“Hi.” She gives me a small wave.
“Hey.” I push a strand of hair behind my ear. “Is something wrong?”
“Nope, everything’s good, but you forgot your book in the back seat. I figured it was for a reading assignment.” She shrugs. “I was going to drop it off with the neighbors you were dog sitting for, but you said you were done with that job.”
Smirking, I say, “You didn’t think I’d read Orwell on my own?” I tuck the book into the front pouch of my backpack. “Thanks.”
“Not with how much you abhor reading.” Charlotte glances in her rearview mirror. “I tried to call you . . .”
“. . . but my phone’s dead,” I finish.
“Why don’t you charge it?”
“I wish it were that easy. It’s not dead like dead, it’s dead like dead.”
“Did I miss a step?” Charlotte laughs. “Did technology change in a blink of an eye?”
“It’s broken.”
“You didn’t drop-kick it at Courtney, did you?”
I give her a death stare. “Be careful what you wish for.”
“Guess it’s a good thing I’m wearing these shades.”
I shift my backpack to the other shoulder. “It fried in water.” I explain to her about the boys and their ridiculous experiment.
“Ouch,” she moans. “That’s an expensive project.”
I wince. “And it’s not like I can take from their allowance jar.”
Charlotte directs her attention toward a tall, lanky high school guy wearing ripped jeans and a skull-covered hoodie. “Is this what the kids dress like now in high school?”
“Uh-huh.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that’s Justin, my boyfriend.
Looking disgusted but at the same time curious, she watches as he throws a skateboard down, yelling to another similarly dressed classmate with sagging jeans, except this one has arms covered in tattoo sleeves. “Is he even old enough to be inked? The first one’s really good looking. Though I wish he’d pull his pants up, maybe wear a belt . . .” Her voice trails off. “Do you know him?”
“Um . . .” I hesitate, looking wistfully after Justin. “Is Noah in town?”
“He was until this morning.” Charlotte gives me a coy smile. “You want to run some errands with me? I could really use your help.” Shoving open the passenger side, she chides, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“I guess.” I squeeze inside, shutting the door behind me. Justin doesn’t seem to notice me driving off with Charlotte, so I don’t try to draw his attention.
I smile to myself at his focus, his eyes zoned in on the concrete steps near the auditorium. I’ve seen that intent stare, and he’s determining if he can put the board up there and do a trick called a backside.
“I made a hair appointment, and I need your assistance.”
“Oh, really?”
“Do you need to call anyone and tell them where you are?” Charlotte takes her eyes off the road for a split second to point to her cell in the console. “You can use my phone.”
“No, I’m covered.” I switch the subject. “Any ideas on what you want to do with your hair?”
“What should I do? I’m in a beauty rut.”
Pursing my lips, I ask, “Well, what does Noah like? Does he prefer your hair long, or what kind of celebrities does he find attractive?”
“Celebrity wise, he likes blondes.” She gives me a wink. “But he’s come to the other side, the dark side.”
I giggle, watching out the window as we drive toward the wealthy side of town. We chat about our weekends as Charlotte pulls into the parking lot of what looks to be a high-end salon, the outside of which doesn’t display the price of the discount haircuts I typically get.
“Don’t be mad . . . ,” she starts to say.
I narrow my eyes. When people start with the phrase “Don’t be mad,” they anticipate your being just that. “Charlotte?”
“I called earlier to see if they could fit you in.”
“What for?”
“A highlight and cut.”
My insides spin out of control, like I’m on a Tilt-A-Whirl. “That’s really sweet, but, uh . . . I’d rather go to my place.”
“You have a stylist?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, tugging at my tangled mess. “I just need to run a brush through it.”
She says, “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”
“It’s okay, but, um, this looks like an expensive place.”
“Elle, it’s my treat.”
I jump out, and, uncomfortable, I bend down, pretending to tie my shoelace. “No, I couldn’t. You’ve done so much for me already.”
Charlotte lifts her shades so they’re on top of her head. “Don’t you want to be pampered?”
“It’s not about that.” Inhaling a sharp breath, I explain, “I just don’t like the feeling I’m indebted to someone, is all.”
“You’re not.” Charlotte gives me a toothy grin. “Think of it as an even exchange. You help act as my hair guru, and in return you get a service as well.”
“But they have professionals for that. Why would you want me?” Warning bells go off in my head. Why is Charlotte so adamant about this? A shrill noise redirects Charlotte’s attention, and she pulls her cell out.
When she spots the caller, her brows furrow at the screen.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, it’s no one.” Rolling her eyes, she presses the mute button and shoves the phone back in her handbag. “Just a wrong number. I’m tired of telemarketers buying lists to annoy us.”
Holding the door open, Charlotte lets me walk inside first, and the opulent chandelier and elaborate display cases take up the bulk of the waiting room. Here, a bottle of shampoo costs more than the price of getting haircuts for our entire family.
A dark-haired woman walks up to Charlotte immediately, grabbing her hands and teetering like they’re long-lost friends. “Charlotte, hi.” They exchange hugs, and Charlotte introduces me to Marina, her hairstylist. After handing both of us glasses of lemon water, she leads us back to the salon chairs.
“Your stylist, Angel, will be with you in just a minute.” Marina settles me in a chair with a stack of gossip magazines. She and Charlotte start to chatter, their voices rising an octave when they get excited, usually at the same time.
When Angel arrives, she stands behind me, plumping my hair as she makes eye contact in the mirror. “Hi, Elle, I understand you’re due for a highlight and a cut?”
“Actually,” I say, pausing until both Marina and Charlotte have disappeared to the shampoo bowls behind the heavy curtain, “I’d just like my hair trimmed, and a deep condition, please.”
She winks at me, and, sipping the lemon water, I watch as she transforms me.
It’s like I’ve morphed into someone else.
CHAPTER 16
Charlotte
After we leave the salon, it’s later than I expect, the appointment having taken almost three hours. The look on Elle’s face is worth it—she’s now wearing a satisfied grin. She says, “Who knew a scalp massage could make me feel like a completely different person?”