Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [68]
“A haircut,” said Cassie, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Surely Tash explained about ...” She trailed off, her eyes narrowing as Tash tried to keep a straight face.
“Cassie’s amazing,” said Tash. “And I just thought you both needed a pick-me-up, that’s all.”
Cassie rolled her eyes, but when she looked back at Kallie and me, I could tell the offer was still on the table.
“Go on,” implored Tash. “It’s not like the day can get any worse.”
Suddenly Kallie seemed to have made up her mind. “Piper will go first,” she said.
I didn’t even get a chance to decline before Cassie glanced at her watch. “Okay, but I can’t promise to get around to you for a couple of hours,” she warned Kallie. (A couple of hours? I figured I must have misheard her.) “I’ll do my best.”
“Take your time,” said Kallie amiably. “Tash is going to do my hair.”
This time I was certain I’d misheard her, but Tash’s and Cassie’s responses convinced me I’d heard her just fine. Tash was practically shaking—it was the first time I’d ever seen her looking scared. “No way!” she cried. “I’m not qualified.”
“I think you’ll do great,” replied Kallie.
Cassie shook her head. “Absolutely not. I can’t have you leaving here with bad hair. It would kill my business.”
“Tash won’t let that happen,” said Kallie calmly.
“No, Kallie,” insisted Tash. “Cassie’s right. Watching the stylists isn’t the same as doing it myself.”
“Then I’ll just skip the haircut today, thanks.”
Tash and Cassie exchanged glances, and Cassie threw her arms up in defeat. “Fine. It’s your hair. But don’t you dare tell anyone it happened in my salon.”
I didn’t like the way she referred to Kallie’s future hairstyle as “it,” but I was even more astounded at Kallie herself—calmly offering up her hair as practice fodder to the girl who, just two weeks earlier, would have delighted in dragging her away to a dark corner and shaving it all off.
Cassie caught my eye and beckoned me over to her station, where she pinned a cape around my neck. She ran her fingers through my hair, her eyes betraying her concern. “You need to look after your scalp better,” she scolded.
“It’s not worth it.”
“Yes it is. You have lovely hair.”
“It’s kind of mousy.”
“It’s blond.”
“Dirty blond.”
“Strawberry blond. And I have customers who pay a lot of money for this exact shade.”
There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I sank into the warm leather seat and wondered if the reason everything felt so good was because it was happening on a school afternoon. Which was also when I realized that I didn’t feel guilty at all. After eighteen years of doing everything right, Bad Girl Piper was embracing the chance to do something really wrong.
In the mirror I saw Cassie waving her comb. “So, what do you have in mind?”
The question shouldn’t have caught me off guard, but it did. I studied myself in the mirror and tried to think of an appropriate response. “Maybe, um . . . trim the ends?”
Cassie gawked at me like I’d farted. “Trim the ends?”
“Uh-huh.”
Her brows knitted and she continued to stare at me. There was something uncomfortably intense about that look of hers, like she was trying to distill the essence of Piper Vaughan.
“Piper, today I saw a girl stride onto a live TV set to break up a fight, even though she might’ve gotten hurt. But it turns out that same girl neglects her hair and wears it long enough to hide her face, and her head and neck too. So tell me this: Which one is the real you?”
It seemed like a ridiculous question, but at the same time I knew what she was getting at. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I think . . . maybe the first one.”
Cassie nodded approvingly. “And what should that version of Piper Vaughan look like?”
Her words made it sound like an innocent role-playing game, but my heart was pumping in a way that assured me it was so much more. “She should have . . . shorter hair,” I said, staring into the mirror, daring myself to disagree.
“How short?”
I swallowed hard, tried to shut down the frightened