Meanicures (15 page)

“Poinsettia, do
you think they’ll show?” I paced back and forth by the front window of Combing Attractions on Saturday afternoon.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said casually, looking up from the front counter and sounding unconcerned. “I bet they will.”

“But it’s five to two,” I said. “And no one’s here yet!” I was having flashbacks to our Endangered Animals Club meeting. I couldn’t take being so unpopular all over again—especially since two of the people coming were supposed to be my best friends.

“So tell me again, since we have time,” Poinsettia prompted, “who was closest friends with whom?” She lazily stirred a packet of sugar into a cup of coffee. How could she be so relaxed when so much was on the line? Then again, it wasn’t
her
life that was out of control and nearly ruined.

“How many times do I have to go over this?” I asked.

“Once more,” she said, “so I know how to help.”

“Right. Right. Sorry,” I told her. She was helping. A lot.
She was doing this as a special favor, and even though I was paying her for the manicures, she was going above and beyond her beauty consultant title.

We discussed things and decided that she would begin with me and Cassidy, but make it look casual. “You’ll set the tone,” Poinsettia said.

“How?” I asked. “And how will two of us go at the same time?” I still didn’t understand how we were going to pull this off.

“I told you, I work in phases. Really, it’s not a big deal. If things start moving too slowly, I’ll get someone to help me,” she said. “Anyway, what I’ll do with you and Cassidy is give you an opening in the conversation. When I do, take it, run with it. Don’t look back.”

She made it sound like the torch for the Olympic Games. I couldn’t handle that much pressure.

Finally, just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, I spotted Taylor and Olivia walking up to the shop.

I hurried into a chair, flipped open a magazine, and tried to act casual. I glanced up as they walked in, ducking under the giant comb hanging from the doorway.

“Hey,” Taylor said. She slid into the chair next to mine.

“Oh. Hey,” I replied back awkwardly.

We might as well have been complete strangers.

“And you are?” Poinsettia prompted from the desk.

“I’m Olivia. And that’s Taylor.” Olivia checked out
the waiting area and peered around the rest of the salon, while Poinsettia checked them off her list. I kept my nose in the magazine. I wished I’d picked up something besides the most recent issue of
Fortune Tellers Monthly
.

After a minute, Taylor went up to the desk and asked, “Excuse me? Could you turn down the A/C? It’s freezing in here.” She was wearing a tank top, a pair of black yoga pants, and flip-flops.

Poinsettia looked up and said, “The air conditioning’s not on.”

“Oh.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have dressed as if it were still July. Now, please excuse me while I go make sure the room is set up and ready for all of you,” Poinsettia said.

“Well, can you turn up the heat back there?” asked Taylor. “My hands are ice cold.”

Poinsettia arched one of her eyebrows, and Taylor quickly added, “Please, if you don’t mind, that’d be really nice,” and smiled. She glanced at me, her smile vanishing as she sat down again.

Wow. I thought I’d never have the power to make someone stop
smiling
. Before I could think of anything witty or worthwhile to say, though, the door opened and Cassidy, Alexis, and Kayley walked into the salon.

“This place is so cute!” Cassidy nearly hit her head on one of the big dangling combs. “I’ve never even heard of anyone who’s gone here. Well, except you. You’re so,
like,
adventurous
, with your hair and everything.” She looked at me with a small smile.

“Thanks so much for inviting us,” Alexis said as she shrugged off her red wool peacoat, which perfectly matched her red leather boots. “Hey, cool hanger,” she added, noticing the coat hangers made of big combs.

“I’m really grateful, but I’m worried this is going to kill me.” Kayley slid her tiny black purse off her shoulder, then struggled to pull her down vest over her bandaged wrist. “I can’t even straighten my wrist, so how will I get a manicure?”

“You could get a pedicure instead,” Taylor said.

“No, she couldn’t,” I said. That would ruin the whole concept, in my view. It was a meanicure, not a pedicure. Plus, pedicures cost a lot more money. I was already broke. “It’s manicures only.”

“Who died and made you in charge?” Taylor asked.

Um … it was my idea?
I wanted to say.
And when it’s your idea, you’re sort of in charge, like it or not
. I was definitely on the “not” side. “Okay … then get a pedicure,” I said. “What do I care? But you’ll have to find out how much it costs, because we only paid for manicures.”

“I’ll just ask her if she can be really, really careful. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Kayley smiled. She was being so agreeable that it was weird.

We walked through the curtains made of dangling nail polish bottles clinking gently against one another, straight into Paint-on Place.

Poinsettia was waiting for us. “Girls, help yourselves to treats, courtesy of your hosts.”

Host
, I thought. Singular.

A long black table, which had pyramids of polish displays at one end, was covered with the snacks: chocolate-chip Rice Krispies Treats, angel food cake, and bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios. I’d also brought cans of soda, flavored bottled water, and juice. I was trying to cure everybody with sweetness. I’d nearly keeled over on my bike from carrying so much stuff—both in a backpack and also in a milk crate tied with bungee cords to the rack over my back tire (I’d copied the way my mom set up her bike when she pedaled to the grocery store).

“Wow. For us? You guys did a lot.” Cassidy seemed shocked.

“Yeah, we did,” said Olivia, looking a little stunned herself.

I glared at her. She’d done nothing. I had done everything. As usual. “I made these, too.” I pointed to the gift bags on the table, each one labeled with a girl’s name.

“Whoa. I
love
gift bags.” Alexis peered into the tiny canvas tote. “And free products!”

“I still don’t understand why we’re here, exactly,” said Kayley. “I mean, why would you want to do all this for us?”

“Enough chatting.” Poinsettia clapped her hands together. “Pick your colors, everybody, pick your colors. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Seriously, though. Why
did
you guys want to do this for us?” Cassidy asked me while we contemplated which of the thirty shades we wanted.

While I stalled, trying to think of a good answer, I considered green for my nails, then purple, then black. What would be the best color for a meanicure? A rainbow? “Well, see … things have been kind of, you know, strained,” I finally said. “Since Halloween. I wanted to patch things up before the holidays.”

“What’s to patch up? We get along fine,” said Cassidy, “most of the time.” She picked up the same silver metallic shade that I’d just started admiring. Maybe we didn’t have as much in common anymore, but there were still a
few
things.

“Yeah. Well, but I was pretty awful that night,” I said. “Egging you. And other things. And I just really like this place, so I wanted to share it.”

“Who’s going to go first? I think I’ll start with you two.” Poinsettia pointed at me and Cassidy.

“Why two at a time?” asked Cassidy.

“I like to keep things moving,” Poinsettia replied. “The rest of you enjoy the snacks.”

Cassidy and I sat in the red leather chairs and Poinsettia got to work. First we had to soak our nails in bowls of a strong-smelling liquid that reminded me of my mom’s Pine Tree Protein Rinse.

Poinsettia told us the liquid had special powers to relax us and heal our cuticles. Then she began to file and shape Cassidy’s nails, while I sat there, feeling
like I was supposed to say something very important at this point, but not knowing what. The minutes were ticking by.

Nobody was really talking yet. I’d created this opportunity, and if I didn’t act soon, I’d be wasting it.

“You really have bitten your nails to shreds,” Poinsettia commented.

Cassidy sighed. “It’s a bad habit, I know. My mom never stops telling me that,” she said.

“What makes you do it?” I asked. “You never used to bite your nails.”

Poinsettia coughed. Then she cleared her throat. Suddenly it dawned on me. She was trying to tell me: this was it. My opening. I should take it and run.

“So, is there a reason? I mean … what’s going on?” I asked.

“Oh, my life’s been a little, um, stressful.” Cassidy smiled.

“I can put some artificial tips on you,” Poinsettia said. “Give you a little added length—nothing tacky. I’ll use short ones so they look natural.”

“I don’t know.” Cassidy looked at her nails, and then looked over at mine. “How much does that even cost?”

“Don’t worry about that. Today’s a special group deal,” said Poinsettia.

I smiled at her, grateful for the generous offer. “If you want, Cassidy, I’ll do it with you,” I said. “I mean, I’ll go artificial, too. How about that?”

She thought it over for a second, then said, “Sure. Okay.”

I took a deep breath. If I didn’t start talking to her, I’d waste the opportunity I’d worked so hard to create. “So. What’s been so, um, stressful?” I asked. “Besides what I know about already.”
Which I may be somewhat responsible for, which means I’m also responsible for your short fingernails
.

“Do you want the long version or the short version?” Cassidy said.

“Whichever,” I said. “We’re going to be here a while, right?”

“If your nails are anywhere as bad as hers, then yes,” Poinsettia said. “What is
with
you girls? Can’t you just chew gum when you’re upset?” She expertly worked a nail buffer over Cassidy’s nails, smoothing them out and preparing them for the artificial tips and polish.

“Well, first off, did I tell you I tried out for cheer captain? What a nightmare. Needless to say, I did not get chosen. They totally made fun of me. Of course, they waited until I wrote my mission statement, and gave a speech about what I’d do, and choreographed an entire new cheer. Then they told me they’d never choose a seventh grader. And acted like ‘who do you think you are?’ ”

“That wasn’t fair,” I said. “Why didn’t they announce up front that it was only open to eighth graders?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “So they could laugh at me?”

“I can’t believe the other girls were rude to you like that,” I said. “That’s terrible.” But all I could think was,
You still hang out with them, after that? Why?
“Like someone in eighth grade is so much older and better than someone in seventh?”

Cassidy nodded. “See?
You
understand. You get it. I try to tell other people and they’re clueless.” She glanced over at me and smiled.

“So, what else is going on? I mean, how’s your year going? I’ve hardly talked to you.”
Because you haven’t let me
. “Is there anything else bugging you?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. I’m getting a D in English. I can’t write essays the way I’m supposedly … supposed to.” She laughed. “You know how to do all that. You’re the writer, not me.”

I remembered helping her with her essays back in sixth grade. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Or not,” she said.

“Whenever I’m bored by an assignment, I can’t write at all,” I said. “Maybe you just need a subject that interests you more.”

“And maybe I need a tutor. My mom wants me to go to that tutor place at the mall. You know that little place right next to the arcade, with the really ugly sign? Let Us Teach You? Can you imagine walking out of there and running into someone from school? I mean, can you even imagine how embarrassing that would be? I’d rather get a D.”

“You could always wear a hat. A disguise,” I said.

She burst out laughing. “Like that time we were at Macy’s, and Hunter and his friends came in?”

My face felt like it was turning bright red at the memory. We’d been dragged to Macy’s to shop for bras with our mothers, and a saleslady was heading toward me with a measuring tape when Cassidy spotted the boys weaving our way. The bra department had the worst location ever—right near one of the mall doors, so everyone passed by while you were holding really embarrassing items and your moms were talking about how you needed “good support.”

Fortunately lingerie was also right next to the accessories department, and by the time they walked past we were wearing hats and holding umbrellas over our heads.

I burst out laughing, too, and Cassidy and I laughed and laughed, causing Poinsettia to stop for a second, not mad at all, just with a smile on her face.

But others apparently didn’t share the joy. Alexis stomped over in her red high-heeled boots, narrowing her eyes at me and Cassidy. “Is everything okay over here?” she asked.

“Good support!” Cassidy said through her laughter, which made me laugh even harder.

“ ‘You girls are ridiculous!’ “I said in between giggles, quoting what both our moms had said at the time. “ ‘Ridiculous!’ ”

Alexis put her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, none of your business, okay? Chill out.” Cassidy glanced at me and rolled her eyes.

“Fine. But you sound crazy,” Alexis said before she walked back to the sofa.

“Oh, we are,” I said. I looked down at my nails, feeling happy but also confused. Cassidy and I hadn’t connected like this in months. Why couldn’t we always? Was the strong smell of nail polish going to our heads?

“So. I’m, you know.
Still
sorry about Halloween and the egging stuff,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it. I actually enjoyed watching my stepdad scraping it off the doorway,” Cassidy said.

“Oh?” I asked.

“Yes. He hates eggs.” She laughed. “And he’s such a neat freak. Everything has to be a certain way. And he keeps changing stuff around the house. Constantly. He got us new furniture, and he made the living room into the dining room, and my old room is now the guest room so I have the attic to myself but I don’t like the attic, and he turned an old closet into a ‘nook,’ whatever that is.”