“Tell me you didn’t just invite me for my Y chromosome.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry. Ryan doesn’t have a temper; at least, not that I’ve ever seen. Until now. His brown eyes practically throw sparks behind the black frames of his glasses.
“I’m trying, okay? I can’t handle just the two of us yet. I mean, I want us to be friends, but—”
“Last week, I was trying to tell you I’m in love with you. I broke up with my girlfriend for you. Don’t friend-zone me.”
“Your girlfriend…? The one you were lying to? Don’t even try for the moral high ground.” I can’t believe that he’s acting like the injured party.
“Ryan and Sage, less 90210, more chemistry, please,” the teacher says.
“That’s their problem,” somebody cracks. “Not enough.”
Oh God. How did my life end up this way? So much pointless drama, and Ryan’s just making it worse. Tired of it, I put my head on the lab counter and wait to be struck by lightning.
Sadly, this never happens. I’m forced to finish this class and two more, then make my way to work. By comparison, my shift at the Curly Q is a marvel of peace and quiet. We get two new customers, which is cool for Mildred. The second girl comes in half an hour before closing. She’s small with long brown hair and shaggy bangs. Her blue polo shirt has a pharmacy logo on it—along with the khaki pants, this looks like a work uniform. Just inside the door, she chews her lips nervously as I walk toward the front desk.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“I just need…” Her voice is tiny, hesitant.
Wow, she’s shy.
“My bangs trimmed. Maybe the split ends on the rest.”
That won’t take long, so I call to Grace, who did my highlights, “Do you have time?”
She nods. It’s ten bucks more than she would’ve made fiddling with her own hair.
“I have to shampoo your hair first,” I explain. “It’s the law. This way.”
I notice she’s actually shaking when she sinks into the red reclining chair. Maybe she’s never had a haircut in a salon before? Pondering why that would be, I run the water so it’s nice and warm and then go about my business of wetting, lathering, rinsing, and conditioning. Water speckles the lenses of her red glasses, the one pop of color about her. I usually throw in a little head massage if there’s time, but she has a lot of hair, and Grace needs her in the chair to get it done before eight.
“There you go,” I say, helping her sit up.
The customer follows me over to Grace’s station, where I settle her with protective cape. “Do you want a magazine? Some water?”
“Water would be nice,” she says softly.
I head back to the tiny employee lounge and fill a paper cone for her. When I get back with the drink, Grace is already at work with the comb. That accomplished, I go back to work cleaning the rest of the salon. The other stylists are all gone; Grace and I are closing up together tonight. Windex and towels in hand, I do all the mirrors by the time she finishes the trim.
“I don’t have time to blow it out,” Grace says, then shows the girl how it looks it in back.
“I like it. Thank you.” She digs into her purse and slips Grace a few bucks.
That makes me smile; some people seem opposed to tipping their stylists. I head over to the front desk to ring her out. A full haircut is twelve bucks, so I charge her eight for the partial. Her eyes look so sad as she counts out the singles that I can’t help but ask: “Are you okay?”
“No,” she says softly. Then she squares her shoulders, like she’s about to drink some medicine. “See, I’m … I’m Cassie.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Oh. Crap.
I feel weirdly like the other woman. What am I supposed to say? “Ryan mentioned you.”
“Yeah … he talked about you all the time. I thought you were a coworker.”