The Secret Identity of Devon Delaney (10 page)

“Do my lips look plump?” Lexi demands now, pouting them out at us. She’s put on two coats of lip plumper, and her lips look like Angelina Jolie’s.

“Yes,” I say honestly.

“I’m getting it,” Lexi says, dropping it into her basket.

After we check out (Lexi spends $47.58, Kim
spends $63.24, and I spend $7.14), we still have an hour before Lexi’s mom is supposed to pick us up.

“Should we DDR again?” I ask hopefully. I’m planning on taking my dad to DDR soon and I want to make sure I’m in top DDRing shape so I can impress him with my skills.

“I’m bored with DDR,” Kim says, rolling her eyes.

“We could go to the bookstore and have a latte,” Lexi offers.

“No,” Kim says forcefully. “We’re getting manicures.” She marches off in the direction of the nail salon. Lexi and I look at each other, shrug, and then follow.

“Aren’t you gonna get your nails done, Devi?” Lexi asks me once we’re in the salon and she and Kim have picked out their nail polish (pink sparkles for Lexi and a bright yellow for Kim.) She takes a seat on one of the plush leather stools in the salon and hands the bottle of polish to the nail technician.

“I don’t think so,” I say, trying not to breathe through my nose. The salon doesn’t smell very nice. It smells like chemicals.

“Why not?” Kim asks.

“I didn’t bring enough money,” I lie. I
do
have enough money left over, but I don’t think my mom would be too pleased if I spent her money on a manicure. She gave me
the money herself, out of the money her new business has made, and I know she was really proud that she was able to do that. So I’m not going to abuse it. Besides, she’s going to look at the receipts. I know this because she said to me, “Make sure you bring me the receipts.”

“So, anyway,” Kim says to Lexi, “I didn’t want to have to tell him, but there was no way he was going to be able to ask her out. I mean, she is soooo out of his league.” She rolls her eyes.

I have no idea who or what Kim is talking about. Kim and Lexi are sitting at adjoining nail stations and I’m sitting on one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area, so it’s kind of hard for me to join in the conversation. I consider pulling a chair up behind them so that I can hear them better, but I’m not sure if that would be lame or not. I pluck a
People
magazine off the stack on the table and pretend to be totally engrossed in an article about some country music singer I’ve never heard of.

“You did the right thing,” Lexi tells Kim. “She
is
so totally out of his league, and you saved him a ton of embarrassment.” Kim nods seriously. Who are they talking about? And how does Lexi know this? She’s only been here a few days! Totally not enough time to
be an expert on the social hierarchy of Robert Hawk Junior High. Plus she thinks Jared and I are together, so she’s obviously not that good at picking out perfect matches.

“You okay over there, Devi?” Kim asks, raising her eyebrows and glancing over her shoulder.

“Of course,” I say I throw the
People
magazine down and pick up a book of hairstyles.

“Ooh, Devi, are you going to get your hair cut?” Lexi squeals. “That would be fab.”

“No,” I say. But then I remember that while Devon doesn’t necessarily get her hair cut on a regular basis, Devi is probably always at the salon, getting her hair styled and cut. “Well, actually, yes, at some point. But not today.”

“Why not?” Kim asks. “We have time. And besides, it’s not like they’re busy” She tilts her head toward the other side of the salon, where three hairdressers are standing around, seemingly with nothing to do.

“Not today,” I say.

“Whatev.” Kim shrugs her shoulders and turns back to Lexi. “Anyway, I think Jared likes you.”

“What do you mean?” Lexi asks, frowning. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Okay, Devon. Don’t panic. Remember what happens when you panic.

“I think he likes you,” Kim repeats. “I can tell by the way he looks at you.”

Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic. All I need is to get them off this topic. All I need is some kind of distraction. All I need is …

“I think I will get my hair cut after all!” I exclaim, jumping out of my chair and running over to where Kim and Lexi are sitting. I throw the book of hairstyles down on Lexi’s nail station and start flipping through the pages like a madwoman. “What do you guys think? Bangs? Or maybe layers? How short? I don’t think it should be too short, because I still want to be able to put it in a ponytail. Although a little off the bottom might be okay, because—”

“You,” Kim declares, interrupting me, “need long layers. And some blond highlights around your face.”

“Oh, no,” I say, starting to get a weird feeling in my stomach. “No highlights, thanks. I only have sixty dollars.” And my mom would disown me.

“I thought you didn’t have any money,” Kim says, blinking her sparkly eyes at me.

“I had more than I thought,” I lie. “But highlights are going to be way more than that.” Aren’t they? I think highlights are around a hundred dollars. At least, that’s what they always pay on TV for a decent color. I
saw it on a
Sex and the City
rerun. Which I wasn’t supposed to be watching.

“You just get the top done,” Lexi says. “It’s like fifty bucks and it doesn’t take as long.” She puts her hand in my face. “What do you think about this color? Is it too pink?”

“Um, I don’t think so,” I say.

“It totally is,” Kim says.

“Hmm,” Lexi puts her hand back down on the table. “I think I might want to change my color.” The nail technician nods and pulls out a bunch of tiny bottles of polish. Lexi studies them critically.

“Excuse me!” Kim yells over to the hairdressers on the other side of the room. One of them, a very tall woman with black hair, comes rushing over. Her nametag says,
LUCINDA.
“Hi,” Kim goes on. “My friend here”—she points to me—“would like to get her hair cut and some blond highlights, just around the top.”

“Certainly,” Lucinda says, all businesslike. “Come with me.” She produces some sort of black cape as if she’s a magician and ties it around my shoulders.

“Actually,” I start to say, “I’m not—”

“And a shampoo, too, please,” Kim calls after us. I see Lexi nod in agreement.

Lucinda plops me down in a chair, leans my head
back and, before I can protest, starts running warm water over my hair. I want to tell her to stop, but it feels too good. Nothing like when I get my hair cut at the Hairport near my house. Lucinda pulls a bottle of yummy-smelling shampoo off the shelf over my head and starts rubbing it into my scalp. Mmm. Relaxing. Maybe I’ll just take the shampoo and then I can tell her I changed my mind. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’m already in the middle of getting my hair washed, anyway, so it’s not like I can stop her. That would be rude, pulling up my big, soapy head. Not to mention a total mess. I’ll just take the shampoo and then tell her. Mmm. Feels good. But I’m definitely stopping. Really, I am.

An hour later, I leave the salon with a newly shaped haircut, blond highlights, and no money.

“Devon Nicole Delaney!” To say my mom is not pleased with my new look would be putting it mildly. “We’re going back. You’re getting it fixed.” She grabs her keys and her wallet off the counter and turns to Katie, who’s sitting on the living room couch. “Katie, get dressed. We’re going to the mall.”

“The mall, the mall, the mall,” Katie sings. She stands up and twirls around. “I love the mall. And I am dressed.”

“Then get your shoes on.” Katie runs off.

“Mom, this is not a big deal,” I say, trying to sound mature in an effort to deal with her reasonably. “It’s just a few highlights.” I am in love with my new haircut. Seriously, I don’t know why anyone would get an extreme makeover when they can just go to Lucinda. I feel like a whole new person. Which is a strange choice of words, given the fact that I’ve been living someone else’s life. But maybe this is the life I was supposed to lead. Maybe I was supposed to be A-list this whole time and I just needed an excuse to let the new, better Devon out. Like those people who lose a ton of weight and then claim their new thin selves are the person they were supposed to be. You’d think my mom would realize this because she watches so much
Oprah.

“A few highlights that you got without my permission and with my money,” she says, throwing her hands up in the air. Hmm. My mom could seriously use a manicure.

“If it’s the money, I’ll pay you back,” I say. “I’ll babysit Katie, whatever you want.”

“That’s not the point, Devon,” my mom says. She yanks a blue-and-white sneaker onto her foot and starts tying her laces.

“Mom,” I say, putting my hand over hers and
stopping her from tying. “Please. Calm. Down. It’s just some hair dye.” She sighs. “Listen, can we talk about this later? After we’ve both cooled down? I’m sorry I didn’t ask permission, but if I knew you were going to get this upset about it, I definitely would have.” My mom doesn’t say anything, and I rush on. “Plus Luke is going to be here any minute to work on our project.”

Our doorbell rings then, saving me like a snowstorm on the day of a big test.

“Fine,” my mom fumes. She pulls her sneaker off. She still looks very, very mad. “But we will be dealing with this later.”

“I know,” I say seriously. I race to the door. Luke’s standing there, wearing a blue-and-white sweater and eating an apple. His green book bag is slung over his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” I say, holding the door as he slides by me. Is Luke wearing cologne? He smells … different. I sniff the air around him experimentally.

“You changed your hair,” he says as I shut the door.

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, I just got it done.”

“It looks nice,” he says, and I feel myself flushing. He bends down to take his shoes off (so polite!), and
I catch a whiff of what could be cologne again. Sniff, sniff. Still can’t tell. Maybe he just smells like a boy. I’m not usually close enough to any boys to know what they smell like.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles.

“So where do you want to work?” I ask. “We could do it in here, I guess, or—”

“I’m ready for the mall!” Katie announces, bursting into the room. She’s in normal (read: non-Olympian) clothes for once. A pair of jeans and a pink and white polka-dotted sweater. “Oh,” she says when she sees Luke. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Luke says.

“We’re not going to the mall anymore,” I say. “So you can go in the kitchen. We’re going to be working on our project in the living room.”

“Okay,” Katie says, shrugging. Her blue eyes stay fixated on Luke. “I forget your name.”

“It’s Luke,” he says. “And you’re Katie, right?”

“Are you Devon’s boyfriend?” Katie asks seriously, ignoring his question. Uh-oh. Danger, Will Robinson. Who is Will Robinson, anyway? I think he’s a pilot.

“No,” I say. I put my hands firmly on Katie’s shoulders and start to push her toward the kitchen. “He’s not
my boyfriend. We’re working together on a very important project for school. Some
homework.”
I emphasize the word “homework” since, for some reason, Katie gets scared by it. It seems super serious to her.

“Okay,” Katie agrees as I propel her toward the door. “I forgot your boyfriend’s name is Jarrreeeeddd.” Katie squeals and then goes running into the kitchen.

“Sorry about that,” I say to Luke. “She’s a kid, you know.” I roll my eyes, hoping he’ll accept that excuse for Katie’s obvious insanity.

“You like Jared?” Luke asks, sounding surprised. Probably because (a) up until a few days ago, I’d never even really conversed with Jared, and (b) Luke is Jared’s best friend, and knows I definitely don’t have a chance with him.

“Jared who?” I ask, trying to play cool.

Luke frowns.

“Oh, Jared Bentley,” I say, backpedaling. “No, I don’t like him. Katie thinks that any guy I hang out with is my boyfriend.” He looks skeptical. “She’s five,” I explain.

“Right,” he says, sitting down on the couch. He slides his bag over his shoulder and unzips it, pulling out a bunch of papers. “So I was thinking it would be a good idea to have the script pretty much nailed
down tonight so that everyone will have enough time to memorize their parts before Saturday.”

“Good idea,” I say. “Let me show you the outline I came up with. Be right back.” I run to my room and pull out the outline I worked on earlier in study hall. It has all the important players of the Declaration of Independence, including some ideas for what I think they could say, some debates they could have, and who I think would be good for what parts. (I gave me and Luke the biggest parts since it’s our project and Lexi and Kim the smallest since I have a hard time believing they’re going to take this seriously.)

“Devon, this is great,” Luke says once he reads it. “Seriously, this is really awesome.”

“Really?” I say, flushing from the compliment.

“Yeah, this is going to make it a lot easier to get everything done. You’ve done most of the work.”

“Oh, hello,” my mom says, coming into the room. Oh, geez. “You must be Luke.”

“Yes,” Luke says, standing up. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Delaney.” He holds his hand out, and they shake.

“Just popping in to see if you two need anything,” my mom says, trying to sound innocent.

“No,” I say. “We’re fine.”

“Okay,” she says breezily. “I’ll be right in the kitchen if you do.” She emphasizes the words “right in the kitchen” I think in an effort to point out how close she’ll be to where we are.

“Sorry about that,” I say once my mom is out of earshot. “She’s totally overprotective.”

“It’s cool,” Luke says. “My dad’s the same way. Whenever I’m at his house, he checks on me every five minutes. I can’t be on the computer or the phone past eight, and if I want to go anywhere, I have to let him know, like, five days in advance.” He rolls his eyes.

“Your parents are divorced?”

“Yup,” he says, like it’s no big deal. “But it’s cool. I see my dad a lot. Even though he’s kind of a pain.” He grins.

“Yeah,” I say. “Same with my mom. I know she only does it because she cares, but it’s still kind of annoying. Like, she flipped out when she saw my hair.”