But to be sure, I’m going to make it very clear that I want something super subtle. No clown-wig red.
I help Mom with kitchen cleanup, then catch up on my social media. I text Ramona.
Hailey:Bro’s girlfriend is coloring my hair. Pray for me!
I get back a shocked face emoji.
Hailey:I know. Then there’s the cookie exchange. Temptation!
Ramona:You can resist.
Hailey:And all the other stuff.
Ramona:You’ll be fine. Stay strong and have fun!!!
Hailey:I will, I vow.
I’m going to have fun this whole visit, I decide. I will juice up my hair, I will be a rock star at the school, and I will proudly read from my book at the big book party and not feel even remotely self-conscious. Because I am smart, I am strong, and I can conquer any situation.
***
Okay, how am I supposed to conquerthissituation?
I stare at my reflection. My hair is a startling shade of green. Iam supposed to do a book signing looking like Daughter of Grinch? Even worse, go speak to high school kids looking like this?
Gwendolyn is standing behind me, smiling a Stinkerbell smile. Someone needs to sic Krampus on her.
“What do you think?” she asks, as if she can’t tell from my horrified gawking.
My reflection has narrowed eyes and looks ready to hurt someone. “I think you did this on purpose.”
Gwendolyn’s fake smile vanishes, and she frowns at me. “I did not. I can’t help it if your hair is extra porous.”
“Aren’t you supposed to know about things like that? Aren’t you supposed to do a test first?” I demand. “And my scalp is itching like crazy.”
She gives a snort. “You’re allergic to looking good.”
“I’m allergic to looking like a traffic light!” Okay, I’m getting a little loud, and everyone in Hair Today is staring at me. Or maybe they’re staring at my hair. I lower my voice. “It was supposed to be pastel. You’ve got to fix this. Bleach it out or something.”
“I can’t. It will damage your hair. Anyway, a couple of washings, and it will be perfect,” she insists. “Sheesh, you’re so ungrateful.”
I yank off the plastic cape, grab my purse, and head for the door. It’s a good thing I’m not paying for this. Oh, wait. I am. I’m paying with a ton of humiliation.
“See if I ever do your hair again,” she calls after me.
See if I ever let you. I don’t say it. Trying to be mature here.
“It will look good eventually,” says the receptionist as I march past her.
Sometime before death would be nice. I don’t say a word as I push open the door.
I am so wishing I’d worn a hat as I leave the salon. What if I run into someone I know?
What if? There is no what-if. Of course I’ll run into someone Iknow. This is a small town and I grew up here. Hopefully, whoever sees me will be someone I barely know.
It’s snowing, and our little downtown looks like it should be inside a snow globe. All the shops have fir swags across the top of their windows and wreaths on the doors. The last of the late afternoon light is dimming, and the streetlamps, all wrapped in red plastic ribbon, have come on. So have the twinkle lights in all the trees along Main Street. A big banner that saysHappy Holidaysis strung across the street. For a moment I’m caught up in the charm as I walk toward my car.
Until I see... oh no. Please. Anyone but him.
