“Likewise.” She peered over my shoulder. “Oh, here’s Mom and Dad now.” A blue SUV was slowing to make the turn into the driveway. The garage door rumbled up.
Feeling better that I wasn’t leaving her alone, I waved to the couple looking at me through the SUV’s windows and climbed into my Fiesta as they pulled into the garage. I needed to step on it, or I was going to be late for the head shaving at the high school.
Chapter Eighteen
THE HIGH SCHOOL HALLS DIDN’T SEEM AS CROWDED as usual when I walked in, and I realized a fair number of kids must have evacuated with their parents. It was just as well the school board had called off classes for Thursday and Friday—the place was going to be a ghost town. Still, the kids who remained chattered with excitement as they filed into the auditorium, eager to see some of their friends get shaved bald in order to help finance the Winter Ball. I poked my head into the office where Merle was talking with the secretary. He shot me a thumbs-up when he caught sight of me. “Ready?”
“Sure.” I’d stopped at the salon to pick up some tools on the way. I raised them now so Merle could see.
“Super. Let’s get going.” He gestured me out of the office and walked me to a side hall that gave access to the auditorium’s backstage area.
I waited in the wings, inhaling the scent of sawdust and fabric freshener from the heavy red curtain on my right while Merle bounded onto the stage with a microphone. It was bare except for a wooden stool set in the middle. “Are we ready for some fun, Sabertooths?” he called out.
The auditorium erupted with cheers and catcalls. “As you know . . .” He talked about the Winter Ball and how the votes had been tallied, and announced with a mimed drum roll that they’d raised six hundred fifty-two dollars. That sounded like a lot to me. Who pays that kind of money to watch their buddies have their heads shaved? A lot of kids, apparently.
“Since we only had three days of voting, we only have three ‘winners.’ And they are Josh Washington, Mark Crenshaw, and yours truly.” He bowed and pulled the elastic off his ponytail, shaking his hair free so it settled on the shoulders of his orange and chartreuse shirt. The kids hollered and pounded their feet rhythmically on the floor of the auditorium. I couldn’t help smiling as I tried to imagine Principal Iselin from my day getting that kind of response. He’d been as charismatic as dishwater. Merle might be a bit off the beaten path, but the teens responded to him.
I’d missed part of what he was saying, but tuned back in in time to hear my name.
“. . . Grace Terhune of Violetta’s salon.”
I crossed the stage toward him, embarrassed by the attention. I’d never been much of one for the limelight, and the kids’ stares unnerved me. “Who’s my first victim—I mean customer?” I asked when I got to where Merle stood. I held up the razor and let it buzz. A chuckle ran through the audience and I immediately felt more comfortable. I scanned the faces in the audience and spotted Rachel, looking less animated than usual, and Glen Spaatz, leaning against a wall toward the back with a couple of other teachers, arms crossed over his chest. Was it my imagination, or was he glaring at me? His handsome face was set, his lips thinned, his brows drawn together.
I didn’t have time to worry about it as Josh Washington, a short black teen with a six-inch Afro, bounced onto the stage, mugging for his buddies. He finally settled on the stool. “Be gentle,” he said loud enough for the microphone to pick up. “It’s my first time.”
The audience howled when I picked up my shears and cut a big chunk out of the middle of Josh’s Afro. By the time I revved the razor, the crowd was chanting, “Take it off! Take it all off!” They applauded when Josh rose after I finished, ran a hand over his smooth pate, and showed a shocked face. He gave me a big hug, surprising me, before rejoining his friends in the audience.
Mark Crenshaw came up next and settled onto the stool vacated by Josh. Merle handed the mike off to a student stagehand before ceremoniously helping Mark off with his letter jacket and draping a towel around his neck.
“If you ever get tired of the principal thing, we could use you at the salon,” I told him.
“I may come see you about a summer job,” he returned with a laugh.
Merle was growing on me. I smiled at him and turned my attention to Mark, who looked at me under his brows with a shade of apprehension, clearly recalling the end of our last meeting. What—was he worried I’d take revenge by shaving off his ear or something? He must hang out with the wrong people.