by Betsy Haynes
Of course I understood a thing like that. I nodded, but I couldn't speak around the lump in my throat.
"Then Officer Martin talked to someone in the department who is handling Ashley's case and called me back. She said that they understand how special Ashley is to you, and they have agreed that you can come to the police station Saturday afternoon at two o'clock. They'll bring Ashley from her foster home, and you'll be able to see her then."
"Whoopee!" I shrieked, zooming into Mom's open arms and hugging her tightly. "Oh, Mom. You've got to come with me. You've got to see Ashley. She's the most beautiful baby in the world."
"I think we can arrange that." Mom was pretending to be serious, but her eyes were shining as she looked down at me.
Then it was my turn to be serious. "What if they find Ashley's mother and she was the one who abused her? Will they give Ashley back to her?" I pulled out of Mom's arms and looked pleadingly at her. "They wouldn't, would they?"
Mom thought for a moment. "I'm sure they wouldn't. Not if they could prove she was the one who abused Ashley, but that might be hard to do. I suppose the court would have to decide. But let's not worry about that now," she said, brightening. "They haven't found her mother yet, and we are going to get to see her on Saturday."
"Okay," I promised. Then my spirits sagged again. "But this is only Wednesday. Anything could happen by then."
Something did happen later that evening, but it wasn't what I had expected. The phone rang about seven o'clock. I was doing my homework in my room, but Mom was watching TV on the sofa next to the phone, so she answered it. I thought it must have been for her since she didn't call me. I went on reading my social studies chapter and didn't pay much attention to what she was saying. A couple of minutes later she came tearing into my room.
"Jana! You'll never guess who was just on the phone." I looked at her blankly and shook my head.
"It was Marge Whitworth from the television station. She's the one who reported the story about you and Taffy on last night's news. She wants to interview both of you for TV!"
"Oh, my gosh! I don't believe it." By now I was standing up, dancing around my desk. "What did she say? Didn't she want to talk to me?"
"She will later, sweetheart. First she wanted to get my permission for you to be interviewed. Of course I said yes. I knew you'd love to do it. Then she said she'd check her schedule and get back to us to set up a time to tape the interview. It won't be part of the regular newscast. This will be a special feature story about you and Taffy as individuals. She'll talk to each of you about what you are like. How it felt to find an abandoned baby. Things like that. She called it the human-interest angle. Isn't this exciting? My little girl is going to be on TV!"
It was exciting. I had never dreamed of being on television in my whole life until this moment. Marge Whitworth called back a little later and talked to Mom again. She said that she would like me to be at the television station at four o'clock Saturday afternoon. Mom said we could go straight there from seeing Ashley. Saturday was going to be the most fabulous day of my life. I was not only going to get to see the most wonderful baby in the world again, I was going to be on TV! I was so excited I thought I'd die.
After I called the rest of The Fabulous Five and told them the great news, I spent the rest of the evening trying to imagine me—Jana Morgan—on TV. It was hard. I could get a picture in my mind of the television set and of Marge Whitworth reporting the news. I'd seen that tons of times. But every time I tried to visualize myself on the screen next to Ms. Whitworth, I went blank. I wondered what it would be like. My heart started to pound at the thought of it.
Of course, Taffy Sinclair had already been on television when she had had that teensy little part in the soap opera Interns and Lovers. But she didn't get to say anything. Still, I knew she would act like a big authority and try to tell me what to do. Well, I wouldn't let her get away with a thing like that. I would tell her where to get off!
Mom said Marge Whitworth was going to ask us questions about finding Ashley. I was already starting to get nervous. Would I have stage fright? Would I stutter or say the words wrong? And what about my hair? Even though Mom was letting me use her silver barrette, would the hole show anyway?
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Oh, Jana," squealed Beth, when I got to school the next morning. "I'm so jealous of you that I could just die. I'd give anything to be on TV!"
"Aren't you scared?" asked Melanie. She was the one who looked scared. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was sort of quivery. "When you look into that camera, you'll know that thousands—maybe even millions—of people will be watching."
"Oh brother." Katie moaned. "It's just a local newscast, and she'll probably only be on for a couple of minutes. It isn't as if she were going to be a star or anything."
"Well, I'd STILL be scared!" huffed Melanie.
"I am a little nervous," I confessed as we started walking toward the building. "I mean, it is my first time on television . . . not like SOME people we know." Just as my friends and I were exchanging knowing glances, Taffy Sinclair's icky sweet voice rang out from the crowd of sixth-graders just in front of us.
". . . and Marge Whitworth is going to interview ME on television and ask me all sorts of questions about finding baby Ashley. She's going to interview Jana, too, of course, about thinking she heard a kitten crying when it was really a baby." Taffy laughed as if she had just made the biggest joke in the world, and giggles swept through the crowd of kids.
Nobody had seen us walk up. We stopped when we heard Taffy's voice, and I just stood there for a moment feeling angry. How could she do this to me after what we had been through together? She was making me look like the world's biggest idiot in front of my class.
Just then I heard another voice. "Hey, Jana. Is it true that you're going to be on TV?" It was Randy Kirwan, walking by with his best friends, Scott Daly and Mark Peters. My hand flew up to my left ear, hiding the hole in my hair. Then I looked at him, and he was giving me his 1,000-watt smile.
"That's right," I said proudly. "We're going to tape the interview on Saturday afternoon, and it will be on television that night."
"Wow!" He had turned around and was walking backwards so that he could still look at me as he went past. "You're going to be famous!"
I wanted to say something cool, like, "Oh, it's nothing. Just a little television interview," but when I rehearsed it in my mind it sounded awfully phony so I just smiled back at him and sort of shrugged.
But Taffy Sinclair wasn't finished with me yet. She and Mona Vaughn were standing just outside the cafeteria door at noon. My friends had already gone in, but I had stopped by the drinking fountain and was hurrying to catch up. I could tell that Taffy and Mona were waiting for someone, but I didn't know at first that it was me. Just as I reached out to open the cafeteria door, Taffy stepped up.
"You aren't really going to appear on television with your hair like that, are you?" she asked smugly.
My hand shot up to cover my left ear. I was wearing Mom's barrette, and I had been confident that no one would notice the hole. "What do you mean 'like that'?" I demanded.
Her eyes narrowed. "You know exactly what I mean. You may not care what you look like, but I'll be mortified if you show up on the same program I'm on with hair over one ear and a hole over the other. You may think you can hide it by wearing that barrette, but you can't. It looks awful!"
"I thought I explained to you that this is the latest style! But I guess you just don't keep up with fashion." Then I stuck my nose into the air and marched into the cafeteria.
When I told my friends what Taffy had said, they got mad, too.
"The nerve of that Taffy Sinclair," Katie said between clenched teeth. "Who does she think she is, anyway?"
"You can't let her get away with a thing like that," said Christie.
"Yeah," said Beth. "What are you going to do?"
I looked blankly at Beth. "What am I going to do?" I echoed. "What CAN I do? I can't gro
w hair over my left ear by the day after tomorrow."
"No . . ." said Melanie slowly. "But there is something you could do. In fact, I'd be willing to help you."
"What's that?" I asked eagerly.
"Well," she said, studying me for a moment, "I think just a little trimming could even up the sides of your hair so that nobody would even notice the hole."
"Hey. She's right," said Beth. "I'll help."
"Me, too," offered Christie. "My aunt Helen is a beautician and fixing hair runs in our family."
"Great!" I said. "Can you guys come home with me after school? I can't wait to get this mess straightened out."
When we got to my apartment, my friends were all excited about trimming my hair. "Get the scissors and a towel and sit at the kitchen table," instructed Christie.
"I think we'd better spread some newspaper around the floor to catch the hair," said Katie.
"Hey, wait a minute," I said with a laugh. "You're just going to even up my hair. You're not going to shave my head." My friends all laughed too.
I got some newspapers, anyway, deciding it would be easier to catch bits of hair now than run the vacuum cleaner later. Then I got out the scissors, wrapped a pink bath towel around my shoulders, and sat down at the kitchen table.
"It was my idea so I get to go first," shouted Melanie.
"No fair," said Christie. "I'm the one with the natural talent. Remember? My aunt is a beautician."
I was starting to get nervous. "Come on. Somebody do something. Let's get this over with."
Melanie swooped forward and grabbed the scissors off the table before anyone else could get them. Then she pushed the right side of my face a little bit, tilting my head. "There," she said. "Hold that position."
"That's crooked," protested Beth. "One side will be longer than the other."
"No, it won't," insisted Melanie.
"Maybe I should look in a mirror while you do this," I offered. I was beginning to wonder if this had been such a super idea after all.
Melanie got a grief-stricken look on her face. "Don't you trust me?" she whispered.
I felt like a villain. I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I just shrugged and said, "Sure."
I didn't have to wait long. There was this incredibly loud WHACK! just beside my right ear.
"That's too short!" shrieked Beth even before a big glob of hair fell onto my shoulder. "You've cut it wrong. Here. Give me those scissors."
Grabbing the scissors away from Melanie and tilting my head the other direction, Beth began to cut in tiny snip-snip-snips on the left side.
"Why are you cutting there?" I demanded. "That's where the hole is."
"I told you that Melanie cut it too short," said Beth. "I'm just evening it up."
I was definitely starting to panic. "I think I ought to see it now," I insisted. "Somebody bring me a mirror."
"Take it easy, Jana," said Christie. "It's looking great. There are just a couple of spots that need working on. I know how to do it too. I've watched my aunt Helen cut hair hundreds of time. Give me the scissors now."
Reluctantly Beth handed Christie the scissors. There was another WHACK! and a huge chunk of hair dropped into the right side of my lap. "Whoops!" said Christie.
I thought I'd die. "Why did you say 'Whoops!'?" I cried. "I want to see my hair!" I struggled to get up, but four pairs of hands held me down.
"We aren't through yet," said Katie.
"Please, Jana," begged Melanie. "Don't look yet. Not until we're all finished. You'll like it. I promise."
My heart was pounding in an irregular beat, keeping time with the snip of the scissors. What were they doing to me? And why had I let them? I was dying to look at myself, but I was also afraid to. They had gotten awfully quiet as they passed the scissors back and forth, first one and then another cutting off a piece of my hair. Every so often they would stop, stand back, and look at me as if I were a bug under a microscope. Then they would start cutting again.
Finally they stopped and got into a sort of huddle like football players deciding which play to run next. Little tingles of fear raced up my spine. I wanted to ask them what they were talking about, but I couldn't. After a minute, they turned toward me. Not one of them was smiling.
"Uh . . ." Melanie began. "It really doesn't look TOO terrible."
"We did the best we could," added Beth.
I stood up. I let the towel fall from my shoulders without even thinking about all the hair dropping onto the floor. Then I raced into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. "My hair!" I shrieked. "You cut off all my hair!"
I didn't recognize the person staring back at me. Surely it wasn't me, the girl with dark brown hair to her shoulders. It wasn't even the girl with the hole in her hair. There was only a little stubble over each ear. The back was shorter too, chopped off in layers like upside-down stairsteps. It was the worst-looking haircut I had ever seen.
My friends were lined up behind me looking miserable.
"We're sorry," mumbled Katie. "We were only trying to help."
"I guess I didn't learn as much from watching my aunt Helen as I thought," Christie said.
"What are you going to do now?" asked Beth.
I leaned my forehead against the mirror and closed my eyes. "Chicken out," I whispered. "Taffy Sinclair can do the interview by herself. I'd absolutely die before I'd be seen on TV like this."
CHAPTER NINE
The first thing I did after my friends left was get a brown paper grocery bag from under the kitchen sink. Halfway up one side I cut eyeholes and slipped the bag over my head. Then I made a solemn promise to wear that bag for the rest of my life.
As Katie had said, my friends were only trying to help. But the truth of the matter was, they had ruined me. Destroyed my hair. Turned me into a freak. I could never show my face—or my hair—in public again.
Then I sat down at the kitchen table and stared into space, thinking about Taffy Sinclair. My friends couldn't have done anything to make her happier. Now she could go on television and say anything she wanted to about baby Ashley. She could tell the whole world that I was too stupid to know the difference between a kitten crying and a baby, and I wouldn't be there to set the story straight. Everyone would think I was a jerk.
Suddenly I heard Mom's key turn in the lock. I didn't know how I was going to tell her that I wasn't going to be on television. She had been so proud of me when Marge Whitworth called. I could only hope that she would understand.
"Hi, Jana," she said in her usual cheerful voice. "How was your . . ." Mom stopped in mid-sentence. I could see the instant surprise in her eyes when she saw me with the brown paper bag over my head. ". . . day?" she finished softly.
"Rotten," I grumbled. My voice echoed inside the bag.
Mom didn't say anything while she hung up her coat. I knew she was trying to figure out what to do next.
"Would you like to talk about it?" she asked.
"No." That wasn't really the truth, but I still didn't know what to say.
Mom nodded as if to say that she understood and came into the kitchen. She got out two tall glasses, filled them with instant tea, water, and ice cubes. "Care to join me?" she asked casually as she sat down across from me and held a glass out toward me.
It was getting awfully stuffy inside that paper bag, and I hadn't taken time for a snack or a drink when I had gotten home. I mumbled thank-you and took the iced tea from her. Suddenly the hand holding the glass stopped in midair. I had cut eye holes but no mouth hole. How was I going to drink my iced tea? Or eat my dinner? I thought about pushing the glass up inside the bag, but that wouldn't work. Even if I got it up to my mouth, how would I tip it far enough to take a drink without punching a hole in the bag?
Sighing, I set the glass back down on the table. "I have a problem. And I've made up my mind, so don't try to talk me out of it. I'm not going to be on TV."
Mom dumped a packet of artificial sweetener into her tea and stirred it before she said anything.
"And does this problem have anything to do with the hole in your hair?"
"It's worse than that!" The tears that had been threatening to flood my eyes ever since my friends left came bursting through as if a dam had broken. "Just LOOK!" I sobbed as I tore the paper bag off my head.
Mom can usually fake it and remain cool through any situation, but this time her mouth dropped open, and she made a gasping sound. "Oh, no," she cried. "Oh, Jana. What happened?"
I swiped away the tears with the back of my hand and cleared my throat. Then I told her the whole story, beginning with Taffy's saying that she would be embarrassed to be on the same TV program with me if I had a hole in my hair and ending with my friends trying to help by giving me a haircut.
"It was free," I added, trying to end on a hopeful note.
"Oh, sweetheart." Mom opened her arms wide and I hurried to her to get a hug. "It's going to be okay. I promise. Now let me make a phone call."
Mom dialed the phone, and when someone answered on the other end she asked for Nan.
"Hi, Nan," she said a few seconds later. "This is Pat Morgan. Could you possibly change my daughter's haircut appointment for tomorrow after school to today? This is a real emergency."
I sucked in my breath. I couldn't believe it. She had said we couldn't afford to have my hair cut, and now she was changing an appointment for tomorrow to today.
"Uh-hm," Mom said, nodding and grinning at me while she talked. "Wonderful. We'll be right there. And, Nan. Thanks a million."
On the way Mom explained that she had decided that I really did need to have the hole in my hair fixed. She had made the appointment for Friday after school because Friday was payday, and she had planned to surprise me.
"Don't worry," she said when she saw the concern on my face. "I'm sure Nan will let me pay her tomorrow."
Nan did a super job on my hair. She layered the back so that the upside-down stairsteps didn't show, trimmed it all over to even it up, and then showed me how to style it by feathering it back away from my face. I had seen this style in teen magazines dozens of times. It was fantastic. In fact, I looked better than I had ever looked before. Taffy Sinclair, I thought with a grin, would absolutely die if she knew that she was partly responsible for my terrific new look.
