Courtney pulled her wet shirt away from her body and smiled apologetically at Kelly. “That I’m ‘pulling a Courtney.’ You okay?”
Kelly brushed at her black pants. “Never better, but you are so paying for my dry cleaning.”
“I swear. Right after I help you with this mess.”
“I’m going to get changed,” Joyce told them. “The prerogative of being the owner.”
“I’m really sorry,” Courtney called after her.
“I know, dear. It’s fine.”
No, Courtney thought as she went to get a broom and a mop. It wasn’t fine. But it sure was her life.
“I want to match my dress. Just one streak. Mo-om, what could it hurt?”
Rachel Halcomb pressed her fingers against her temple as she felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. The Saturday of Los Lobos High’s spring formal was always a crazy one for the salon where she worked. Teenage girls came in to be coiffed and teased into a variety of dance-appropriate styles. They traveled in packs, which she didn’t mind. But the high-pitched shrieks and giggles were starting to get to her.
Her client—Lily—desperately wanted a bright purple streak to go with her floor-length dress. Her hair was long, wavy and a beautiful shade of auburn. Rachel had clients who would fork out hundreds to get that exact color, while Lily had simply hit the hair lottery.
Lily’s mom bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding doubtful. “Your father will have a fit.”
“It’s not his hair. And it’ll look great in the pictures. Come on, Mom. Aaron asked me. You know what that means. I have to look amazing. We’ve only been living here three months. I have to make a good impression. Please?”
Ah, the most amazing boy ever asked me out combined with the powerful I’m new in school argument. A one-two punch. Lily knew her stuff. Rachel had never been on the receiving end of that particular tactic but knew how persuasive kids could be. Her son was only eleven but already an expert at pushing her buttons. She doubted she’d had the same level of skill when she’d been his age.
Lily swung toward Rachel. “You can use the kind that washes out, right? So it’s temporary?”
“It will take a couple of shampoos, but yes, you can wash it out.”
“See!” Lily’s voice was triumphant.
“Well, you are going with Aaron,” her mother murmured.
Lily shrieked and hugged her mother. Rachel promised herself that as soon as she could escape to the break room, she would have not one but two ibuprofens. And the world’s biggest iced tea chaser. She smiled to herself. That was her—dreaming big.
Lily ran off to change into a smock. Her mother shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t have given in. Sometimes it’s hard to tell her no.”
“Especially today.” Rachel nodded at the gaggle of teenage girls at every station. They stood in various stages of dress...or undress. Some had on jeans and T-shirts. Others were in robes or smocks. And still others modeled their gowns for the dance that night. “And she is going to the dance with Aaron.”
The other woman laughed. “When I was her age, his name was Rusty.” She sighed. “He was gorgeous. I wonder what happened to him.”
“In my class, he was Greg.”
The mom laughed. “Let me guess. The football captain?”
“Of course.”
“And now?”
“He’s with the Los Lobos Fire Department.”
“You kept in touch?”
“I married him.”
Before Lily’s mom could ask any more questions, Lily returned and threw herself into the chair. “I’m ready,” she said eagerly. “This is going to be so awesome.” She smiled at Rachel. “You’re going to do the smoky eye thing on me, right?”
“As requested. I have deep purple and violet-gray shadows just for you.”
Lily raised her hand for a high five. “You’re the best, Rachel. Thank you.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Two hours later Lily had a dark violet streak in her hair, a sleek updo and enough smoky eye makeup to rival a Victoria’s Secret model. The fresh-faced teenager now looked like a twentysomething It Girl.
Lily’s mom snapped several pictures with her phone before pressing a handful of bills into Rachel’s hand. “She’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. Lily, bring me pictures of you with Aaron next time I see you.”
“I will. I promise!”
Rachel waited until mother and daughter had left to count out the tip. It was generous, which always made her happy. She wanted her clients—and their mothers—to be pleased with her work. Now, if only one of those eccentric trillionaires would saunter in, love her work and tip her a few thousand, that would be fantastic. She could get ahead on her mortgage, not sweat her lack of an emergency fund. In the meantime, Josh needed a new glove for his baseball league, and her car was making a weird chirping noise that sounded more than a little expensive.