Swept Up Read online

  I didn’t know that, but I didn’t say anything. There’d been something about Ana all along that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I wasn’t about to give up, though. Not on Giancarlo, not ever.

  “Do you mind if I stay? Do my homework in the back?” I asked. The truth was, I hardly had any homework, but I needed to do some investigating about what truly happened with Giancarlo and Ana.

  “Can you concentrate here?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Besides, I don’t have much to do.”

  “Okay, then,” she said. With Mom working in her office, I knew it was unlikely she’d come to the back. I’d be in the clear.

  I went back to the storage room and, in about fifteen minutes, finished the short English worksheet I had shoved in my bag. Then I went to look at the inventory. I grabbed the clipboard that listed the products—shampoo, conditioner, mousses, gels, pomades, setting lotions, silicone sprays, and of course the hair colors.

  On a small section of the wall hung the color chart, with little samples of fake hair to show what the color would look like. Beneath the little curl of hair was the name, like Sable Lux, Shy-Dye Blond, and Rita Red. Numbers corresponded to those colors that matched the bottles on the shelves. We took inventory once a week to see what color was used the most and reordered more of that than the others. In short, the chart should show exactly what colors were used that week. All I’d have to do is ask the stylists what they used, compare that to the chart, and make sure it all added up.

  I remembered how Ana had been lingering back here by the colors when she should have been in the changing room. She’d said she’d gotten lost, but . . . I’d just given her a full tour. Something was starting to smell like a bad perm left under the dryer too long. I wondered if the inventory could be off. Maybe somehow Ana slipped in a wrong color to make her dye job go so horribly wrong? I checked the list against what was on the shelves and everything checked out. Figures, I thought. Besides, Giancarlo would have known the color was off as soon as he mixed it and certainly before he put it on her hair. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but whatever it was I hadn’t found it yet.

  Devon came to the back to get some styling mousse. “Hey, Micks,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just dropped by after shopping,” I said. Devon was always straight-up honest, so I thought I could bring up what happened without her shutting down about it. No one else seemed to want to mention Giancarlo. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “What did you think of that whole thing with Giancarlo and Ana?”

  “I thought it was pretty messed up.”

  “Do you think it was his fault, though?”

  “I can’t say,” Devon said. “It’s a tricky area. When a client asks you to do something to their hair that’s against your training and knowledge as a stylist, you have to be really careful. Your job is to please the client but also to make them look amazing. The worst thing you can do,” she said, “is damage a client’s hair. That’s something that won’t just get you fired—it could land you in court.”

  “That’s what Mom said,” I told her. “She said Ana could sue her in small claims court.”

  “She could, if she really thought her hair was damaged that badly and that Giancarlo was negligent. It’s pretty serious stuff.”

  “I just don’t believe it,” I said. “I don’t know—something about that Ana woman.”

  “I heard she and your mom have some sort of history?” Devon said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That and some kind of big fight.”

  “Well, I’m sure it’s just that,” Devon said. “You’re being protective of your mom—and Giancarlo—because of that. Try not to worry about it.”

  The fact that Devon wasn’t buying into my convoluted theory told me that maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe Giancarlo had messed up.

  Later, as I rode home with Mom, I couldn’t stop thinking about it all. Maybe Ana didn’t secretly sabotage the color in the dish by swiping a bottle out of the back, but she did something. She had to have.

  “When is Ana coming in to have her hair fixed?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Mom said. She glanced at me and said, “Why?”

  “I’m just thinking,” I said. “What if Ana deliberately messed up her hair?”

  “Mickey,” Mom said, sighing. “First of all, that is ridiculous, second of all, that is impossible, and third of all—I told you to stay out of it. Don’t make me tell you again. I appreciate your help at the salon, but this is adult business.”

  “But, Mom, you said yourself that you guys ended things badly. What if she’s back for revenge?”

  Mom almost laughed. “Mickey, I think you’ve been watching too many movies.”

  “But you know Giancarlo is a better stylist than anyone,” I said. “No way would he ruin someone’s hair.”

  “But he did, Mickey,” Mom said. “We all saw it.”

  We turned onto a residential road in our neighborhood.

  “You know, Giancarlo told Ana it was time to get out from under the dryer,” I said. “I heard him and she refused. She said it wasn’t time yet and insisted on finishing whatever article she was reading.”

  Mom kept a steady watch on the road. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And I saw them out together the other night. Coming out of The Kitchen.”

  “You did? What were they doing there?”

  “I don’t know. But yesterday Giancarlo seemed kind of, I don’t know—funny.”

  “Funny how?” Mom asked.

  “I’m not sure. Like he was uncomfortable or something. One day they’re like old friends, the next, he seemed a little . . .”

  “Mickey,” Mom said. “I’m not sure I can get involved in this.”

  “But it’s Giancarlo, Mom!”

  “Yes, but his having dinner with Ana the other night and Ana supposedly staying under the dryer to finish an article doesn’t add up to anything. I already told you—I don’t want you getting involved in this.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t all add up yet,” I said. “But isn’t it enough to look at things a little more closely? Just so we can know for sure that nothing out of the ordinary has happened?”

  I could see her jaw clenching in the passing light of a streetlamp. “What are you proposing?”

  I shifted my body toward Mom as much as my seat belt would let me. “Ana’s coming in tomorrow, right? So we just casually ask her a few questions. Conversationlike. Just to see.”

  “You think you can get her to admit that she purposely ruined her own hair? And what does dinner with Giancarlo have to do with anything?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, feeling frustrated because I didn’t have any of the answers. “But that’s what we’re going to find out.”

  Mom turned onto our street, passing the other white clapboard houses with perfectly manicured, green lawns. “I guess I have been thinking a lot about Giancarlo since it happened. Some part of me doesn’t feel good about it, either.”

  “See!” I said. “So can we talk to Ana tomorrow?”

  Mom turned into our driveway, pulled into the garage, and cut the engine. I sat and waited for her answer.

  “I need something more concrete to go on than a dinner and an article. If you can tell me something solid, then I’ll think about it,” Mom said.

  “Yes!”

  “But it won’t be some attack campaign. We’ll just have a little chat with Ana. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I said. What I didn’t say was that I’d do anything to get Giancarlo back at the salon where he belonged—especially if it meant outing the person who had hurt him.

  CHAPTER 18

  When I saw Eve at school the next day,
I wanted to pounce and see how the museum went, if she finished her project, and what she thought of the dresses we’d texted her. But I managed to play it cool until she came up to me as I walked into the cafeteria for lunch.

  “So,” she said, walking beside me. “I heard about last night.”

  I knew immediately that she meant my fight with Marla in the midst of party dresses at the mall. “Listen, Eve, I’m really sorry—”

  “Thank you so—sorry for what?” she asked, our sentences crossing. “What happened?”

  “Um, nothing,” I said. Was it possible Marla didn’t tell her? “I was just going to say sorry you had to work until the last minute on your project. How’d it go?”

  “Great,” she said as we entered the caf together. “The Feigenbaum was just what I needed to get a little inspiration. I came up with a solution for static electricity and hair. I got home before you guys finished at the mall and started working on my presentation. Marla helped me finish it up when she got home.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “How’d you do it?”

  “We came up with a brush that could pump antistatic spray while you brush. Kind of like the stuff you can use on clothes. The brush was kind of wonky but the idea and presentation were good so—everything worked out!”

  “That’s amazing!” I cheered. “I’m really happy for you, Eve.”

  “It’s all thanks to you,” she said.

  “And Marla,” I said. “And Kristen and Lizbeth. It was a total team effort.”

  We sat down next to each other at the table. Jonah and Kyle weren’t there yet and neither were Kristen and Lizbeth.

  “Marla said you guys had a great time,” Eve said.

  “Really?” I asked. I know things ended well, but I wasn’t convinced Marla was a big fan of mine. But it had been . . . fun. After the almost-catfight and all. “I mean, yeah, we had a good time.”

  “She said you have a fierce sense of style.”

  “Really? She said that?”

  Eve nodded as she unpacked her lunch. “She also said you’re a superloyal friend to me. Mickey, I know you guys had a rough start,” she said, eyeing me with a little smile on her face. “Marla told me all about it. But she said it ended up being cool with you guys working it all out.”

  “We did,” I said. “And it was. Rough, I mean. That girl will not back down.”

  Eve laughed. “Tell me about it. It’s her best and worst quality. I think it’s really sweet how both of you were just trying to look out for me. Thanks for doing that, Mickey. I really appreciate it.”

  I smiled. “No big deal. You’d do it for me.”

  I wasn’t sure about that last part, but I hoped it was true. Eve didn’t say anything one way or the other.

  “So tell me about your project,” I said. “You got it done—that’s good!”

  “I know,” she sighed. “Now I know how you feel—always waiting until the last moment.”

  “A great adrenaline rush, isn’t it?” I said and laughed.

  “That’s one way to describe it,” she said. “Another way would be massive anxiety and paralyzing fear.”

  Kristen and Lizbeth came over and sat down across from us.

  “You guys,” Kristen said after we all said hello. “I’m seriously rethinking this whole going to the dance alone thing. Seems like a lot of work to make a lame guy jealous. I mean, he’s not worth the trouble.”

  “I told you,” Lizbeth said, “it’s fine if you go with me and Matthew.”

  “And does Matthew know this?” Kristen asked.

  “Not yet,” Lizbeth admitted. “But I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  “Sure,” Kristen said. “There’s nothing I love more than being a third wheel. I think I’ll pass.”

  “Who’s a third wheel?” Jonah asked as he and Kyle sat down, each on either side of me and Eve.

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Kristen said.

  “Not Tobias again?” Kyle said. “When are you going to give it up already?”

  “I have,” she said. “I’m done.”

  “They’re done,” I said to Kyle, “but Lizbeth and Matthew are fine. Eve is done with her science project, and Marla said she’s cool going to our dance. So that means we’ll all be there together—right, Eve?”

  “Well,” she said. “Truthfully, I don’t think I can handle the dance tonight. I already talked to Jonah about it. After this crazy week, having a friend in town, and working on this monster project, I just want to veg out. But text me and maybe we’ll meet you guys somewhere afterward.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, disappointed. “Didn’t you get the pictures of the dresses we texted you? It won’t take any time to pop in after school and check them out.”

  “Thanks for sending me those, but sorry,” she said. “It’s been a long week. I just don’t feel like it.”

  “Have fun, suckers,” Jonah said, but I think he mainly meant that for Kyle. I didn’t want to seem desperate, but I really wanted Eve to come. It would be more fun to have the whole group there. Plus I was sure it’d help our friendship if we could hang out together again. It was always more fun with all of us. I was bummed.

  “I guess that just leaves us,” I said to Kyle. The kiss would happen tonight, I was sure of it. My stomach fluttered at the thought. I wondered if I’d be ready.

  “And that would be horrible, wouldn’t it?” Kyle said, standing up from the table and grabbing his tray. “If you don’t want to go . . . maybe we should talk later.” He stormed off.

  I was stunned. The whole table fell quiet, staring at me. I didn’t know what I’d done, but I knew that while things were finally on the mend with Eve, I’d somehow just blown it with Kyle.

  I couldn’t find him anywhere. He hadn’t gotten that much of a head start but when I left the caf and started through the halls he was nowhere to be found.

  I looked in an empty classroom but didn’t see him. I checked the library and the gym and the hall near his locker. I sent him a text but he didn’t text back. I slumped against a row of lockers, wondering what I’d done.

  Class would start soon—what if I couldn’t find him before the end of the day? We hadn’t exactly decided where to meet tonight. Would we even still be going together? Did his storming out mean he’d just broken up with me?

  My phone buzzed with a new text. “Turn around,” I read. I turned. Way at the end of the hall stood Kyle, staring back at me. He nodded his head for me to follow, so I did.

  He went out a side door and stopped on a sidewalk that led to the teachers’ parking lot. I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to be out there, but didn’t say anything.

  The breeze blew his hair across his forehead, and although it was a little cloudy, there was a brightness to the day that made us both squint.

  “Look, do you still want to go to the dance with me or what?”

  “Yes!” I said. “Of course.”

  “Because you’re acting like you don’t. Do you still even like me?”

  “Yes,” I said again. “I do. I’m just acting crazy this week.”

  “Mickey, you’re always acting crazy. Which is fine. But this time you’re acting crazy toward me. I just get this feeling that you don’t want to be with me.”

  “No, I promise. It’s not that. It’s nothing.”

  He leaned his shoulder against the wall and put his hands in his pocket. “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I said. I did like Kyle. I wanted to go to the dance with him and hang out and talk more. “I just have a lot going on, but by the time we meet for the dance it’ll all be done with and I’ll be ready to just have fun.”

  He looked down at the sidewalk when he said, “I don’t want to go as a group. Seeing everyone there is fine. But I had plans for us. So
if it’s okay with you, I’d rather not go as a group or double with anyone or anything. Okay?”

  “Yeah, sounds good. Um, I’m getting my hair done at the salon.” I thought about the stunt we were going to have to pull off to get Giancarlo his job back. I’d be cutting time pretty close. “Do you want to pick me up there? Is that okay?”

  “Sure, it’s fine,” he said. “The dance starts at seven so maybe I’ll pick you up then? At seven?”

  “Perfect,” I said. “We don’t want to be the first ones there.”

  He looked at me, smiling. “Definitely not.” He held my gaze for a moment before reaching out to take my hand. “Ready to go back inside?”

  I took his hand, holding it lightly, comfortably. What was I so nervous about?

  “Ready,” I said.

  CHAPTER 19

  After school I sprinted out the door and headed to Hello, Gorgeous!, article in hand. If anyone asked me, I’d say the information I’d found was shocking.

  When I got to the salon, I immediately went to Mom’s office.

  “I’m not sure about this,” she said, pacing back and forth. “It feels a bit . . . ,” she said, circling her hand in front of her, “juvenile.”

  “I told you, Mom—it’s for Giancarlo. Besides,” I said, handing her the article. “I found this.”

  “What is it?” she asked, looking at the printout.

  “An article I found online last night from a Boston magazine.”

  I’d gone online after everyone went to bed. I waited until now to give it to Mom just in case I found more at school on the library computers. Truthfully, this was enough.

  What began as a small but promising salon soon became the darling of Newbury Street. Appointments were booked up to six weeks in advance with the stylists catering to the elite of Boston society. No woman was ready for the weekend’s gala, benefit, or special event without a visit to Ana Steiner’s Hello, Beautiful. Sadly, Ms. Steiner’s gem of a salon has lost its glamorous edge. Call it a case of overconfidence—or some might even say greed.