This Girl Isn't Shy, She's Spectacular

by Nina Beck

  “I want to be less perfect,” Sam said.

  “Well, wearing those sneakers and jeans is a really good start,” Riley said.

  “Ha-ha,” Sam said, then stuck out her tongue at Riley. “I didn’t get into the UCLA writing program.”

  Riley dropped her muffin. “What? But your grades…your extracurriculars…they were…”

  “Perfect,” Sam finished for her. “The problem was, my writing sample wasn’t.”

  “But I read it and thought it was great.”

  “Well,” Sam said, looking into her cup of tea, “apparently they thought differently. They said it lacked personality.”

  “What? What does that mean?”

  “It means they want me to write something from experience, something more me, so that I can make it more exciting.”

  “But that sample, that character, was you.”

  Samantha flinched.

  “I mean…”

  “No, no, it’s OK. I understand exactly what you mean,” Sam said, taking a deep breath. “Which is why I need your help.”

  Riley paused, motioning for Sam to continue.

  “I made a list of things that I haven’t done in the past four years, things I want to do this year…and some of it I can’t…”

  “Of course I’ll help!” Riley said, bouncing up and down in her seat. “This is going to be so great! What’s on the list? Can I see the list? Is a haircut on the list, because that would be so perfect…I mean, so wonderful!”

  Samantha touched her hair, which was pulled back into a big puffy ponytail at the back of her head. “Um, well, number one is that I tried to never change, and so I guess…”

  Riley took a deep breath. “Makeover?”

  Sam nodded slightly.

  Riley’s face broke into a deep, deep grin, and she grabbed Samantha’s hand from across the table. “This will be so perfect.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Two hours later, Riley was standing behind Samantha’s chair in a very posh salon called, ironically, The Salon. It was on the Upper West Side and looked like nothing special from the outside of the building, but Riley swore by it. She also had to swear a lot to get them inside of it, because the receptionist kept standing by the fact that they were completely booked up until March.

  Riley had said a few choice words (Black AmEx were two of them) that had the receptionist put her on hold, and a few minutes later she asked the fabulous Ms. Swain to stop by with her friend at their earliest convenience.

  Riley had introduced Samantha to her “favorite hairdresser ever,” a short, skinny man who called himself Eduardo, who—Samantha had noticed—had the worst fake accent ever. Plus, Sam was pretty sure she heard one of the hair washers call him Eddie.

  “I’m thinking a little more Katie Holmes and a little less Posh Spice,” Riley said, speaking as if Samantha weren’t even there.

  “Katie Spice?” Eduardo said with a strangely mixed accent that was a quarter Spanish, three-quarters Queens, and just a hint of fake British on top. “I love it. I do it!”

  “Yay!” Riley cried, smiling at him in the mirror, fluffing Samantha’s red hair from behind, making it puffier and frizzier than it already was.

  “My hair won’t do that,” Sam said, staring at herself in the large mirror. She looked like a disembodied head in the large black gown that was tied up around her chin. A big disembodied head with a rat’s nest of red hair on top of it.

  “Eduardo can make hair do anything,” Riley assured her. Eduardo nodded in agreement as he began plugging in an assortment of dryers, curlers, irons, and electric razors.

  “I will make you into the Mona Lisa,” Eduardo said.

  “The Mona Lisa had long hair,” Samantha said hopefully.

  “And a really wide jaw,” Riley said, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.

  “You’ve got such a sweet face,” Eduardo said, grasping her chin in his fingers to turn it this way and that. “A short haircut really complements.”

  “And ‘shorter’ really means cutting almost eight inches of hair off the back of my head?” Sam whined. “It took me almost twelve years to get it this long. I never cut it.”

  Riley made a face and Samantha looked at herself hard in the mirror.

  Samantha kept staring, hoping perhaps for a revelation to make itself known. Like God would set a bush on fire so that it could tell her exactly what to do. The only thing close to a burning bush was the big frizzy mess of hair that Eduardo was currently trying to tame with a hair pick.

  “Cut it,” Sam decided. “Do it, fast, before I can change my mind.”

  “Eduardo!” Riley cried, and then moved to hold Sam’s hand.

  Eduardo pulled all of Sam’s hair back from her face, holding it with one hand in a fistful of ponytail, and with one clean cut of his very sharp scissors, off it came.

  Twelve years. Eight inches. Samantha felt her eyes well up.

  Change was painful.

  “It’s done!” Eduardo yelled, holding the ponytail high above his head. An older, more matronly woman sitting in the chair next to Sam’s leaned over and patted Sam’s arm, saying, “Good for you.”

  The rest of the salon clapped; the hair washers hooted as Samantha did her best to blink away her tears and remain smiling. That is, until she looked in the mirror.

  Eduardo heard her gasp and quickly turned her chair around. “No, no, darling. Not yet. Not until you’re all done.” He readjusted her gown while Riley walked away to take a phone call. “It’s like—you know—it’s like they say…‘Don’t look down.’ It will only scare you. Better to wait.”

  “But don’t people always look down?” Sam pointed out.

  “Yes, and what does this do?”

  “Makes them realize the precariousness of their position and makes them wonder what kind of idiots they were to come to New York months before graduation in a stupid attempt to change their life before it was too late?” she asked, on the verge of a panic attack.

  “Mmm-hmm. Exactly.” Eduardo patted the top of her head, before jerking her chair back so Sam was lying prone (and terrified), as Eduardo pulled foils out of his apron and began sectioning off Sam’s hair and painting them with color.

  “Just trust me, mon cherie, this will be superb.”

  Samantha simply nodded and didn’t have the heart to tell him that his French was simply awful.

  Sam did have to admit that The Salon was wonderful. The hair washers all sat and spoke with her when she was waiting for the hair dye to do its thing, and she loved hearing all the gossip about the place, the way that everyone worked together and seemed to have their lives intertwine. It was a very nice place. The walls were painted a bright orange and there were large mirrors with gilded frames hanging everywhere. It was charming and chic—and Sam had ample time to observe all this as two hours later, she was still in the same chair, but by now Eduardo was using a small hair iron.

  It looked like a small set of black tongs, and he was using it to iron out small sections of hair, bit by bit. It let off a gust of steam whenever Eduardo released her hair, which didn’t seem to worry anyone but her. She kept trying to signal to Riley, who was too busy telling Eduardo about Eric to note whether Sam’s hair was going to fall out from excessive burning.

  “It’s just that he’s so far away and he can only visit once a month!” Riley said to Eduardo. Sam was happy that she didn’t have to respond; she had already heard this entire spiel. Twice, each day—ever since Riley returned to Manhattan after having started dating Sam’s friend Eric, the son of the New Horizons headmistress.

  Sam soon realized that Riley wasn’t really complaining, she just needed something to be dramatic over, so Sam let her talk.

  “How about you, mes pétit?”

  Sam cringed at his incorrect French.

  “Do you have anyone special?” Eduardo asked her.

  Samantha shook her head. There was no one…and immediately she heard Pete Bryant’s deep voice in her
head saying her life (not just her writing) was shy and boring.

  “Not yet,” Riley said.

  “Not yet,” Eduardo repeated. “But once the boys see you with this new haircut, they won’t be able to keep themselves away. They will be hungry for you!”

  Riley nodded, looking up from her phone, where she was probably texting Eric something amazingly sentimental and goofy.

  Samantha just smiled at Eduardo.

  “Oh, I see,” he said. “You don’t believe Eduardo. But I tell you. You will fall in love. I know. I’m…how do they say…?”

  “Psychic,” Riley threw out.

  “Yes, that’s it! I am psychic,” Eduardo said, pulling another small section of hair between the iron. “And I predict that this will be the most amazing haircut you’ve ever had and that you will meet the boy of your dreams.”

  Samantha did her best to smile politely even though she didn’t believe a word Eduardo was saying. Really? A psychic hairdresser?

  But he was at least half right: By the time he was finished and had turned her around in her chair to look in the mirror, Samantha had to admit it was the most amazing haircut she had ever had. It was sleek and soft looking, it swished when she shook her head back and forth, and all she wanted to do was touch it over and over again.

  “Stop touching it,” Eduardo said, shooing her hands away and smoothing it down with something that made it shiny and glisteny.

  “My hair is shiny!” Samantha said, pointing in the mirror. Riley rolled her eyes but Eduardo smiled and gave her shoulders a little squeeze.

  Riley surveyed the finished style while Samantha smiled at herself in the mirror. “Beautiful work, Eduardo. As usual!” They kissed each other on the cheek, and called each other “darling,” as Riley slipped him a tip and left The Salon to make a “few more stops that were necessary to the makeover process.”

  Samantha took a deep breath to steel herself against the things to come. She knew makeovers were supposed to be fun, so she concentrated on keeping the smile plastered on her face while she ignored the nervous whirl in the pit of her stomach.

  D TRIES TO CHANGE TOO, BUT KEEPS THE SAME HAIRCUT

  That night, D was lying flat on his back staring at Riley’s bedroom ceiling. She had taped a blown-up picture of Eric there, which not only creeped D out a little but severely clashed with the rest of her room.

  The rest of her room was done in beautiful shades of beige with a big fluffy white bed in the middle of the room (which was currently littered with empty bags from every large department store in the city). The room seemed at odds with Riley’s personality, which was so loud and vibrant, but it actually fit her perfectly if you knew her. It was warm, a touch traditional, and very cozy.

  “So you just have to be good?” Riley asked.

  “Not just ‘be good,’ I need to do things differently. I have to behave,” D said. “And I need your help.”

  Riley coughed. “I’m not exactly the most well-behaved girl you know.”

  “I know, but you also know me better than anyone else.” D shifted onto one elbow so he could look at her. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll keep me on the straight and narrow.”

  Riley looked at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Dead serious.”

  Riley thought about it for a moment. “OK, sure. I can do that.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  D stood up. “I don’t know, help me become someone else?”

  Riley laughed. “Um, well, I can try.”

  “I guess I just need help remembering that I need to stay away from the things in my life that I’m always making bad choices about.”

  “Like?”

  “You know: parties, alcohol, girls.”

  “You want to give those up?”

  “Want to? No. Have to, Riley. Have to. I need to get serious about school. I can’t just…keep living the life that my father wants me to live…I need to be the person I need to be, not the person he needs me to be.” D stood and looked around Riley’s room, which was still covered in bags and packaging from Samantha’s shopping the day before. “Did you go shopping?”

  “Actually,” Riley said, kneeling on the bed and surveying the mess that was her room, “these aren’t mine.”

  “Likely story.”

  “No, seriously, I’m helping another friend.”

  “With Gucci?”

  “Is there any better form of help?”

  D shrugged. “What did this person need help with?”

  “She wanted a life change too.”

  “Oh? Aren’t you little Ms. Life Change Guru lately?”

  “Yes, I’m thinking about getting business cards,” she said, stepping gingerly onto the floor, weaving her way around the bags, hangers, and open boxes. “Riley Swain, Life Changer.”

  “That would be an understatement.” D saw Riley smiling at him, but he was distracted: He still wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life, but he knew that it wasn’t right just to go through the motions. He used to have a lot of dreams (OK, so they mostly consisted of becoming a rock star), but lately? Lately, he needed more than dreams, he needed a plan.

  “OK, so it’ll be my job to keep you away from those bad influences.”

  “Basically.”

  “Done!” Riley said. “Now, will you take me out shopping? All these sad, empty bags are making me depressed.”

  D raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should keep you away from bad influences.”

  “D—if I was in any way susceptible to ‘bad influences’ I’d surely ask for your assistance. Until then, all I need is for you to hold my purse while I try things on and tell me I look absolutely fabulous.”

  “You can’t just use one of the attendants or even a mirror?”

  “They lie.”

  “The attendants or the mirrors?”

  “Both. Equally.”

  “Fine, but I have to be home by five.”

  “What?” Riley asked, stopping short.

  “School starts tomorrow. I thought I might have a quiet dinner and then go to bed.”

  Riley snorted. D shrugged and then gestured toward the door before following Riley out of the room.

  #2 STAY OUT ALL NIGHT

  It was the night before her first day at a new school and Samantha knew she would never get to sleep. She sat in her room for most of the evening, full of nervous energy, scribbling in her journal, trying to come up with a good idea for her new writing sample, but the only result was stick figures on the corners of the pages, which only served to add to her frustration.

  Her parents had each come in to “tuck her in,” as they called it, around eleven. Sam was slightly bemused by the fact that they still thought she was a little kid. But Sam realized that the last time she had had a first day of school at home, she had been closer to seven than seventeen, as she was now. But Sam just hoped they didn’t try to walk her to school the next morning.

  Figuring she’d never get to sleep before midnight, she flipped open her phone and texted Riley.

  >#2 on my list: Stay out all night. Any ideas?

  Riley texted back right away:

  >I have the perfect plan.

  When Samantha got off the phone, she snuck out of her room and walked down the hall to her brother’s room to knock gently on the door.

  “Are you decent?” she called.

  “Yeah, why are you whispering?”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  “Nah,” Andrew said, opening the door and walking out. “Dad sleeps like the dead, snores too…so Mom wears earplugs. You’re safe. Just wait until they go to bed.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, I forget there are things you would’ve missed, being away at school all this time.” Andrew shucked his hair out of his eyes and sat down in the chair at the desk, and began sifting through the desk drawers. Samantha looked at her brother, who looked more like their dad, while Sam
looked like their mom. Andrew had their father’s dark hair that fell in curly locks around his eyes, and he had the same baby face. He was a cute kid, average height, and still sorta gangly.

  Andrew went to a magnet school in the city—he had left all his friends in middle school to go to a special art and design school in Midtown, but he loved his classes and loved his teachers, so he always said it was worth it.

  Samantha wondered if he regretted it—leaving his friends and starting all over at a new school for his freshman year—or rather she wondered if she’d regret leaving all her friends at her old school… Were they more similar than Sam thought?

  “So have you ever tried to sneak out?”

  “Not really. I mean, once or twice,” he said, his head dipping down until his chin rested against his chest. “I used to go see this poet do this spoken word poetry thing.”

  Samantha stopped. “You snuck out to see poetry?”

  Andrew blushed again.

  “OK, well, that’s cool,” she said. “I need to sneak out tonight, I’m meeting Riley.”

  “Mom and Dad would probably just—”

  “That’s not the point. I…I need to do this,” Sam said.

  Andrew just nodded, and Sam figured she had a pretty cool brother, especially when he started to explain the trick of sneaking out of the Owens’ residence.

  “Where are you going anyway?”

  “Um, Riley is bringing me to a club.”

  “You’re going to drink?” Andrew perked up. Sam had the sneaking suspicion that her younger brother was a bit of an innocent (much like herself) and wondered if she should lie so he’d think she was cooler.

  “Nah, honestly I can’t even drink that stuff without making the dumbest faces.”

  He laughed. “Me too. I drank a beer last year and threw up.”

  “Ew.”

  “Yeah, seriously.”

  “Well, I better get ready…”

  “Yeah.” Andrew stood up and looked around the room. “I’m glad you’re back. I mean, it’s nice having my big sister here.”