Foiled

by Taylor Morris

  “Mickey,” she said, her voice shaking this time. “It really burns.”

  I looked and saw that her eyes were watering. “Okay, no problem. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard other stylists say it gets a little like this.”

  “Pretty sure?”

  “Let’s just, um . . .”

  “Wash it out!” she cried. “Get it out of my hair!”

  With visions of Eve’s hair falling out in chunks, I raced her over to the sink. I started taking the foils out, and she grabbed at them, too, practically yanking them out.

  “Put your head under here,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

  “Hurry!” she said, tossing off another foil. There were no salon sink chairs in the basement, so Eve had to lean awkwardly over the ledge, sticking her head under the faucet.

  When I turned it on, it clanked . . . then clanged . . . then sputtered some brown liquid . . . then moaned and quit altogether.

  “Oh, shoot.”

  “Mickey, please!”

  “Come on,” I said to the sink, willing it to work. I tried the hot water faucet, and it sputtered as well, but after a few kicks, it came to life. I stuck my hand under the faucet—it felt slightly warm but not too bad. “Back under, Eve.” She put her head in the stream of lukewarm water as I washed the dye out with my hands. “How does it feel?” I asked, trying to ignore the water that ran blue-gray. Probably just the bad lighting.

  “Still burns!” she shouted.

  “What is going on down here?”

  I froze with my hand on Eve’s head, keeping it under the heavy flow of water.

  “Oh my gosh,” I said, looking up to see my mother standing on the stairs, taking in the scene I’d created with a look of complete disbelief.

  “Mickey?” Eve yelled over the running water. “I’m telling you, Mickey, I can’t take it! It’s still burning!”

  Mom crossed the basement toward us as Eve finally pushed my hand away and stood up from the sink, grabbing the towel I had set on top of a box. She was on the verge of crying, her eyes red and watery. She took a section of her hair from the front side and looked down at it.

  “Oh my gosh,” she slowly said. She looked up and saw my mom standing before her, and in her shock Eve asked Mom, “What is this? What did she do to my hair?”

  “It’s okay, honey,” Mom said, taking Eve by the shoulders. “Hurry now, let’s get you upstairs.”

  “What did she do?” Eve mumbled like an insane person as Mom gently led her away. “What did I let her do?”

  Mom guided her up the steps, patting her back as Eve kept walking. Mom stopped and looked back down at me, the soft, concerned look she’d had for Eve completely gone. Through gritted teeth, she pointed her finger at me and said, “Go home right this minute.”

  It was like I could feel her surge of anger crushing me. I couldn’t even speak. Mom turned away from me—angry, disgusted, probably both—and stomped back upstairs.

  I somehow made it out of the basement. Mom didn’t even look at me as I passed by the sinks where she was with Eve, even though I know she must have seen me. As she began rinsing Eve’s hair, Eve’s shaky voice asked Mom, “Do you think I’ll still be able to make it to my fitting?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie,” Mom said. “We better call your mom first.”

  As I walked toward the front door, I could feel everyone looking at me. Giancarlo had his hand on his hip, looking between me and Eve. Devon continued working on her client, but her eyes darted up to look at me as if I’d stolen her tips. Just about everyone stared as I did my walk of shame—everyone except Lizbeth. Like Mom, she wouldn’t even look at me.

  I knew she and Kristen were still mad about the mall, and that they’d purposely made plans without me last night for revenge or something. So maybe I hadn’t exactly been the greatest friend lately, but I never thought Lizbeth would do this to me. How could she have ratted me out?

  CHAPTER 17

  When I tried the front door at home, I realized I’d left my bag at the salon along with my house key, and naturally Dad wasn’t there to let me in. I knew the back door would be locked but I checked it, anyway, and, yep, I was completely shut out.

  I sat on one of the chaise lounge chairs on our back porch and stared aimlessly at the sky, wishing I could turn my brain off and not think about what had just happened. This wasn’t a couple of nail polishes I’d taken without permission—this was big. I knew without a doubt that this was the end of my salon days. No way would Mom let me keep working there after this. Why would she? I wouldn’t if I were her.

  What if Eve’s hair fell out? Images of her with a bald head kept running through my mind. I wondered what Mom was going to do to me, and if she could save Eve’s hair.

  I couldn’t believe Lizbeth would do this to me. What a rat. It was like she and Kristen had managed a double assault by not inviting me out on Friday, then busting me at work on Saturday.

  I sat up on the chair, realizing I was still wearing my lowly smock. I took it off, then crossed the yard and headed over to Jonah’s house. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but I also knew I needed someone to talk to. And in all my worry I’d somehow forgotten that Jonah’s parents hold on to our extra house key. That would be useful just now.

  I knocked twice on Jonah’s back door and then let myself in.

  “Hello?” I called.

  “Hey!” I heard Jonah call from the direction of his room. “In here!”

  Thankfully he wasn’t playing Warpath. I wasn’t in the mood to see the video game Eve was supposed to be in a commercial for—that is, until I came along and ruined everything, including her hair. Especially her hair.

  “Hi,” I said, almost tripping on some skateboard wheels he’d left by the door.

  “Hey,” he said. “So. How’s it going?”

  The way he said it and the look he gave me—he knew something. We’d been friends too long for him to try to fool me.

  “What do you know?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “Hey, why are you here, anyway?”

  “I need our house key. I’m locked out.”

  “Oh. I guess you left your bag at the salon, huh?”

  The pained look on his face was too much, like I was someone who’d just been diagnosed with terminal stupidity.

  “Goldman, you better spill it. I’m not in the mood for these sad looks and questions that you’re—”

  “Okay, okay, fine. I just got off the phone with Eve.”

  Swallowing hard I asked, “Why’d she call you?”

  Jonah shrugged, like they talked on the phone every day. Maybe they did. I guess they’d progressed from the texting stage. “She said she just needed someone to talk to and she couldn’t talk to the one person she wanted to talk to—you. That’s what she said. So she called to tell me—or just someone, I guess—what happened.” I couldn’t even look at him. I was so embarrassed and panicked over what I’d done—the stylists would think I was crazy for what I tried to do, and Mom and Eve would never forgive me for doing it. There was no getting out of trouble this time.

  “She said you colored her hair, which I totally didn’t believe at first, but when she said you colored it blue I realized that if anyone would do something as crazy as that, it’d be you. Dude, what were you thinking?”

  I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I’d seen the color washing down the sink but had clung to a tiny bubble of hope that it hadn’t actually turned her hair blue. “I was just trying to give her some highlights. It’s not like I set out to color it blue.” I felt stinging behind my eyes, and my nose began to run as I tried my hardest not to cry.

  “Oh, come on,” he said, seeing what I was about to do. “I mean, it’s not like you made her go bald or anything.” He was still trying to tease me, but it sent me into overdrive. I sank down on his floor and let myself bawl. “Oh, great,” he said, sitting down beside me. I don’t know many guys who like to have a crying girl in their presence, but
I couldn’t help it. This was big.

  “It’s not funny,” I stuttered through hiccuping tears. “Eve is supposed to do that commercial tomorrow. What if I ruined it for her?”

  Jonah’s voice softened when he said, “Yeah, she told me about that—about tomorrow.”

  “What else did she say?”

  He didn’t look at me as I wiped away the tears. “She was waiting to do her fitting and was worried about what Kitty would say.”

  “Bunny.”

  “Right. She also said your mom looked at her hair but decided that she couldn’t color it back to normal today because you jacked it up so bad. She said it’s really fried. That’s something to be proud of, isn’t it?”

  “Stop it, Jonah!” I said. “It’s not funny.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it is. Did you ever think of that?”

  “No, I haven’t. And I doubt Eve has, either.” I knew he was just trying to calm me down and look on the bright side, but it wasn’t going to work. “I have no idea how I’m going to fix this. What am I going to do? Hey,” I said, swatting his knee with the back of my hand. “Think of something like you did for Be Gorgeous. That was practically your idea.”

  “Sorry, Mick,” he said, and he seemed genuinely sorry—for me, maybe, or for Eve’s situation. “I don’t know anything about hair. All I know is that Eve is pretty upset and you should call her.”

  How could I even begin to apologize? Her hair was already ruined, and I was sure I wouldn’t be allowed within a half-block of anyone’s hair for the rest of my life.

  I cried it out while Jonah sat awkwardly beside me, sort of ignoring me but at the same time letting me know he was there. Once I’d calmed down, he got me our house key and I went home. By the time I got to my room, I knew two things for sure: One, I had to make things right with Eve, and two, I had to accept the fact that I’d never be allowed to set foot in Hello, Gorgeous! again.

  Upstairs in my room, I tried to come up with a solid plan of fixing some part of the disaster I’d created. I sat on my floor, trying to think, but all I could see was Eve’s crying face and hear her voice asking Mom over and over, “What did she do?”

  Things had been going so well with Eve and the other girls. I thought of my first sleepover and how much fun we’d all had doing makeovers. Now they were having sleepovers without me.

  That reminded me of something. Something I’d seen the night of the sleepover in Le Look—that layout with the models I said looked like Eve. At the time I’d thought they looked like robots, but come to think of it, they actually looked more like aliens.

  I grabbed the thick magazine off the bottom shelf of my bookshelf (Le Look wasn’t something you threw away) and opened it to the alien spread. The crisp silver of the models’ makeup had a cool, steely look and reminded me of the aliens in the game. That’s when I knew I had an idea. It was farfetched, but I had to try something.

  I threw open my closet door and starting digging like a dog at the beach. I had some old stuff from Halloween I hadn’t used in a while that would be perfect. I threw the products I thought I could use on the floor behind me, not even paying attention to where they landed until I tossed back a glitter tube and it made a strange, dull thud. I turned to see that I’d nailed Mom in the leg. She stood behind me, glaring, the veins in her forehead pulsating.

  “Never,” she began, “in all my years! Have I ever! Seen something! So unbelievably! Irresponsible! And downright! Liable! In my entire! Life!”

  Even though I was expecting to be seriously yelled at, it was still a jolt to be on the receiving end of all that. Mom raged on about what a mess I’d created and how there was no scenario in which she’d ever let me come back to the salon. I tried to tell myself that even though I didn’t think I would ever work at the salon again, I could still fix things with Eve. I could try, at least. It might very well end up being the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but since when do I turn down a challenge?

  CHAPTER 18

  Even though I was still shaking from Mom’s tirade, I tried calling Eve, knowing it was better to jump right in than to put it off and wait for my mind to come to its senses. Every time I dialed her number, though, it went straight to voicemail. She was screening my calls. I couldn’t blame her, but I also wasn’t going to give up that easily. Dad once said that a sign of maturity is figuring out how to solve your own problems, and that’s exactly what I was going to do.

  Sunday morning I went downstairs to Mom’s office. I wanted to use the computer to find out where the commercial was shooting. Mom was just coming out. I froze when I saw her. Last night her face had been full of anger at me; this morning, it was something closer to regret. And mountains of disappointment.

  “What is it, Mickey?” she asked as if I suddenly needed permission to go into her office.

  “Is it okay if I check something on the computer for a minute?” I asked, my voice shaking.

  For a moment she didn’t say anything. “Make it quick,” she finally said.

  I watched her walk away down the hall, dressed for work, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. She’d never been so icy to me before, hardly standing to look at or talk to me. It made me sick to my stomach. It made me start to reconsider my plan. I knew Mom wouldn’t approve—today she wouldn’t approve of me doing anything other than sitting quietly in my room and thinking about what I had done. But I really felt like I could not only fix things with Eve, but maybe help Mom understand why I’d done it in the first place. Maybe.

  I went into the office and logged onto the computer. I was pretty sure Eve had mentioned that the commercial was being shot at a warehouse in town. I checked the local news sites, thinking maybe they had reported on it, then I Googled Bunny Jenkins. I found an interview she’d done for Warpath of Doom, and—bam!—she mentioned they’d be shooting at the warehouse at the end of Camden Way.

  I gathered up all the makeup and supplies I’d found last night and put them in a plastic toolbox I never used because I never exactly had a reason to travel with a makeup kit . . . until now, anyway.

  Mom hadn’t actually told me I was grounded. I guess it was kind of understood, but she hadn’t said the words. It was that tiny loophole that gave me a fraction of hope that I could leave home for just a little while and go for a stroll that just might take me to the warehouse. Once I heard Mom’s car leave the driveway, I made a run for it.

  “Bye, Dad! Going for a walk!” I yelled to him somewhere in the house. Then I quickly closed the front door behind me. I had just snuck out of the house for the first time in my life.

  I didn’t know what time the commercial would start shooting, but I hoped I’d get lucky—and I did. From two blocks away I could see white trailers lining the street and tons of people—some were standing around, some were carrying equipment into the old warehouse. People in all-white bodysuits with powdered-pale faces and white slicked-back hair walked around the set, and I assumed they were aliens. But then I spotted someone standing alone off to the side. This particular alien was dressed in the same white bodysuit but was wearing a Red Sox baseball hat, her hair tucked up inside. I recognized that hat. It was Jonah’s. I felt a shock of anxiety, knowing that if she were wearing that ratty hat, her hair must be worse than I thought.

  I started toward Eve and when she saw me, she started shaking her head and backing away like I was coming after her with an ax—or a pair of scissors.

  “Eve, come on. Wait,” I called.

  “I can’t deal with you now, Mickey,” she said, still slowly backing up. She looked over her shoulder as if checking her getaway strategy.

  I picked up speed before she could run off. “Please! I just want to help.” At first I thought she was going to spring off in the other direction, but she didn’t. She suddenly came back at me with equal force, storming toward me. I stopped in my tracks, bracing myself.

  “You ruined everything!” she said, a blue vein bulging in her forehead. “Everything was fine when I was being dressed in war
drobe—I actually thought I could get away with this.” She pointed to her hatcovered head. “But then Bunny took one look at my hair and acted like I was some creature who had just crawled out of the sewer. It was like she couldn’t even speak except to tell me to leave the hair and makeup trailer immediately.”

  “Oh my gosh, Eve . . .”

  “She was all, ‘Eve, why would you do that to yourself?’ And what was I supposed to say? That I was stupid for letting you get anywhere near me? You streaked my hair blue.”

  As angry as she was, she also looked like she was on the verge of crying. “I have an idea!” I cried.

  “Oh, that’s super,” she said. “Since your ideas always turn out so great.”

  It was like a good old-fashioned pow! Right in the kisser! That comment stung. I did have some good ideas. Hello—Be Gorgeous, anyone?!

  Eve had every right to be mad at me. So I sucked up my own hurt feelings and said, “Eve, I’m so sorry about your hair. If I could take my own hair and put it on your head, I totally would.”

  She looked at me like she was actually considering something along those lines. “You’re sorry?” she said. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here? Yesterday when I finally made it to my fitting—which I was late for, by the way—I was able to keep my hat on and Bunny wasn’t around. No one noticed a thing. But today—I can’t believe I even bothered showing up. Complete disaster!”

  “I know, Eve. But listen, I think I can help.”

  “My hair is blue,” she said. “Even your mom couldn’t fix it because she was afraid my hair would disintegrate or something if she tried.”

  “But maybe we can use that hair color to your advantage,” I tried, opening my tool kit to show the magazine pictures I’d brought.

  “Mickey, you’re not getting it. They’re not letting me be in the commercial anymore. They hired me partly because of my blond hair, and how white it was. Was,” she stated, angrily brushing tears away. “I was really excited about being in this commercial. But now it’s all a bust, so thanks a lot.” She sniffled, wiped her nose, and looked longingly at the actors who were still part of the commercial. “Could you please just leave me alone, Mickey?”