Geraldine sniffs and helps herself to more punch.
“Never mind her,” Mom whispers to me. “Your hair will look great by Christmas.”
But what about the talk at the school? And the book signing?
As soon as the women leave, laden with cookies, I’m back upstairs in the bathroom, washing my hair again. I blow it out and check my reflection. Still traffic-light green. I am so not looking forward to displaying this hair at the book signing.
***
“You look fabulous,” Dad tells me when I come downstairs, dressed for my appearance at Mountain Books.
I look good from the neck down at least. I’m wearing a black sweater accented with a gorgeous Christmas-red scarf and jeans. And my shooties. Carwyn is coming to the signing and has offered to drive me. I really want to look glam for this, so I’m hoping he’ll be able to keep me upright if we encounter any slippery spots. Hopefully, Eloise Matthews will have scattered rock salt in front of the store.
“Wow,” he says when I open the door. “You look Gucci.”
I push my glasses up my nose and roll my eyes. If I am looking good, it’s got to be the lipstick Ramona gave me, because it’s sure not the hair.
“Seriously,” he adds. “And the hair makes you look like the new Beat Generation.”
He is so full of frijoles, but never mind. I’ll take the compliment. “You look pretty good yourself,” I say. Understatement of the year.
He, of course, looks fabulous in his lined suede jacket, jeans, and boots—serious boots that will not slip under any condition.
“So, you ready?” he asks as I let him in.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” I admit.
Gram and her pals are already at the bookstore, and she’s texted Mom that there’s a crowd. I hope I don’t stumble over my words when it’s time to read from my book.
Dad greets Carwyn with a friendly slap on the back, then callsupstairs to Mom. “Come on, hon! We’re not going to get seats if we don’t move it.” He turns to me and gives me a hug. “See you there, Princess. Break a leg.”
“That’s the theater,” I say.
“Okay, then break a sales record,” he amends with a grin.
***
Carwyn pulls his car up in front of the bookstore. I feel like there are gremlins in my stomach having a snowball fight.
“You’ve done these before, right?” Carwyn says, trying to calm my nerves.
“Not in my hometown.” Where I was that shy little Fairchild girl (to the older generation) and the nerd (to mine).
“You’ll be great. Everyone loves you,” he says and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
Everyone loves me. Except for Gwendolyn, who is sitting in the front row next to Sam. He’s smiling. She’s sneering. I suddenly don’t want to read from my latest novel.
But, of course, I have to.
My hair has changed drastically since Mom and I dropped by the store to check in with Eloise, but Eloise pretends not to notice. She introduces me and everyone claps. A teen girl, also in the front row, looks ready to give me a standing O. She looks a lot like I did at that age. Well, okay, kind of like I still look, with the brown hair and glasses. Except now my hair is green.
I smile at her, and she beams. She has no idea I’m not bestowing that smile on her. I’m thanking her for the confidence boost.
Carwyn is smiling, too, like what I’m doing matters to him. It’s hard to believe it could after all those young years of unrequited love. I’m reading more into all this than I should, I’m sure. He’s only being friendly.
After I’m done reading there is more applause, and this time my front-row fan is on her feet, along with Gram and her posse and Mom and Dad and all their friends. So far so good, but now it’s time for the dreaded Q & A. It’s the usual questions:Where do you get your ideas? How many hours a day do you write? What music do you listen to when you’re writing?
Gwendolyn has a question. Oh, joy.
