Winner Takes All (10 page)

Another Candy Apple Book…Just For You.

“What about this one?” My little sister, Amelia, held up a photograph of a woman with short hair puffed into spikes.

“She looks like an exotic cactus,” I told her.

“Rosa! That’s the
point
!” Amelia huffed and kicked her legs against her chair. Her toes barely scraped the salon’s pale wood floor. “I want to make a
statement
!”

“A statement like, ‘I’m wearing a colorful blowfish on my head’?” I asked her. “Is that really how you want to start school here?”

Amelia huffed again. Grumbling, she turned the page. “Ooooh!” Her eyes lit up.

Our mother appeared and frowned down at the photo Amelia was admiring. Blond hair with pink tips. “Not appropriate for fourth grade,” Mom announced.

With a dramatic sigh, Amelia shut the hairstyle book and placed it back on the table, along with the other portfolios.

“You have gorgeous hair, Amelia,” Mom told her. “You don’t need a crazy cut or wild color.”

“I’m sick of my hair!” Amelia wailed dramatically. She tossed her long, jet black locks over her shoulder and pretended to fuss with it, as if it had been causing a ruckus on her head.

“Fine, you can tell it to the stylist,” Mom said.

“Ms. Hernandez?” The receptionist, Renee, smiled at my mother. “Angela is ready.”

“Rosa, you’re next,” Mom told me as she took Amelia by the hand.

“Is there anything I can get you while you wait?” Renee asked me. “We have juice, tea, seltzer water, or hot cocoa.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I told her. “I’ve got my glass of water.”

“Just let me know if you need anything,” Renee said before retreating to her desk.

I sat back in the plush leather chair and flipped through a celebrity magazine. Sometimes, the way people treated me in my mom’s salons made me a little uncomfortable. It was bad enough when we lived in Miami, and she was southeast regional director for the Athena brand. But now they’d made her executive vice president and moved us to Chicago. When Amelia and I showed up for our haircuts, Mom let it drop that she was a bigwig from Corporate. Now everyone was falling all over themselves for our sake. But I didn’t need cocoa and a chair massage—all I wanted was a trim. I had to start a new school the next day, and I didn’t want to look raggedy.

I flipped another page, checking out the reviews of a couple of new movies, when I heard someone say, “Ex-
cuse
me? Are you
kidding
?”

I looked up and saw Renee blushing madly. “I’m sorry, there’s been a mix-up, and someone is scheduled against your appointment.”

A girl with gorgeous strawberry blond curls was standing in front of the reception desk, her arms folded across her chest. She looked like she was about my age. A woman with light brown hair placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Look, we made an appointment for my daughter, and we expect you to honor it.” Her voice had an edge.

“What’s the name again?” Renee asked.

“Jacqueline Darcy,” the girl said.

Renee shook her head as she flipped through the calendar. “I don’t see your name…”

“Isn’t another stylist available?” her mother demanded.

“I’m sorry, but we’re all booked—”

“Is there a problem here?” my mother asked as she strode up to reception. She had on dark jeans and a T-shirt with a bright red cardigan, but somehow managed to look Very Official. Maybe it was the way she walked. “How can I help you?”

“There was a mistake in the booking, and this girl’s appointment got bumped,” Renee explained to my mother.

Mom didn’t go ballistic. She just nodded. “Well, luckily, that problem is easily fixed. She can take Rosa’s appointment.”

I looked at the girl. Honestly, her hair looked great—she didn’t even need a haircut. Still, I knew my mother’s motto: “Even when the customer is wrong, they’re right.” I just sighed. “No problem.”

Jacqueline smiled gratefully at me. “Thank you so much! I’ve got this really important presentation tomorrow, and I want to look decent.”

Very important presentation?
I wondered what that could possibly be, but decided not to ask. “Okay, well, good luck with that,” I told her.

Renee stood up. “Well, if you’d just follow me, Jacqueline…”

“Everyone calls me Jacqui.”

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Jacqui’s mother said, giving her daughter a quick peck on the cheek.

“Thanks again!” Jacqui called as she followed Renee to the sinks.

I waved. Mom came over and pulled my long hair over my shoulder. “I’ll give you a trim when we get home,” she promised.

I gave her a dubious look. “You haven’t cut hair in ten years.”

Mom smiled. “Yeah, but I cut it for ten before that. I’ve still got the skills.”

Renee bustled back. “Ms. Hernandez, I swear to you that has never happened before—”

Mom nodded. “And we don’t want it to happen again.”

Renee straightened up, nodding seriously. “Never.”

“Happy customers are repeat customers,” Mom told her.

“Absolutely.”

Mom gave Renee a pat on the shoulder. “Great.”

Renee stepped back behind her desk. She looked like someone who had just avoided a prison sentence.

“Omigosh, what do you guys think?” Amelia appeared, flipping her hair dramatically from side to side, like a model in a shampoo commercial.

“Did you get it cut yet?” I asked her. Seriously, I couldn’t see a difference.

“Are you
kidding
?” Amelia looked shocked. “I got, like, half an inch lopped off!”

“Looks great, honey,” Mom said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Looks great.” But I couldn’t help smiling to myself a little. My best friend, Jessica, always used to refer to my little sister as a “Wannabe Drama Queen.” It was just so Amelia to walk into a salon, threaten to get pink hair, and then get the world’s most insignificant trim.

“Ooh, cool!” Amelia said as she bounced along on the bridge between the two ice-skating rinks.

“I know,
two
rinks!” I agreed warmly.

“No, I’m talking about the frozen yogurt place,” Amelia explained. “Mom, can I get some?”

Mom dug through her purse and pulled out her red wallet. “Sure. Get me some, too. Anything chocolate. Rosa?”

“Vanilla and chocolate twist with chocolate sprinkles.”

“I’m getting chocolate with chocolate sprinkles,” Amelia announced.

We’re a family of chocolate fiends—can you tell? Mom handed Amelia a twenty-dollar bill, and she scurried off to get our orders. The ice rinks were at the center of the indoor mall, on the first level. People munched and watched the skaters zip by in an endless circle while pop music played over the loudspeakers. There were two levels overhead, and the ceiling was made of glass.

Mom and I went down a short flight of stairs to the large rink’s main entrance. A friendly woman with big hair and a big smile greeted us from behind a counter. “Hi! Welcome to Wilkinson Rinks! Do you need to rent some skates today?”

“Actually, I’m here to find out about skate classes,” Mom said.

“For you?” the woman asked.

“For me,” I piped up.

“And you are…?”

“I’m Rosa Hernandez.”

“I’m Opal Mission.” She smiled, revealing perfectly even teeth. “Have you ever skated before, Rosa?” She pulled out a full-color brochure.

“She’s won several awards,” Mom announced.

“Mo-om.” I rolled my eyes. “They were for the county—where we used to live. In Miami. It wasn’t some huge achievement.”

“Well, Miami’s a big city,” Ms. Mission said. “There must have been skaters.”

“Yeah, but—skating isn’t huge there,” I told her. “At least, not at the place I went to.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Mom cut in. “Rosa’s a very gifted skater. She’ll need an advanced class.”

“Maybe we should start you out in Intermediate,” Ms. Mission suggested. She shifted her body against the counter. She was overweight, but in a pretty way that made her soft-looking. She smiled kindly at me. “If you do well, you can move up.”

“She needs an
advanced
class,” Mom insisted, her dark eyes flashing.

Ms. Mission laughed. “You’re a lady who knows what she wants, aren’t you?” she asked.

“She sure is,” I agreed.

Mom’s scowl relaxed into a smile, and she even managed to chuckle at herself.

“Okay, Advanced it is,” Ms. Mission said. “That class meets at 3:30.”

Ms. Mission smiled as my mother handed over the check. “Great! We’ll see you here tomorrow afternoon.”

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