“Maybe you’re right,” I said.
“Just maybe?” he smiled.
“Fine,” I admitted. “I didn’t mean to ignore you—or anyone else. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “We all accept that you have a little bit of crazy in you at all times.”
I knocked his shoulder with my fist. “Watch it.”
“Want to get some chicken fingers or something?”
“Sure,” I said.
As we picked through the delicious, crispy, fried meat, I held back my desire to keep talking about my project. Even though I felt like I had a real, legitimate problem, I refrained from talking about myself for one evening and asked Kyle about his and Jonah’s project.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s like, we love skating so much, but for some reason it’s not as much fun having this site as we thought it could be.”
“Really?” I asked. “Why not?”
“I think it’s going pretty well,” he said. “And I’m sure we’re going to get a good grade on it. But writing about skate tricks is lame. Having to describe every single move in detail is painful. And who would want to read that? Any true skater would rather just skate.”
“Why aren’t you guys doing videos?” I asked. “Show shots of how to do the tricks instead of writing about them.”
Kyle stared blankly for a moment as if the idea had never occurred to him. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “We don’t have a camera for one.”
“Not even on your phone?” I asked.
“Not mine,” he said.
I remembered Scott, the videographer at the salon, and how I had wanted to use him to film the stylists for our own site. Now, though, using someone from the salon seemed like a really bad idea. I had to make sure everything I did was totally aboveboard.
“My phone has video,” I said. “Maybe I could help? Or I think my dad has a video camera somewhere that he never uses. I could ask him if you guys could borrow it.”
“Yeah, that’d be awesome,” he said. “I’ll tell Jonah. Thanks, Mickey.”
“No problem,” I said, taking a crunchy bite of a chicken strip.
“So,” Kyle said, taking a gulp of his soda. “What’s going to happen next with your blog?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “My friends won’t even talk to me.”
“I don’t know much about these things,” he said. “Okay, I know nothing about these things. But you do. Prove to your readers that you really can give good advice. Prove to everyone that you’re awesome, because I for sure know that you are.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Kyle.”
He was right. I needed to redeem myself. I just wasn’t sure if anyone wanted to read what I had to say.
CHAPTER 21
That night at home, I checked the blog for more questions. We were still getting them, but I had to admit we weren’t getting as many as we were last week. Word was probably spreading.
I love coloring my hair. Colors like bright oranges, yellows, and blues make me feel like I’m standing out in a fun way, plus it really upsets my mom. Ha-ha. Anyway, she’s been telling me that all this at-home coloring is making my hair brittle and is not good for it. Is that true?
I thought about her question and all the things I’d learned at the salon. Then I wrote out my answer:
Too much of anything on your hair can be a bad thing. As much as it may pain you, listen to your mother this time and ease up on the coloring, even if just for a few months. Your locks will thank you.
I knew the advice was responsible, even if it wasn’t popular. No one wanted to hear that their mom was right, but sometimes she did know best.
I printed out my answer, ready to go straight to the salon after school tomorrow and find out just how well I’d done.
“And don’t break it,” I said, handing Jonah my dad’s video camera.
“Please,” he said. “I’m more worried about Kyle breaking his ankle while trying to demonstrate a proper kick flip.”
It was Thursday before school, and our projects were supposed to be completed by tomorrow—the same day Mom came home. Jonah wanted to get one video in before the deadline to try to boost their grade (I think they also both just wanted to film themselves skating), and I had one day to pull my team back together, prove I could make up for the rash of hair disasters in Rockford, and show my mom that I could totally behave myself while she was out of town. It was a lot to accomplish.
Eve approached me early in the day. I didn’t know what to expect since no one had responded to my blog emergency.
“Mickey, hey,” she said as I got my books out of my locker. “The girls and I were wondering if you wanted to meet outside for lunch today like we did when we first started our project?”
“Yeah,” I said, wondering what was planned. “Sure.”
“Cool,” she said. “And do you have that binder with ideas that you made?”
I pointed at my locker. “In here.”
“Perfect. Bring it with you, okay?”
We settled into the grass and I awaited my fate with my friends. This was the moment they could tell me they no longer wanted to be friends with me because I was such a disastrous liability who couldn’t be trusted. I was prepared for a lot of things. But I was not expecting what I actually heard.
“Mickey,” Kristen began. “We’re sorry. We really messed up.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I said.
“We’ve gone about the project the totally wrong way,” Kristen said. “And we’re sorry.”
“I don’t get it,” I replied, baffled. “Why are you guys sorry?”
“Actually,” Eve said, stepping in, looking at Kristen. “I think we can all share some of the blame for what happened to the blog—even with the dandruff and gum questions.”
“But that was totally my fault. I’m the one who posted them incorrectly,” I said. “I feel awful.”
“It’s okay,” Lizbeth said. “You fixed it as soon as you noticed it.”
“You guys,” I began. “I know I’ve been sort of railroading you on this project and I didn’t mean to be like that. It’s just, I love salon stuff so much, and I started to think that maybe this was something that could be for real—I guess I let that fantasy go to my head. So, I’m sorry.”
The girls looked at one another, considering what I’d said. Finally, Eve nodded. “It’s fine. It’s almost over, anyway.”
“Agreed,” Lizbeth said. “My mom said that it’s dicey when friends loan each other money or start a business together, which I guess is what we did. Maybe we’re just meant to be friends and not business partners.”
“Okay,” I said. “And I was thinking I need to do more than just have the corrected answers on the blog. Since we know at least a couple of the girls who got bad advice.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lizbeth said.
“We’ll help you think of something,” Eve said.
“Thanks, guys,” I said. I couldn’t believe how amazing my friends were.
“Should we go over what we’ll do tomorrow for the presentation?” Eve said.
“We can each take the section we worked on the most and report on how we did it,” Lizbeth said. “Our project is fine, especially compared to the other teams. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Agreed,” Kristen said. “If everyone else is okay with that.”
For the first time in a long time, we were all on the same page.
CHAPTER 22
I went straight to the salon after school. For my own sanity, I had to know that I was capable of properly answering a hair question. If I couldn’t do it, then why was I working myself to death?
I burst through the salon door and immediately stopped, trying to catch my breath and act normal. Also, I’d just about scared the highlights out of Mrs. Lipton, a longtime customer who sat in the chair waiting for Violet.
“Goodness, Mickey!” she said, her hand to her chest. “Looks like a hair emergency!”
“Why? What do you mean? What did you hear?”
“Mickey.” Megan laughed uncomfortably as Mrs. Lipton stared blankly at me. “Isn’t it your day off?”
Turning to face her—and realizing I had just majorly overreacted—I said, “It is, but I needed to stop in and, uh, check a couple of answers for my blog.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding slowly.
I went straight to Giancarlo’s station. He may have been the most eccentric person in the salon, but he was also my sanity-in-styling. He would tell me the truth.
“Oh, are you talking to me now?” he said as he worked on a trim.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’ve been besties with Violet all week,” he said. “I’m jealous.”
“Please, Giancarlo,” I said. “You know you’re my favorite.”
He cracked a smile. “I know. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
“Can I ask you a question? It’s for my school project.”
“You mean the one Violet has been helping you with all week?” he asked, and I felt my chest tighten. It was hard knowing when this guy was teasing and when he wasn’t. Right now, though, I just wanted the facts without the drama.
“Yes, but—”
“Of course I’ll help you,” he said. “What do you need?”
“I answered this reader’s question and wanted to know if you think it’s good. I just need to make sure it’s right.” I handed him the piece of paper.
After he read the question about at-home dye products doing damage to your hair, he asked, “Did you write this answer?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to read his expression.
“That’s incorrect,” he said, handing me back the paper. “Julianne, cover your ears, darling,” he said to his client jokingly. “At-home dye products actually have a lot of conditioners in them and, in a way, are good for your hair—at least, it’s not bad the way her mom is suggesting. You haven’t published that answer yet, have you?”
“No,” I said, my stomach dropping.
“Tell her that if she’s using a reputable product her hair is probably okay, but she should visit her friendly local salon to have her hair assessed just in case.” Still cutting Julianne’s hair, he said, “That answer should cover us if her mom freaks out. Hey—are you okay?”
“It’s just that,” I began, trying not to freak out, “I’ve messed up the whole blog, given the wrong advice, and now I know for sure that I actually know nothing about hair, even though I’ve fooled myself into thinking I did.”
“Sweetheart, what makes you think you’ve lost your talent after a bad question or two?”
“Because,” I said, thinking. “I don’t know, it just does. It proves I’m not good enough.”
“Now you’re just being silly,” he said. “But we have had a couple of hair situations come in here in the last week or so—since you started your project.”
“Oh, great,” I said. “It’s totally noticeable.”
“But fixable,” Giancarlo assured me.
“But you guys already fixed their hair,” I said. “The salon cleaned up my mistake.”
“Do you still have unhappy customers?” Giancarlo asked.
“I have no customers,” I said. “I was shocked when we got this question.”
“Think it over,” he said. “See what you can do. Think like a businesswoman.”
As I left the salon, I knew a good long walk would help me clear my mind and think about what I could do on my own to fix things. Before I could turn off Camden Way, though, I ran into the last person I wanted to see: Cara Fredericks.
At first neither one of us said anything. We just stopped on the sidewalk and eyed each other.
“Hey,” I said first.
“Hey,” she said back.
For another moment, neither of us said a word until finally I said, “Well, see you around,” and I started around her.
“Mickey, wait,” Cara said. I turned back to look at her, wondering what she could possibly want to say to me. “Look, what is your problem with me?”
“Excuse me?” Because, for real?
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you!” I said, because I didn’t. I really, truly didn’t. I didn’t hate anyone. I just disliked her for what she said.
“Well, you act like you do, at least since this online project began. I mean, we used to be cool with each other—I thought.”
“I thought so, too,” I said. “But you made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to have anything to do with my blog when you started your project.”
“Okay, fine,” she said. “I did. But that was only because I didn’t think you wanted to have anything to do with me because of the way you, like, purposely ignored me.”
“I haven’t ignored you,” I said. “I just didn’t want to be around someone who thinks my mom’s salon is terrible and would never lower herself to going there.”
“What are you talking about?” Cara asked. “I love Hello, Gorgeous!. My mom goes there. She has forever!”
“She hasn’t lately,” I said, because I had checked with Violet. “Besides, Cara. You can’t play dumb on this one. I heard you. I heard you say, I could never go to Hello, Gorgeous!. Even my mom won’t let me. Or something like that.”
There. Let her choke on her own words.
“I never said that,” she said.
“I heard you!”
“Well, you heard me wrong,” Cara said. “I’ve been wanting to go to Hello, Gorgeous! forever, but my mom won’t let me because it’s too nice a place. She said I can go when I’m fifteen. I don’t know if you know this,” she said, “but your mom’s salon is kind of pricey.”
I let her words sink in. “Wait, so… you like the salon?”
“Like it? Are you crazy?” she said. “I love Hello, Gorgeous!. I’m dying to get my hair done by Violet. But my mom said it’s not a kid salon, that it’s special and for adults and I have to wait until I’m older. Seriously, sometimes when I get in trouble she threatens to move the date back until I’m sixteen and I feel like I’ll never get to go.”
I stepped to the side of the sidewalk and leaned against the cool brick wall of the flower shop. “Oh my gosh, Cara. I totally and completely misunderstood.”
“I was wondering why you were kind of giving me looks. And when I saw you at the arcade…”
I cringed, thinking of how I’d acted toward her. “I am so, so sorry,” I said. “And totally embarrassed. You did not deserve that.”
“Well, I was really rude to you about the whole linking thing,” she said. “I jumped to conclusions, too, and didn’t bother asking why or even if you were upset with me so I sort of attacked back. Except it was really a low blow, going after the thing we all know you love most.”
“It turned out you were right, though,” I said. “I did give out some bad advice.”
“Well, you tried to fix it,” she said. “I saw. And I was looking at your site the whole time. Of course I wanted to know what you were doing. You’re the hair expert!”
I almost felt flattered, even in the midst of my mistakes. “Thanks, Cara. So, we’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “We’re okay.”
I walked the rest of the way home feeling relieved but still bothered by my mistakes. I hadn’t done enough yet.
A text came through from Jonah.
Done with camera. Wanna come get it?
Of course he wanted me to go get the camera instead of bringing it to me. I started to text him back when an idea came to me.
On my way now.
CHAPTER 23
After picking up the camera from Jonah I went straight home, where the girls had agreed to come to my house one final time before our projects were due tomorrow.
“You sure about this?” Eve asked from behind the camera. I sat in my real-life styling chair in front of my three-mirrored vanity. My hair was styled perfectly, the curls just so—not too wi
ld but of course not too flat. I wore a crisp white shirt and kept the makeup to peach lip gloss only. I had to make sure people trusted and believed in me.
“Positive,” I said. I looked into the camera and focused, ignoring the eyes of Eve, Kristen, and Lizbeth from the other side of the camera.
“Should I say action?” Eve asked Kristen.
“Totally,” she said.
“Okay,” Eve said. “Aaannd action!”
When the red light came on, I began saying what I wanted to say. It wasn’t a speech, but an apology to our readers.
“I’m really sorry that some of the stuff I posted was wrong. Like, way-off wrong. It was my fault, and I apologize.”
I said to the camera—and anyone who watched this tonight or in the coming days, even after the assignment was over—how embarrassed I was at the mistakes I’d made, and that I hoped my mistake didn’t cause the girls who took my bad advice too much grief.
“But,” I said, “and I know this isn’t much, I’d like to offer free services at Hello, Gorgeous! with one of our top stylists to anyone who feels like they were given bad advice from us. We wanted to be a blog you could trust, and be something bigger than a class assignment, and now we trust you to tell us how to fix our, I mean, my mistakes. You don’t have to offer any proof that you were a victim of bad advice. Just e-mail us at the usual address and we’ll take care of it, no questions asked. Well, I guess that’s it. Uh, signing off, I’m Mickey Wilson and—”
Suddenly all three girls jumped around the camera and stood by my side, arms around me and one another, smiling. “We’re DIY Do’s, that’s who we are!” Kristen cheered.
“Come back and visit us!” Lizbeth and Eve said together. We all laughed and waved good-bye to the camera. When we realized no one was behind it to turn it off, we laughed even harder and Eve went to turn it off.
“You guys,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that. We can edit it out if you want.”
“No way,” Kristen said. “It stays.”
“Agreed,” Lizbeth said. “We’re a team. We win as a team and fail as a team.”
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