The Queen of Cool (13 page)

“No,” I say.

“Well, you spend a lot of time with her,” Perla says.

“No, I barely even like her,” I say.

But we both know that’s not really true.

“What’s up with you and Mike Dutko?” I ask. “He’s following you around like a lovesick monkey.”

“Nothing,” Perla says, avoiding my eyes. “He’s bugging me.”

“You and Kenji seem to be hanging out a lot,” I say.

“I thought you said you and Kenji were casual,” Perla says carefully.

“We are,” I say. “We’re so casual that I hardly see him anymore.”

“Kenji and I are just friends,” Perla says.

Right.

While Tiny and Sheldon clean Camp Gombo, the interactive safari tent exhibit, I am cleaning the outside glass of the chimpanzee cage.

Poco, one of the little guys, breaks away from the pack and climbs up onto a piece of fire hose stretched out to resemble a vine.

His dark little eyes follow my hand as I spray the window and wipe it with the rag. He is fascinated by me. I stop what I am doing and stare back at him.

We’re both in cages, I think.

“You didn’t get that much done,” Tiny says, coming up behind me.

I break my gaze with Poco, who scampers away.

“I’m not a very good worker,” I say. Then I tell the truth. “Maybe this internship was a bad idea.”

I should just give this up,
I think.
I am dirty and sweaty. I stink. I’m tired. I suck at this. I’m losing all my friends.

“We’ll help you,” Tiny says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “We’re a team, right?”

It’s such a nice thing Tiny has just said. My friends would never help. We’re not a team. With them, it’s everyone for themselves.

Tiny grabs one of my rags and starts spraying the bottom of the window. Sheldon follows suit, doing the higher parts.

Later, as we’re walking back to the utility closet to put away the buckets and rags, Sheldon speaks up.

“Poco likes you,” he says.

“What?”

“It’s unusual. He’s the shyest chimp of the bunch.”

Great. I am liked by a chimpanzee.

That’s the best I can do right now.

Nonhuman.

I wake up with the need to find something to do. I call Perla and Kenji and get their voice mail. After waiting two hours for them to call me back, I give up on them.

I call Sid.

“Hi, Sid. What’s up? Wanna go for a hike or something?”

“I’m about to head out for work.”

“Oh.”

“But I’m really glad you called,” he says. “Rain check?”

“Whatever,” I say.

“You should stop by the salon. I’ll give you some free product.”

“Um . . . maybe.”

“Great. That’s the other line. So, I’ll see you later,” he says, hanging up.

Didn’t he hear me?

I said,
maybe.

My day is turning out hopeless. There is no one to hang out with. I am forced to find fun all on my own.

In the back of my mind there is a voice reminding me that I could call Tiny, but I don’t listen to it. Instead I make my way down the hall.

The sun falls squarely on Mom, sitting at the kitchen table, her head resting on her hand as she reads a magazine. Her long, long hair spills over her shoulders.

She catches me staring at her.

“What?”

“I’m declaring a fashion emergency.”

“Where?”

“On your head,” I say. “You should totally get a haircut.”

“Why? What’s wrong with my hair?” She pats her hair protectively.

“It’s old-fashioned. You look kind of like a hippie.”

“Well, maybe I do need a trim.” I follow her to the bathroom and lean on the doorway as she examines herself in the mirror.

I step behind her and I lift her hair up past her shoulders. “It would be so cute up, and flippy and with some highlights. We should go get you a haircut right now.”

Mom opens the drawer next to the sink and takes out the scissors.

“I can trim it myself. It’s not in the budget to go to the hairdresser right now.”

“We can go to Rudy’s. Sid works there. He’ll give us a discount.”

“It’s Saturday,” she says. “Don’t you have something you would rather do?”

No. I don’t have anything I would rather do. I do not want to walk around The Grove and not be able to eat lunch and not be able to buy cute new clothes and not buy a new novel and not go see a movie and then not get a latte and maybe not get some mint chocolate chip ice cream. I do not want to be bored because I don’t have the money to have fun. And I definitely don’t want to not do any of that all by myself.

“I’d be seeing Sid and hanging out with you,” I say. “It’ll be fun.”

Mom puts the scissors back into their red plastic case and nods.

“Okay.”

“Yo, yo,” Sid says when we walk in. He smiles. “You came to visit me at work?”

“No, I’m here for my mom. I’m giving her a fabulous makeover.”

“Sounds like you’re playing dress-up,” Sid says. Then he leans over the register book and whispers, “Just FYI: she’s not a Barbie doll.”

“I know,” I say. “Just put her name on the list.”

Sid sighs.

“I’ll get you in as quick as possible.”

“I know you will.”

I wave to my mom, who is standing by the magazines, and give her a thumbs-up. Then I join her and point at pictures to show her everything I think her hair will be.

“Julietta!”

Sid finally calls my mom’s name, and as she settles into the chair, I begin to give the hairdresser instructions. My mother looks uneasy. The hairdresser gets what I’m saying and begins snipping away long strands, and they fall to the ground.

“Are you sure, Libby?” Mom says.

She looks uncomfortable. Demetra, the hairdresser, stops what she’s doing. She senses my mom’s stress.

“Just keep cutting!” I say. “It’s going to be great.”

My mom is now completely freaking out as she looks in the mirror.

“You look so modern!” I say encouragingly.

But instead of agreeing with me, my mom is now crying. Demetra stops cutting. People in the other chairs begin to lean forward and look over at us. My mom is not being quiet about it.

“Mom, stop crying.”

But that just makes my mom cry harder. Then she says the words that make my heart freeze.

“I look terrible.”

Demetra is now horrified. She has a woman having a full-blown breakdown in her chair.

“You look fine,” I say, trying to hold on to the situation. “It’s just a big shock, Mom, from long to shorter.”

Demetra ignores me.

“How can I fix it?” she asks my mom.

“You can’t,” my mom says.

“But it’s awesome!” I say. “You’re like a twenty-first-century beauty!”

I’m beginning to realize I don’t know what I’m talking about. She might not be crying about the hair, which makes me feel kind of freaked out. I realize the last thing my mom wants is another big change in her life.

I look around at the people in their chairs with their wet hair and half-done haircuts, and they are all looking right at
me,
blaming
me
for my mother’s crying. My eyes find Sid, who has finally looked up from his desk and sees that there is trouble. He leaves his post and makes his way over to us.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

He looks from my mom, who is openly crying with snot running down her nose, to Demetra, who now looks as though she is about to cry too.

He puts his hand on Demetra’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go get Mrs. Brin a glass of water.”

Then he kneels down at my mom’s feet and puts his hand on her knee, not in a pervy way, but as though he is soothing her. He whispers to her, like he’s calming a skittish animal. I lean in, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. Eventually my mom begins to smile, and everyone in the beauty salon who seemed to be accusing me of Fashion Murder seems to sigh with relief. They turn back to admiring themselves in the mirrors.

I’m so jumpy inside that I wish Sid would do his calming trick on me. But instead he gets up off his knees and winks at me, then goes back to work and leaves me to my own devices.

“What did he say?” I ask in the car on the way home.

My mom is still smiling. Sid gave her some free product, and Demetra came back and made the cut more pixie-like. She looks pretty good.

“He said I looked chic.” Mom laughed. “I think he was trying to flirt with me.”

“Ew, gross,” I say.

“I like Sid. He seems very nice.”

“Well, if you like him so much, why don’t you marry him?”

“You have gone from Fashion Freedom Fighter to Irritated Teenager in just under 2.5 hours,” Mom says. Then she laughs again and shakes her new, short hair.

Kenji and I are finally out alone. Even though I didn’t care too much before, now that I never get to be alone with him, all I want is to be alone with him.

I watch him as I wait by the counter for my blueberry tea to be ready. His shoulders are wide and strong as he sits straight as an arrow, making his long-sleeved T-shirt fall and fold in all the right places. I’m amazed at how he makes his every body movement look so effortless. Like he’s fluid. When he leans over the table to play with the sugar bowl, the bone at the nape of his neck sticks out, and I have this sudden desire to run over and kiss it.

As if he’s reading my thoughts, he turns around and looks at me, smiles, and sticks out his tongue. He puts his arm up on the back of the couch.

I see myself in those arms. Tonight I’m going to get me some.

I walk toward the couch and settle myself into Kenji’s embrace.

Then the door to the café opens, and Perla walks in. She beelines straight for us, pulls up a chair, and leans in close.

Kenji takes his arm off my shoulders.

“You didn’t order me one?” Perla pouts.

“I forgot,” Kenji says.

“Never mind — we can share.” She leans over the coffee table and starts to drink from his cup.

Tiny is dancing around the empty cage, using the mop as her dance partner.

“Come on, Libby!” she commands. “Dance!”

“No, thanks.”

“Boring!”

Her twirling makes the color from her reconstructed T-shirt and her dirty work pants swirl.

She jetés awkwardly in the air.

I just can’t see myself letting go like that today.

No. Not today.