“It says here that in forty-five minutes, you’ll have the lavish colour you always dreamed of,” Shenice said, peering at the instruction sheet in her hand. “You did do a sensitivity test, didn’t you?”
We were sandwiched into Molly’s bathroom. The contents of the highlighting kit were laid out on the windowsill and I had a greying old towel wrapped around my shoulders. Molly had a plastic brush thing in one hand and what looked suspiciously like a crochet hook in the other. Shenice was in charge of reading the instructions to make sure we followed them to the letter.
I nodded and held back my hair for her to check. “Yep, behind my ear two days ago. I didn’t have a reaction to any of the ingredients.”
“Good. I read this story about a woman who hadn’t done a patch test and she was allergic.” Shenice paused and lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “SHE DIED.”
Molly waved the crochet hook. “This looks like those things the Egyptians used to pull your brains out of your nose once you were dead.”
I took it off her. “I’m not letting you anywhere near me with that. It says the plastic applicator gives bolder, more striking results. Besides, you’d probably impale my head with it.”
Shenice finished studying the sheet of paper and pulled on the rubber gloves. “Right. Are you ready?”
She screwed the plastic applicator onto the bottle of bleachy-smelling liquid and passed it to Molly, who was wearing a pair of bright-yellow Marigolds she’d found under the sink.
“I hope you don’t clean the loo wearing those,” I said.
Molly sniffed, then shrugged. “From the smell coming out of this bottle, I don’t think you need to worry about stray bacteria from the loo.” She adopted a gravelly voice. “RADIANT BLONDE HIGHLIGHT KIT kills all known germs dead.”
Shenice checked the time. “Okay, let’s get started. Commence OPERATION BLONDE BOMBSHELL.”
The first gloop of cold gel on my scalp stung a bit. By the time all the dye had been applied, my head was burning. “Erm…is it meant to hurt?”
Shenice consulted the instructions. “It says a tingling sensation might be experienced.”
That was some tingle. But no pain, no gain. Carefully, I tipped my head to check my watch. “Right. How long do I need to leave it on for?”
Molly checked the stopwatch on her phone, frowning. “Well according to this, you’ve got three minutes left but that can’t be right because we only just applied the stuff to the back of your head.”
Shenice turned the sheet of paper over. “It says here to leave for no longer than forty-five minutes. Maybe it works faster on the back bits.”
All three of us studied my reflection in the mirror. A trickle of dye was snaking towards my chin and my forehead looked like I had an OOMPA-LOOMPA somewhere in my family tree. My hair itself was a mass of slimy mud-coloured strands plastered to my head. Overall, it wasn’t a look that screamed glamour and sophistication.
“So we’ll give it a little bit longer, then?” I ventured, wiping away the streak on my cheek and hoping the distinct orangey line would vanish with soap and water.
Molly snapped off her gloves. “Come on. Let’s have a game of SINGSTAR while we wait.”
By the time we’d trooped into her room and each sung a song, twenty minutes had gone by and we were all itching (in my case, quite literally) to see the results of our handiwork. Back in the bathroom, I tipped my head upside down over the bath and waited while my personal beauticians rinsed the dye away.
“Well?” I demanded, once the water had stopped cascading over my ears. “How does it look?”
There was a long silence.
“Well, the packet does say it gives MULTI-TONAL HIGHLIGHTS,” Shenice said eventually, and her voice only quavered a little bit.
“Shenice, they’re GINGER,” I heard Molly hiss. “And those ones at the front look GREEN.”
Suddenly filled with a sense of impending doom, I leaped up and stared at my reflection. Sure enough, there were several different colours highlighting my previously ordinary hair, ranging from DIRTY GREYISH BLONDE through to an unmistakeable POND-SLUDGE GREEN. But that wasn’t the worst of it; on the crown of my head, the highlights merged together to form a huge, uneven blob of brassy orange. It looked like someone had smashed an egg onto my skull. I let out a HORROR-STRUCK WAIL and covered my eyes. “Make it go away!”
Shenice dabbed at my head with a towel, her face pale. “It’s probably the light in here. I’m sure it’ll look better once your hair is dry.”
I peered out through my fingers, hoping it wasn’t as bad as it had looked, then clamped my eyes shut again – if anything, it was worse. And to top it all, Molly’s mum must have heard my scream and had come up to investigate. She thudded on the bathroom door. “What’s going on in there?”
“Don’t let her in,” I begged Molly in a whisper. “She can’t see me like this!”
“Nothing,” Molly called out, sounding panicky even to my dye-stained ears. “We’re getting ready for bed, that’s all.”
“Don’t give me that rubbish, Molly, it’s only eight-thirty,” her mum replied, her voice ringing with suspicion. “Open the door, please. I want to know what that smell is.”
Molly threw me a SORROWFUL LOOK but I knew she had no choice. She reached over and tugged back the bolt. The door swung open to reveal Mrs Papadopoulos standing on the landing. She took one look at my stricken head and put both hands to her mouth.
“I knew you were up to no good. Your mother is going to kill you.” Her eyes took in the state of the bathroom. Globules of dye adorned every surface, including the toilet bowl. “And if she doesn’t, I will!”
Chapter Nine
The plan was to get home early and sneak upstairs without anyone seeing me on Saturday morning. But Molly’s mum had already sent an apologetic text to mine, explaining she’d had no idea what we were doing until it was too late, so there was the exact opposite of a welcoming committee awaiting me when I pushed back the front door and stepped into our hallway.
“Cassidy Bond, get in here. Now.”
Mum sounded so grim that I knew ignoring her was not an option. I’d have to try to brazen it out. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the living-room door.
“Hey,” I said, as innocently as I could manage. “What’s up?”
“Cold out, is it?” Dad asked, gesturing at the RED BOBBLE HAT I had jammed down over my ears.
“It is October,” I pointed out, defensively. “There’s a bit of a nip in the air, since you ask.”
Mum looked on in stony silence. Dad eyed me sympathetically.
“Better just to get it over with, Cassie,” he said kindly. “Like tearing off a plaster.”
There was no escape. Feeling hunted, I reluctantly reached for my head.
Mum’s face was a PICTURE OF HORROR when I pulled off Molly’s hat and my TECHNICOLOURED hair tumbled out. Dad, on the other hand, burst out laughing. Liam almost spat his drink everywhere.
“What have you done to yourself, you idiot girl?” Mum demanded in a strangled tone, once she’d recovered the power of speech.
I thought it was pretty obvious what I’d done but perhaps now wasn’t the time for sarcasm. “It didn’t look like this on the box.”
That sent Dad off into a fresh gale of laughter. Mum threw him an exasperated look. “If you want to do something useful, you can go and fetch the scissors. It’s going to have to come off.”
Liam let out a GLEE-FILLED CACKLE as Dad went to the kitchen. I felt every last drop of blood drain from my face. Was she being serious?
“I th-thought we could j-just dye it again,” I stammered, searching her set expression for the faintest hint she was winding me up as part of my punishment.
She laid a protective hand over her bump, frowning. “I can’t. Even with gloves on, it wouldn’t be good for the babies.” Casting a critical eye over my hair, she sighed. “Besides, it would need a professional hairdresser to sort that mess out and we simply cannot
afford it. Better to cut it as short as we can and let the rest grow out.”
“I’ll do it,” Liam offered, grinning. “I can use my clippers. I reckon she’d look good with an all-over grade one.”
The problem was that I couldn’t tell if Mum and Liam were serious. My lower lip began to WOBBLE at the thought of turning up at school on Monday with no hair. I’d be a laughing stock.
Dad’s voice drifted through from the kitchen. “Cassie, come here and help me look.”
Blinking back tears, I trudged past my cruel mother and sadistic brother.
“If you love me at all, you’ll make sure she cuts my entire head off,” I told Dad miserably. “It would be kinder.”
He patted me on the shoulder. “It’s not that bad. I’ve got a LOVELY ELVIS WIG you can borrow if you want to?”
Fresh tears threatened to spill down my cheeks. “Dad!” I wailed. “You’re not helping!”
“Sorry,” he said, and his amusement faded a bit. He jangled the car keys in front of my face. “Why don’t we sneak out the back and see if any of the hairdressers in town can fit you in?”
It’s not often I am moved to physical contact where my parents are concerned but I threw my arms around Dad and hugged him. “Yes. YES! Let’s go!”
Grinning, he ruffled MY TORTURED HAIR and, for once, I didn’t try to squirm out of the way.
“Just do me one favour, Cassie,” he said as I followed him out of the back door.
Here it came – the KILLER CONDITION which meant I’d be washing his car for the rest of my days or bringing him tea and toast in bed every weekend for all eternity. “Yes?”
He tugged Molly’s bobble hat out of my hand, chuckling. “Wear this and keep your head down, eh?”
Mum would be furious when she realized where we’d gone, but by then it would be too late for her to wield the CLIPPERS OF DOOM. Maybe today wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.
Chapter Ten
I never thought I’d say this but my dad officially ROCKS. Not only did he manage to find a hairdresser who could sort out my DISASTROUS HAIR, he took me to one who actually managed to make me look better than I’ve ever done before. And he paid the HIDEOUSLY EXPENSIVE bill without a single comment, which somehow made me feel even guiltier. I will have to find some way to repay him.
It turns out I wasn’t born to be a blonde, as I’d always thought. Underneath my mousy brown lurked a glossy brunette and all it took was an hour and a half with Sheryl from Hair Apparent on Peascod Street to bring it out. She also snipped the damaged straggly bits into cute flicky-out layers. I couldn’t stop checking them out and even Mum grudgingly admitted that it looked good.
“Not that you deserve it,” she sniffed over our Sunday roast. “By rights, you should be BALDER than DUNCAN GOODHEW.”
I don’t know why she expects any of us to know who these people are. Even Dad doesn’t recognize some of the names she comes out with. Sometimes I think she makes them up. And what kind of mother wants her daughter to be bald, anyway? The pregnancy hormones are turning her into the EVIL QUEEN from SNOW WHITE.
Dad caught my eye and winked at me over her head. I smiled back and we had this odd flash of understanding. It comes to something when your dad gets you better than your mum. The next thing I know, Liam will be telling me he’s got my back. HA HA HA HA.
As though reading my mind, Liam frowned at me. “Your hair reminds me of someone but I can’t work out who it is.” He thought for a minute, then snapped his fingers and grinned. “Got it – Rolo!”
Huh, that was a bit rich coming from someone with a fringe like an old English sheepdog. But the new improved Cassidy Bond is a CLASSY GIRL and she doesn’t trade insults with moronic older brothers. So I simply smiled and imagined myself shaving his eyebrows off while he slept.
When I got upstairs, I looked Duncan Goodhew up and discovered that he is some swimmer from centuries ago who had no hair at all, not even any eyebrows or eyelashes. I cannot believe Mum would have made me look like him just to prove a point. If she thinks I am making her breakfast in bed next Mother’s Day, she can forget it.
I bet EINSTEIN’S mother never threatened to shave his head.
School on Monday was such a BUZZ. Girls I’d never spoken to before stopped me to ask where I’d got my hair done and, rather scarily, a Year Ten boy WOLF-WHISTLED at me and his mate HOWLED like a dog. I think it was meant to be a compliment but it made me feel a bit weird. I mean, this must be what it’s like to be popular – you’re never invisible. It wasn’t so bad once I’d got used to it, although I could do without the peculiar boy behaviour.
In fact, I’m almost glad the highlight kit went so spectacularly wrong. And I owe Dad big time for saving me from the clippers. Molly and Shenice reckon Mum wouldn’t have gone through with it. I’m not so sure.
Molly’s OBSESSION with my PIG OF A BROTHER seems to be getting worse. She spent almost her entire lunch break today handing out WOLF BRETHREN flyers and begging people to like their Facebook page. Shenice agrees with me that Liam is just using her but doesn’t have any idea what to do to open her eyes. If my story about him chewing his own toenails didn’t put her off, I don’t know what will. I’m pretty sure Liam and his mates are making jokes behind her back, too, but they’re tolerating her while she’s useful. It’s all going to end in tears once SJGHT is over and you can bet your Converse they won’t be my brother’s.
The thing is, it kind of feels like Molly is doing her own fair share of using at the moment. The first thing she asks when I invite her over is whether Liam is home and she spends all her time distracted, jumping every time a door opens like she’s waiting to catch a glimpse of him. Shenice says we should say something but I don’t want to antagonize her. An angry Molly is a SCARY thing. With a bit of luck, Liam will do something extraordinarily gross soon and she’ll wonder what she ever saw in him.
I had BUTTERFLIES in my tummy when I pushed open the door of the library for the first meeting of the quiz team after school. What would Nathan make of the new me? Would he even notice? And what would the other team members be like?
“Ah, there you are, Cassie,” Mr Bearman called. “Come and take a seat, and meet the rest of TEAM ST JUDE’S.”
Trying to ignore the fluttering inside me, I sat down at the table. There were four of us – Nathan, me and another boy and girl I didn’t know. Both of the other kids looked serious. The girl had tiny black-rimmed glasses and a really severe ponytail. The boy looked so intense that I wouldn’t mind betting he did Sudoku in his sleep, and I’m not talking about the easy ones.
“This is Rebecca, and this is Bilal.” Mr Bearman introduced each of them. “And, of course, you already know Nathan.”
Nathan smiled. “Cassie is our secret weapon against Royal Windsor Prep,” he told the other two and I cringed inside, thinking about my mum’s less-than-complimentary comments at the weekend. But Rebecca and Bilal couldn’t have any idea about my scatty behaviour or embarrassing secret. All they saw was an asset to the team. Hopefully, with really great hair.
Rebecca nodded a blank-faced greeting. “We were just about to divide up the areas for revision,” she said, pen poised over a thick notebook. “What’s your specialist subject?”
Now there was a question no one had ever asked me before. I suppose I was meant to say something highbrow, like the ROMAN EMPIRE or ELEMENTS OF THE PERIODIC TABLE, but my mind went blank and I blurted out the first thing that came into it. “Er… Harry Potter?”
Rebecca’s pen hovered over the page as she stared at me and I thought about cracking a “Just kidding!” smile. But Mr Bearman was nodding hard.
“Always handy to have a reader on the team,” he said in a cheerful tone. “There’s bound to be a question or two about He Who Must Not Be Named in the literature round.”
Rebecca dropped her gaze and began to write. I heaved a sigh of relief and decided I should probably start reading the books again. Or at least watch the films. The last thing I wanted to do
was show myself up in front of Nathan. Rebecca’s specialist subject was MYTHOLOGY and Bilal was some kind of NATURAL HISTORY expert, whatever that is. Nathan said he was more of an ALL-ROUNDER and I could have kicked myself. Why didn’t I think of that?
Mr Bearman explained that the quiz is split into rounds against local schools, with a regional heat which leads to the national final. In our first official outing as a team, we’ll be up against twelve other schools, including the scary-sounding Royal Windsor, and that is just after half-term – only five weeks away. As well as our weekly Monday after-school sessions, he suggested we try to meet up in the half-term holiday to go over practice tests and identify any last-minute weaknesses.
“So where are we going to meet?” Nathan asked. “Anyone got any ideas?”
Before anyone else could speak, my hand was in the air. “You can come over to my house,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as pathetically keen as I felt. “As long as you don’t mind dogs.”
Mr Bearman looked pleased. “Thanks, Cassie. Perhaps you could check that it’s okay with your parents and let the others know?”
I nodded, hoping Mum wouldn’t mind them coming over. She’d never complained about having Molly and Shenice round in the past, but she’d be even more pregnant by then and her moods were unpredictable enough now. Maybe she wouldn’t want a houseful, even if it was for the good of my education. I’d have to do something with Rolo, too. He’d probably try to eat one of the others if I didn’t think of somewhere for him to go.
The meeting wrapped up shortly after that. As we were leaving, Nathan fell into step beside me. “Thanks for offering to have us round your house,” he said. “I’m really glad you’re on the team.”
Completely Cassidy – Accidental Genius (Completely Cassidy #1) Page 4
