Swept Up

by Taylor Morris

  “Or she could ask him herself.” Kristen smiled. “Right, Mickey?”

  I thought about when I asked Kyle out for ice cream. It was totally nerve-racking. Standing face-to-face with the person you liked and possibly being rejected was panic-inducing, to say the least. I had lived to tell it but I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it again so soon.

  “I mean, I could ask him,” I said. “But I’m not really worried about it. I’ve actually barely thought about the dance. It’s this Friday?”

  “Oh, please,” Kristen said.

  Even Lizbeth laughed. “Yeah, Mickey. You’re not fooling us.”

  “Step it up, Mick,” Kristen said. “You and Kyle are just a couple of weeks behind me, Tobias, L, and Matthew. Crank up the volume on that relationship and we can all go through this stuff together.”

  I paused, avoiding Kristen’s eyes looking back at me in the mirror. I felt dumb about asking this next question. Eve would know the answer and not think I was being silly at all. I really missed her. But I needed to know now, so Lizbeth and Kristen would have to do. “I just . . . I don’t know. I mean—is he my boyfriend?”

  “Duh!” Kristen said. “That’s what we’ve been talking about!”

  “But we never talked about it,” I said. “Me and Kyle. Should I assume we’re together?”

  “That’s a good point,” Lizbeth said. “One date and hanging out at school a little more doesn’t really mean he’s your boyfriend. Does he walk you to your classes?”

  “Sometimes,” I said. “When we kind of run into each other in the halls.”

  “I think he’s your boyfriend,” Kristen said as if she refused to consider an alternative.

  “You should talk to him about it, just to make sure,” Lizbeth said.

  I was more confused than ever. Was he my boyfriend? Were we going to the dance? Did he like me all that much, anyway? Would I have to ask him?

  After a moment, Lizbeth asked, “Do you know if Eve and Jonah are going?”

  For the slightest beat I paused. The mere mention of Eve’s name made my stomach drop to the floor.

  “I don’t know,” I said quietly.

  “How are things going between you two, anyway?” Kristen asked. “Are you talking?”

  “Not really. A little but . . . hardly at all.”

  “Oh, Mickey, I’m so sorry,” Lizbeth said. “It’ll get better.”

  “Yeah,” Kristen said. “She’ll come around. She just needs time.”

  “I know,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure.

  “Has Jonah said anything about it?” Lizbeth asked.

  “He’s a boy,” I answered.

  “True,” Kristen said. “But he’s also your best friend.”

  “I know,” I muttered.

  “Maybe you should talk to him about it,” Lizbeth said. “I know Eve needs time, but don’t let too much go by. That’ll only make things worse.”

  I hadn’t thought of that, but Lizbeth was right. I’d already tried dipping my toe back into our friendship and that had gone nowhere. But if I waited too long, Eve might get used to not talking to me. That was something I really didn’t want. I was surprised at how much I missed her after only a week, but I did miss her—and I needed her, too. She was the most levelheaded one of us. She’d know what I should do about Kyle. But if she needed a little space, the question was, how much space from me did she need?

  CHAPTER 2

  “Mickey, let’s go! Doors opening in five,” Mom said, poking her head out from her office.

  I could hear a little bit of panic in her voice. Sunday mornings at the salon were always hectic. Mom liked us to be ready and waiting for our customers the moment they stepped inside.

  “Coming!” I called as I inspected myself one last time in the mirror in the back room. I fluffed my long, curly hair, pulling it over my shoulders just so, and dabbed on a bit of lip gloss. Then I picked up my work apron, which I had carefully ironed that morning. I held it up for a moment and admired it.

  There used to be exactly one thing I didn’t like about my job as a sweeper at my mom’s hair salon, Hello, Gorgeous!: I had to wear a black, plastic smock as my uniform. That was before Mom was featured on the show Cecilia’s Best Tressed, where legendary hair stylist Cecilia von Tressell goes to salons around the country and takes them from good to outstanding. One of the outstanding things she did was throw out my degrading plastic smock and replace it with an adorable, dark-pink apron with ruffles around the edges and the Hello, Gorgeous! logo across the front pocket.

  The other thing Cecilia did for the salon? Cranked up the volume on business.

  “Mickey, we need more towels up here!” Devon, one of the stylists, called.

  “Okay, I’ll bring them.”

  “Mickey!” said Karen, the manicurist, from the bottom of the stairs to The Underground. “Bring me some cotton swabs, please? The extra-long ones.”

  “You got it!” I called down.

  It had been like this all week. I used to say the salon was always busy, but that was nothing compared to how things were now. It was especially crazy considering the episode hadn’t even aired yet. I guessed that all the business came from word of mouth around town that Cecilia von Tressell had given Hello, Gorgeous! a makeover. The phones hadn’t stopped ringing since.

  I stacked the towels next to the sinks, then dashed back for the cotton swabs and carried them downstairs into The Underground. What was once a horror-film setting with dust- (and bug-) covered floors, forgotten supplies, and rusted sinks was now all elegance and serenity. The walls were the color of vanilla-bean ice cream with a cream-and-black damask wallpaper on the back wall, a silver-and-crystal chandelier hung in the center, and more salon services than we’d ever offered, like private massage and waxing rooms and an expanded mani/pedi station were located there. Hello, Gorgeous! was finally the full-service salon it was always meant to be, all thanks to yours truly. If I hadn’t texted Hello, Gorgeous! in to the show, Cecilia never would have come to Rockford.

  I dashed downstairs to Karen’s station. “Here you go,” I said, handing the extra-long cotton sticks to her. Today she wore black tights and a baggy scoop-neck blouse that made her long neck look even more elegant than usual.

  “Thanks, Mickey,” she said. “I usually have a lot of walk-ins on Sunday, but today my schedule is half-booked. Pretty soon we’re going to have to hire Cynthia full time.” Cynthia occasionally helped Karen out, but lately her hours were getting longer and longer.

  Upstairs, Mom was just opening the doors and the first clients of the day were walking in. Soon there’d be lots of chattering, hair dryers blowing, water splashing in sinks, and me, racing to keep up with it all.

  That afternoon, Giancarlo, who happened to be my favorite person at the salon (aside from Mom, of course), was at his station working on a twenty-something woman who was getting deep-red extensions added to her shoulder-length hair. I knew extensions could take hours and this was a long, tedious process. I swept over to his station with my broom. (By the way, that’s my official job—sweeper.)

  “Get over here,” he said as he worked his hands through the woman’s hair. “Tell us what’s happening while I show you the perfect way to braid in extensions.”

  “Nothing’s happening,” I said with a shrug. But I really wanted to talk about one thing—one boy—in particular, and Giancarlo was a great listener.

  “Lies,” he said. He turned to his client. “Jordana, this girl has a bona fide boyfriend now, and she claims that nothing is happening. Please.”

  I tried not to grin—especially at his outfit. Giancarlo was nothing if not outlandish in look and attitude. Today he wore white pants and a short, black cape. Seriously. A cape. I was impressed that he could pull it off. “You look extra fancy today,” I said.

  “D
idn’t you hear?” said Jordana. “He’s extra famous today.”

  “Oh, hush,” Giancarlo told her, with a huge grin on his face, which really meant that she should go on. “It’s just a tiny little blog thing.”

  “What blog thing?” I asked.

  “A little write-up on the Berkshires Beauty blog,” he said, holding his head up a little higher. “They were here for Cecilia’s visit, but apparently I styled the anonymous blogger herself.”

  “And she raved about it,” Jordana said.

  Giancarlo shrugged, but I knew he’d have taken a little bow if he weren’t all tied up in his client’s hair. “Just a few words of praise. One hundred and fifty-four, to be exact.”

  “Wow,” I said. Berkshires Beauty was a big deal. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, honey,” he said. “But we can talk about that later. I want to hear about you. What’s happening in Mickeyland?”

  I swept the pile of hair I had accumulated into a tight, little mound. “Well,” I began. “There is something.”

  “Thought so,” Giancarlo said, eyeing me.

  “And it does have to do with a boy. The one I went out with last weekend.”

  “Of course it does. Kyle, right?”

  I nodded.

  “So spill it already.”

  I pushed my broom around the spotless floor, remembering everything the girls had said last night and all the things I felt about Kyle. “Well,” I began. “He’s nice. I really like him. It’s just that . . .”

  Giancarlo raised a brow. “Just that what?”

  “Well, I don’t know if he’s, like, my boyfriend. Or just a boy friend.”

  Giancarlo paused, picking up a length of hair from his cart. “Of course he’s your boyfriend,” he said, looking at me.

  “But how do I know?” I said, thinking about all the things Kristen and Lizbeth had said—who should pay for what, who should ask who to the dance. There seemed to be a lot of rules. “What if in his mind we’re just hanging out? I haven’t called him my boyfriend.” I cringed just saying that out loud. “What if I called him that to his face and he was all, ‘Uh, I don’t think so’? That would be humiliating. For all I know he’s texting some other girl right now.”

  “Mickey, honey, it’s not like you have to have a formal discussion and shake on the matter,” Giancarlo said. “Sometimes you just know when someone is your boyfriend. You hang around enough at school, then outside of school, then suddenly you’re going out alone without your other friends, texting, and calling each other. And then, that’s when you know. That’s how it happens—little gradual moments like that.” He brushed Jordana’s increasingly long hair.

  “That’s not exactly how Kristen handles her relationship with Tobias,” I said. “She basically tells him what he needs to do. Then they have a big fight, and then he does it.”

  Giancarlo laughed. “Look. Every relationship is different. You just have to figure yours out as you go along. And Kyle seems like he’d be a very good and understanding boyfriend.”

  Maybe he was right—both about Kyle being understanding and being my boyfriend. Which also meant that maybe I was someone’s girlfriend. I thought about that for a moment. It felt very adult and official and scary. What was expected of me as a girlfriend? Did I have to start dressing up more? Play video games less? I wasn’t sure I wanted to do either. I thought of Eve and Jonah and how, even though they spent a lot of time together, they were still pretty much themselves.

  “There’s something else,” I said, shifting my broom in my hand and giving Giancarlo a steady look. “There’s a dance on Friday.”

  “Ooh, fantastic,” Giancarlo said. “School dances are the best. I remember my first one.” He paused and gazed out the front window. “I took Bernadette Milstein. I even helped pick out her dress and styled her hair.”

  I smiled, picturing Giancarlo as a teenager, helping his date get ready.

  “My question is, are we automatically going together?” I asked. “Is it just assumed?”

  “I’d bet my scissors you’re going,” Giancarlo said. “And you know what else? I have a fantastic idea. You must get your hair done here for the dance! How about you get your mom to give you a blowout. And send your gorgeous friend Eve to me, and I’ll give her a wild, curled look. You two can switch styles for the night!”

  My stomach dropped at the mention of Eve. Giancarlo still didn’t know about our sort-of breakup. And now I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I didn’t want him to think less of me for what I’d done.

  “Anyway,” I said, changing the subject so we didn’t have to talk about Eve, “I already asked Kyle out once,” I said. “Do I have to do everything?”

  “Don’t stress so much,” Giancarlo said. “Just talk to the boy. We’re really not that scary.”

  “I know,” I said. I’d never been scared to talk to Kyle before, but now that he was my probably-boyfriend, for some reason I was nervous.

  As Giancarlo continued with Jordana’s hair, I asked him, “You really think I’d look good with a total blowout? Like, straight hair, no curls?” I’d tried to straighten my hair once on my own to disastrous results.

  “Girl, you could wear any style brilliantly,” he said.

  Okay, now do you see why Giancarlo is my favorite person at the salon? With flattery like that, who could argue?

  I let Giancarlo focus on Jordana’s hair so I could do a sweep of the salon. I felt better about things with Kyle. Giancarlo was probably right—we were, in fact, an item, even if there hadn’t been some big proclamation.

  After dumping my pile in a trash can in the back, I went up front to help Megan at reception. Mom was inspecting the new product wall—courtesy of Cecilia—but as I got closer I realized something was off about her. She wasn’t wearing the crisp cotton suit she’d put on that morning. When would she have changed? And why? Something else was strange about her, too—the way she carried herself and how she inspected the wall as if she’d never seen it before. It wasn’t until I tapped her shoulder and she turned to face me that I realized—this wasn’t Mom at all.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said as the woman turned to me.

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “Has someone helped you?” I asked, noticing that Megan had stepped away from the desk.

  “No, not yet,” she said. She looked me up and down and said, “What an adorable apron!”

  The way to my heart! If I were the kind of person to say I told ya so to my mother, I totally would have done it right then. Instead I said, “Thank you. It’s new.”

  “Well, it’s fabulous,” the woman said. “Most salons make their assistants wear these horrible plastic smock things. This looks much more professional.”

  “I know!” I said. She was so right!

  “I’m Ana,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  “Mickey,” I said.

  She held a bottle in her hands, one of the new products Cecilia had brought in. It was a shine serum that helped make hair look radiant. “Did you know that cold water actually helps make hair shinier?” She winked and said, “Just a little trick from me to you.”

  She put the bottle back on the shelf, then folded her arms across her slim body. She looked out at the salon, taking it all in. “This place is cute. Looks like you do good business.”

  “Yes, we do,” I said. “It’s the best salon in town.”

  “I’ve heard about it,” she said. “But I haven’t had a chance to come in until now. You’re getting lots of buzz, you know.”

  “Did you read about us on Berkshires Beauty?” I asked.

  “That, among other places.”

  Wow, I thought. We really were getting famous! “So, do you have an appointment?” I stepped behind Megan’s desk and looked a
t the monitor.

  “Well, not yet. I wanted to stop in to make one.” She looked across the salon. Her eyes immediately focused on one stylist in particular. “That must be the famous Giancarlo.”

  I looked back at him still working on Jordana’s extensions and smiled. “The one and only,” I said.

  “I’ve been hearing his name around the salon community for years now,” Ana said. “And then Berkshires Beauty mentioned him specifically and said he gave her a fabulous color job. After that I knew I had to make the trip here to see him. And look at what great style he has!”

  We both stood quietly and admired Giancarlo’s cape.

  “We all love him here. He’s the best stylist,” I said, beaming with pride. “Well, next to my mom, that is.”

  “Your mom? Is that Chloe Wilson?”

  “Yes. How’d you know?” I asked.

  She waved her hand like it was a lucky guess. “I just assumed the only person who could be better than Giancarlo is the owner. And she is the owner, right?”

  “Yep. She’s had the salon since I was six.”

  Ana smiled. “How sweet. And now you get to work here! I love that it’s a family affair. Well,” she said stepping closer to the reception desk, “if Giancarlo has any openings, I’d love to make an appointment for a color touch-up.”

  I turned back to look for Megan and saw that she was on her way up front. Good thing, because I wasn’t allowed to use the reservation program on the computer. Cecilia had upgraded the system so we could book clients’ appointments by phone, e-mail, and text message. Mom decided that she and Megan should be the only ones to access all that personal information.

  “I’m here!” Megan said, her long hair flowing off her shoulders. “I had to run to The Underground. Hi! How can I help you?”

  “She needs to make an appointment with Giancarlo for a touch-up,” I said. I looked back to Ana. “Megan will take care of you. It was nice talking to you.”