I stupidly looked around and then pointed to myself and said, “Me?”
Janet rolled her eyes and then blew a bunch of air out of her mouth and started turning away.
I can’t explain why, but all of a sudden my heart constricted like a fist had grabbed it and I felt like everything about this new town was starting out poorly all because Uncle Carl wouldn’t help her get her phone out of the car.
So then I awkwardly shouted, “I would help that helpless person! I would help that person get their phone!” She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. Then I looked at Uncle Carl, who I hadn’t seen or talked to for almost four years. “Uncle Carl, can’t you help her get her cell phone?”
After some sighing and huffing and “talk about war on all fronts” comments he went into the Lock & Key, got some kind of long, metal tool, and crossed the street with Janet, pointing it at her like a sword, saying, “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for those kids.”
He jimmied the lock and she got her cell phone out and then he locked and closed the door again. From across the street she raised her hand, which had the phone, and was like, “Hey you! Girl with the hair! Best friends forever!” Then she skated down the street.
I wasn’t sure then, because the whole thing had seemed impossible and spontaneous, like something that would happen to Mama. But it turned out, she’d been talking to me.
**Observation #775: Janet
She never asks if she can style my hair.
I sit down and she just does it.
Being around her is like being around a tornado
—unpredictable and chaotic
and I can’t help but get sucked into her storm.
Which is fine by me.
CHAPTER 4 THE LONG WAY TO TOWN
When I get back from Janet’s trailer, Patrick comes in from the backyard where he’s been trimming the four scraggly trees. They look naked now, and I wonder if he knows what he’s doing. Duke’s outside, looking up from his nap, waiting for him.
“Where’ve you been?” he asks, wiping his face with his bandanna. He looks at my hair but doesn’t say anything else.
“Janet’s. She lives down the street.”
“I know where she lives. When you go somewhere, you should probably leave me a note.” He goes over to a drawer by the phone and takes out a pad of paper and a pen. “Just write it on here.”
“Okay.”
He looks at me and then nods and goes back outside. Patrick pats Duke on the head before returning to the trees.
I don’t mention the plan to go into town. It’s too hard to talk to a clam.
• • •
Later, it takes Birdie and me almost half an hour to walk to the salon. In town, besides the shops, there are some houses and apartments, along with our schools and the library. But most of the older houses with land are farther out, off the highway. People come through here on their way to the mountain but not a lot of people actually live here. Janet said there used to be a barber shop, but this town is too small to have two places to cut your hair. So I guess the guys have to go to Cherylene too.
We each eat a Honey Bunny Bun as we go. Birdie licks his sticky fingers and straightens his pink and purple lightning-bolt rings.
“It’s going to take forever to get to school now,” says Birdie.
“We used to walk almost as far when we’d go to the reserve.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t every day. And I actually like going to the reserve.”
“Well, Patrick said he’s going to bring us to school tomorrow. He’s going to talk to your teacher.”
“Don’t remind me.” He changes the subject. “I wonder if Uncle Carl has any new magazines.”
We’re crossing the street toward the salon, and I’m about to say that I doubt Uncle Carl bought new magazines since yesterday, when I hear Janet’s voice ring across the pavement.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe you haven’t totally destroyed your hair. Honestly, I am truly in shock. Here, take my pulse. And gimme some Honey Bunny.” She takes a piece of my bun and pokes at my hair one last time.
“Are we going inside?” I ask.
“Yes. Okay, so for the big reveal, they will be looking at the hair, of course, the masterpiece, but your posture and facial expression will affect how they see the hair. I can’t have you walking in like some slumped, three-day-old chalupa that’s been rotting in the sun. We can’t do anything about your sad fashion sense, and the track pants that you love so much, but whatever! Be confident! Walk in like you’re wearing a Bob Mackie gown!” She gives me a quick demonstration.
Birdie smiles and twirls along with her. Janet looks at him and rolls her eyes. “See, even he can do it,” she says. Then she takes a deep breath. “All right—this is it!”
Bells tied to the door jingle as Janet ushers us in.
Every chair is filled with a customer getting snipped and shined. Before Janet even has a chance to announce us, Cherylene appears from the back of the building.
“Janet, come get this broom. Start sweeping. Any longer and we’re going to have a problem tantamount to Captain Kirk’s trouble with tribbles.”
You might think that a clash between a stick-thin fourteen-year-old girl and a fifty-year-old woman who looks more like a truck driver, except for her hair and nails, would be no contest. But this is Janet.
“Cherylene—” she starts.
“That’s Miss Cherylene. Or you can call me Captain.”
“Right.
