’d worked at Hello, Gorgeous! long enough to know that it wasn’t just about hairstyle, but about style in general. Some stylists didn’t even like doing their own hair, but they always managed to look superglam with tousled hair and killer clothes. After all, they were selling beauty.

  I arranged the pastries in the back break room just so, wishing I had thought to pick up a welcome sign like the staff had done when I first started. Giancarlo put his bag in one of the cubbies, and when he reached for the lemon poppy-seed muffin, I slapped his hand away.

  “Hey!” he said, holding his hand as if I were a dog who’d just bitten him.

  “Sorry, GC. It’s just that they’re for Lizbeth on her first day. I wanted her to have the first pick of the batch.”

  “Fine,” he said, trying to act injured. He couldn’t keep it up, though, because he added, “What a good friend you are.”

  The front door chimed, and I knew it had to be her.

  “She’s here!” I said, nudging Giancarlo aside to make my way to the front.

  As Lizbeth walked into the salon I noticed two things immediately—she looked adorable and terrified. She had curled her hair in big, chunky curls that looked like they’d been styled by Violet herself. Too bad about the outfit, though, at least the top—black, off-the-shoulder, and shredded down the center with a white tank underneath. It was cute, but it wouldn’t show once she put on the smock.

  “Hi!” I said, making big strides across the floor to greet her. “Welcome to the team!”

  “Hi, Mickey,” Lizbeth said, clutching her hands at her waist.

  “Are you excited?” She looked petrified.

  “Yeah, I mean, I’m really excited.”

  I took her clammy hand and said, “I’ll show you to the back so you can put your stuff away.”

  As we walked to the back, I pointed to the stations of each stylist and our facial expert, Rowan, who all greeted her with a friendly hello. I gave a special introduction to Devon, though, because of the recent flying-dye incident.

  “She’s working here now,” I told Devon, even though she already knew.

  Devon turned her green eyes to Lizbeth and said, “Make sure Mick here shows you where Chloe stores the sample products for staff to test.”

  Lizbeth, who suddenly seemed nervous to be talking to an adult, said, “Sure! I mean, I love swag!” I led her away before she could babble something truly dorky.

  “This is where we keep our stuff,” I said as we entered the break room. “And—surprise! I got you some essential breakfast goodies to help get your day started.” I stood next to the plate of pastries and pushed them toward her. “You get the first pick.”

  Lizbeth looked warily at the plate. “Maybe in a bit? My stomach is a little upset.”

  “Nervous?” I said, and she nodded.

  “It’s my first job and all.”

  “Don’t be nervous—it’s going to be fine! You’ll see. And just so you know, when there’s free food around, you gotta be quick. It goes fast.” She took another look at the box and shook her head.

  “If you’re sure,” I said, a little bummed my welcome pastries were a bust. “Let me give you the tour. This is where we take breaks, store extra towels and products, eat lunch, hide out when things get crazy, all that stuff. It’s our all-purpose room.”

  “Your mom said Saturdays are pretty busy,” Lizbeth said.

  “Insane,” I clarified. “But I’m sure you’ll do fine. I’ll be here the whole time. Now, last but not least.” I reached into the top cubby. “The one bad thing about the job. I know, it’s awful, but it’s a must.” I handed the black smock over to Lizbeth.

  “Ugh,” Lizbeth said. She took it from my hands as if I were giving her a pile of used hair extensions.

  “I know. Mom almost had a meltdown when she saw I wasn’t wearing mine on my first day.”

  “It’s like”—she rubbed the plastic between her fingers—“a shower curtain.”

  We both laughed. “Now you know not to wear such a cute shirt to work since it’s a tragedy no one will ever see it.”

  “Well, if this is the worst part of the job, then I think I’ll be okay.”

  “You will be,” I said. “I’m here to help, and of course Megan is, too. We shoul
d probably go up front and get you ready.”

  She slipped on the smock with the appropriate sneer on her face as I laughed, and then we headed out to reception where Megan was going through the schedule.

  “Welcome, welcome, welcome!” Megan cheered when she saw Lizbeth. Megan looked pretty as usual in a shimmery purple tank and skinny white jeans. “We’re so happy you’re here. It’s going to be fun. You’ll see!”

  Lizbeth blushed and said, “Thanks. I’m really excited, too.”

  “Lizbeth, you’re here!” We all turned to see Mom walking up to reception, her zipper-front heels click-clacking as she came. “Welcome, sweetie, to Hello—oh no. No, no, no, no, no. What in the world are you wearing?”

  We all froze, watching as Mom looked Lizbeth over. Poor Lizbeth looked like I felt—panicked and vomitous. How could we have messed up already?

  “No smock for you,” Mom told her.

  Lizbeth looked to me and I said, “But I thought . . .”

  “Lizbeth, you’re working the front of the salon. Our greeter and receptionist need to convey the feel of the salon while being professional. Wear something fun and cute and you’ll be perfect.”

  Lizbeth unsnapped the smock and handed it to Mom.

  “Ah, much better!” she said, inspecting Lizbeth’s outfit. “Perfect for the front of the house! Now, Megan, you’ve showed her how the phones work and where we keep the drinks and the robes?”

  “Just getting to it,” Megan said.

  “Great! Well, welcome, Lizbeth. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Wilson,” Lizbeth said.

  “Feel free to call me Chloe. Here, Mickey.” Mom handed me the smock to take away. She turned her eyes back to me and said, “Did you get those towels from the dryer folded? We’re opening in ten.”

  “Just getting to it,” I said. I don’t know what I’d been thinking. I really thought the smock was something Mom made me wear because I wasn’t a real, full-time employee. I took it to the back, crushed it into a ball, and shoved it into the cubby.

  It was fine, really. So Lizbeth didn’t have to wear the dreaded smock, so what? I was here to prove myself as a stylist, no matter what I wore—even if I had to wear plastic.