Beauty tip: When it comes to
hair, sometimes simpler is better.
I'm still organizing the hair-products aisle. My day has been the complete opposite of Claudia's, but I guess she deserves some fun on her birthday.
I'm arranging the hair gels by color (a new change I'm implementing in the pharmacy, though Mom and Grandma don't know it yet) when I start to hear screaming coming from the parking lot. And it's getting louder.
"Mom! I'm not going to say it again. That woman ruined my hair! I don't care about a refund. Homecoming is tonight. Tonight! Do you even know what that means?"
The screaming is really loud now, since the girl is in the store. I wonder what could have possibly happened to her hair.
I stand up on my tiptoes so I can peek over the top shelf in the hair section and see who is making such a commotion. And in a million, billion years I never could have guessed who was inside Old Mill Pharmacy right this very minute. Never in a million, billion, trillion years.
Courtney Adner.
Homecoming queen at Old Mill High School for two years in a row.
"Mom, seriously, I'm hanging up on you. You sent me to your stupid salon when I could have gone with Brooke and Taylor, and now look." Courtney pauses, holding the phone a few feet away from her face and rolling her eyes at it. I scrunch down a little to make sure she can't see me. "Hanging up, Mom. Hanging up." She slams her flip phone closed with way too much force for a cell phone to handle, and then she walks over to the hair-product aisle, right where I am.
I'm not really sure what to do, since Courtney's wearing a baseball cap, and I can't see her hair. If I knew what the problem was, maybe I could make a suggestion.
Courtney starts going through the hair-product shelves bottle by bottle, tube by tube, carefully reading the descriptions on each one. To my surprise, she seems kind of calm now, and I begin to think everything's going to be okay.
But that only lasts for a second. Soon Courtney starts dialing numbers furiously, one after another. When her friends' voice mails pick up, she says, "E-mer-gen-cy," and then hangs up. None of her friends answer, and she gets angrier and angrier, stamping her black boots on the linoleum floor and making those weird black marks that look terrible but actually come off with just a rub of your sock.
I'll have to text Claudia later and tell her about this.
I'm just going about my business, still color-coding the shelves, when Courtney starts weeping right in front of me. I didn't think a girl like Courtney Adner wept like this, all pathetic and splotchy. She's wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her maroon cardigan. I don't know what to do. Next, she falls to the floor, holding her head in her hands and rocking back and forth.
That's when Grandma comes over.
"Doll, what's the trouble here?" Grandma asks.
Courtney looks up at Grandma, and for some reason that makes her cry even more.
"If you tell me the problem, maybe I'll be able to find a way to fix it," Grandma says.
"No offense, but you can't fix it." She sniffs. "Unless you can cut off all my hair and then make it grow back by tonight." She looks down at the floor and doesn't wait for an answer. "See what I mean? Can't fix it."
"Okay, take off the hat," Grandma insists. "Take it off so I can see what they've done to you."
"Seriously. I just told you. You can't fix this." Then she mumbles, "And don't tell me what to do."
"Take off the hat," Grandma says again, firmly. "I'll be the judge of this situation."
Courtney finally listens to Grandma. Even Courtney Adner listens to my grandma.
Under Courtney's baseball cap is a mop of frizzed-out, thick, tangled strawberry-blonde hair. Well, the top is strawberry blonde; the bottom is green. "If you can fix this, then you're a miracle worker," Courtney says.
Grandma stands back a few feet, her hands over her mouth, nodding like she's assessing the situation. I look around, wondering where Mom is, and I see her sitting in the office, on the phone. She's in her own world right now; she probably doesn't even realize this Courtney Adner hair trauma is even happening.
"Okay, doll, here's the thing," Grandma says softly, touching Courtney's shoulder. "You're not going to be able to wear your hair down for this event. But-"
Grandma stops talking and walks over to the hair-accessory aisle. Courtney and I just stand there staring at each other. Claudia was right about one thing-Courtney Adner really is pretty. All of her features just go together: the perfect nose; big, green eyes; lips that aren't too big and aren't too small. Courtney Adner's too pretty for her hair to look like this.
When Grandma comes back, she has a handful of hair accessories. Some I know Courtney will definitely not want to wear. They're made of pearls and satin ribbons, and I'm kind of embarrassed that Grandma even brought them over. But some of the others are okay. Maybe.
"Um, I don't think so," Courtney says, a little rudely.
"You don't think so?" Grandma asks. "You didn't even look."
Courtney looks through the pile, but I can tell she's not happy. Grandma leaves to help some women looking at the aromatherapy candles at the front of the store.
While Grandma and Courtney were talking, though, I thought of a solution-I think. Maybe it won't help the problem permanently. But it'll help the problem for today, and that's something. But I don't know if I should even bother. It's not like Courtney Adner, homecoming queen for two years running, is really going to listen to a seventh grader.
"Maybe I can just wear a hat?" Courtney asks, not talking to anyone in particular. "Maybe it'll be a new trend or something." She takes her phone out of her pocket and starts dialing. Again, no one picks up, but she gets a few voice mails and says, "We're wearing hats tonight," to each one.
Her cell phone rings a second later. I don't think the person on the other end even utters two words before Courtney starts screaming: "I said we're wearing hats. Don't argue with me, Petra." Courtney starts stamping her feet again. "Petra, it will not look stupid."
After Courtney hangs up, she looks through the pile of hair accessories again, whimpering. "Ugh, these are all so ugly!" she says under her breath. When I look up, she says, "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to insult your products."
Now's the time. I have to say something.
"Um, Courtney," I say. My mouth feels dry, since it's the first thing I've said in a while. "I have two products that will help. One to fix the frizz, and the other to fix the green color issue."
"Luce, let's not start mixing more products," Grandma says. I have no idea how she overheard me from the front of the store. But now she's walking over to us. "You don't know what the combination will do."
"Trust me, Grams. These products are meant to fix mishaps." I go over to the shelves to find the purple bottle of Fix-a-Frizz and the green tube (how appropriate) of Natural Color.
See, I've had a lot of time to read the descriptions on all of these products over the past few years. I know what they all do and how they work. I've even watched the infomercials, just to get some extra information.
"Put the Fix-a-Frizz on first, let it sit for twenty minutes, and then brush it through your hair. You don't need to wash it out," I tell Courtney. "And then you only put the Natural Color on the sections that have color damage. Make sure you don't put it on your whole head."
I hand Courtney the bottles and she stares at me. "These will really work?"
I nod. "Yeah, they'll fix your hair for tonight. Then use this." I hand her the bottle of the Earth Beauty rinse. "It's meant to naturally restore your hair to its original state."
Courtney still doesn't seem convinced. "And what'll I do if my hair looks even worse after I use this stuff? Then what?"
"Then you'll wear a hat." I shrug and guide her over to the cash register, where Mom's putting all of Mr. Becker's diaper-rash products for his newborn son into a bag. At least Mom's finally out of the office. When she's done, Mom takes Courtney's products, and Courtney hands her a credit card.
"Well, if this doesn't work, then I want my money back," Courtney says to Mom, not even looking at me.
"Actually, the Fix-a-Frizz can be used right here," I add. I really want her to believe me. I feel a little like my mother right now, fighting for a good cause. "You don't even need water."
"Yeah, so?" she grumbles.
"Let me show you. Sit down, and I'll put it in your hair," I say. "Then you'll feel a little better. I promise." I have no idea where this surge of confidence is coming from, but I've tried the Fix-a-Frizz on Claudia's hair a billion times. I know it works.
"Whatever-it can't get any worse," Courtney mutters. She sits down on the chair next to the prescription counter and hands me the bottle. I pour a few drops out into my palm and then rub my hands together. Then I very gently comb it through her hair with my fingers.
After I brush it through, I hand her a mirror. "It's not perfect." I shrug. "But it's a start. If you go home and use the Natural Color and the Earth Beauty rinse, you'll be fine. You don't need to wash your hair with shampoo if you use the rinse."
"I can't believe this," Courtney says, admiring herself in the mirror. "I actually have almost normal-looking hair again." She turns around and looks at me in disbelief. "Thank you. What's your name again?"
"It's Lucy." I smile.
I'm not surprised that the Fix-a-Frizz worked, but I am a little surprised that Courtney Adner trusted me and believed me and let me use it on her hair, right here. Maybe I'm more like my mom than I realize. Maybe I have that same passion for making bad situations a little better and fixing injustices. It was only a hair trauma situation, but for Courtney it seemed like the end of the world. And I helped her.
"Thank you so much," Courtney says, handing me the mirror.
"Have fun tonight! I'm sure you're going to look great."
Courtney Adner would look great anyway. Even with that hair.
