The Real Me (7 page)

"Next week is the first day of spring," Erwina said. "I'll bet we have warm weather from now on!"

"Ha!" I snapped a twig off a bush and broke it in half.

"That was a bitter 'ha' if ever I heard one. Want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I peeled a piece of bark off the twig with my thumbnail.

"Sure. That's why you look so miserable. Come on. What is it?"

"I got cornered by Nicole Sandhurst this morning."

"And you lived to tell about it," Ewrina joked. When I didn't laugh, she asked, "What did she say?"

"To stop following Kevin around, because he thinks I'm a … a pest."

Erwina put her arm around my shoulder and led me to a quiet corner. "You, a pest? You, who makes like a clam whenever a guy is within fifty yards? I don't believe it."

"Well, I did make a point of talking to him after the
Springfield
game."

"And …?"

"And this morning I walked right up to him--when he was with Nicole--and showed him a copy of the Waterside Reporter."

"And he told you to get lost?"

"Well … no."

"I didn't think so. What did happen?"

"I showed him the newspaper. He was excited about the article and handed it to Nicole."

"And she told you to get lost?"

"No. She said to Kevin, 'At least you made that basket.' How could anyone be so nasty? Especially to someone she supposedly cares about."

"That's just it. I suspect Nicole doesn't care about anyone--except herself."

"So why hang out with Kevin all the time?"

"Because she knows every other girl at Waterside has been drooling over him ever since he moved here."

"She certainly doesn't have to worry about me."

"I think she is worried about you. I think she's jealous."

"Of me? Don't be ridiculous."

"Mattie, you're nice, intelligent, and pretty, even if you don't want to admit it. And lately you look even more attractive."

I felt my cheeks turning red.

"You've lost weight, haven't you?"

I nodded.

"Now all you have to do is free up that hair of yours."

"Oh, Erwina."

"Don't 'Oh, Erwina' me. Let me take you my hairdresser. Please. She's great."

"I don't want my hair all cut off."

"She won't cut it all off. She'll just give you a new style. It probably wouldn't be much shorter than it is now."

"So why bother?"

"Because maybe it'll be just the thing to give you some confidence around Kevin. If he's what you really want."

"You don't think I'm good enough for him, do you?" I said.

"Actually, I'm not sure he's good enough for you. Any guy who lets himself get so tangled up in Nicole's web must have a problem."

I didn't have an answer for that. "Okay. I might as well give it a try."

"You mean …?"

"Make an appointment for me with your hairdresser," I said. "I can always let my hair grow back."

Erwina hugged me. "You won't regret it!"

I spent a week doing almost nothing but regretting it. I could hardly sleep at night, imagining how horrible my hair was going to look. Why had I ever listened to Erwina?

The day of the appointment Erwina practically had to drag me to the salon. She tugged at my sleeve. "Come on."

"I'm walking as fast as I can," I protested. My knees shook.

Once inside the shop my apprehension turned to terror when I saw all the short haircuts.

"Mattie, this is Helene," Erwina said. "She'll be cutting your hair."

"Hi," I mewed. Helene's hair was even shorter than Erwina's! Oh, it looked nice on Helene. But ….

"You can sit here, Mattie." Helene wrapped a towel around my neck and covered me with a huge plastic cape. She removed all the barrettes and bobby pins from my hair. Brushing through it, she said, "You have such beautiful, thick hair."

"Frizzy," I corrected. I recoiled from my reflection in the mirror. My hair stood almost on end!

"It has a nice healthy curl," said Helene. "It just needs some conditioning and a good haircut to control it."

"I don't want it too short," I announced

"How short?"

"Shoulder length?" It was almost a prayer.

Helene cradled the ends of my hair in her hands. "Yes, I think that would be a good length for you. Now let's turn you around and wash your hair."

As I lowered my head to the sink, I felt as if I were placing my neck in a guillotine.

Helene rinsed my hair with soothing warm water and worked in the shampoo with her fingers. As she massaged my scalp, I began to relax.

"I'm putting a conditioner on your hair," said Helene. "It'll make your hair softer and more manageable."

The final scalp massage and rinse made me feel even more at ease. Too soon, however, I was brought up to the sitting position. I sat quietly while Helene combed my hair, but trembled when she picked up the scissors.

I had that sinking feeling I had experienced the very first time my mother had ever taken me to the hairdresser. The woman next to me had walked in with yellowish-white hair and had walked out with blue-ish hair. I had sat silently the whole time my hair had been shampooed and cut, fearing that I was going to end up with blue hair.

I was never so relieved as when I later examined my hair closely with the hand mirror and found not a trace of blue. After, I had asked Mom about it and she explained how a blue rinse was something that some older people still had done to cover up the yellow streaks that sometimes accompanied gray hair. She assured me that unless I wanted my hair blue, it would not be colored blue. Some kids at school had blue hair, but it was not my thing.

Helene started cutting. I totally gasped when I saw what looked like a huge lock of hair drift to the floor.

"I'm going to trim a couple inches off the ends," said Helene. "Then I'm going to layer your hair and cut some partial bangs. I think you'll like the results."

I closed my eyes. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe when I opened my eyes, I'd be in bed. I peeked with one eye. Hair seemed to sail by in all directions.

I quickly shut my eye again. I could feel myself being turned around. I opened my eyes. I was facing the front door. Maybe it was better that way. I couldn't see myself. I wouldn't want to cry in front of Helene. I never should have let Erwina talk me into getting my hair cut!

"There," said Helene. "All done!"

I gulped as I surveyed my hair on the floor. There was enough to stuff a mattress!

"Since your hair is naturally curly, all you'll need to do is push it into place with your fingers." Helene demonstrated. "Now, I'll just let you air dry a little and then you can have a look at the final results." She handed me a People magazine and left the chair turned so that I couldn't see the mirror.

I searched for Erwina to check her reaction, but she was engrossed in a copy of The National Enquirer.

After a few minutes Helene felt my hair. "Your hair dries quickly. I'll comb you out now."

I sat in the chair, my back to the mirror. Helene ran a wide-toothed comb through my hair.

"This will give your hair direction without disturbing the curl," said Helene. She handed me a mirror. "You can look now."

I could hardly hold the mirror steady enough to see myself clearly. The girl in the mirror had thick, soft curls. Was it really me?

"Let's turn you around," said Helene, "so you can really see yourself."

I tilted my head one way, then the other.

"What do you think?" Helene asked.

"It looks great," said Erwina, who had popped up from wherever.

"It's nice," I said. "Thanks for not cutting off too much." I figured there hadn't really been so much hair on the floor as I'd thought.

As I was leaving, Helene approached me. "Here, this comb is for you. And don't forget your bobby pins and barrettes."

"She won't need them now," said Erwina.

I pocketed them anyway. "Thanks."

On the way home Erwina said, "Welcome to the modern world, Mattie. You look so … so gorgeous."

"No, I don't," I said. "Maybe my hair does, but not me." How could I explain to Erwina that I wasn't comfortable looking so, um, noticeable? That I'd rather fade into the background than have anyone think I was trying to look gorgeous.

Once I was back home in my room I allowed myself a moment to admire my hair. It did look pretty. The shiny curls seemed to float around my face. But my hair didn't look as if it belonged on my head.

Later, as Dad and I started to fix dinner, he did a double take. "Mattie, you've done something to your hair!"

He took me in his arms and spun me around the kitchen. "It's beautiful. And you're more beautiful than ever!"

"Oh, Dad." I cringed. Accepting compliments was not one of my strong points.

Just then Mom walked in. "Ah, ha! Caught you with another woman!?" She put her purse down on the counter.

"Yes. Isn't she beautiful?"

"Gorgeous. But can she cook?"

"Oh, Mom. Honestly!" I busied myself shredding lettuce to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks.

"You look very nice, Mattie," Mom said. "I like your hair that way. It suits you."

"It does?" I fingered a lock. My mother wasn't one to go around giving undeserved compliments.

Mom shook a bottle of salad dressing and poured it over the lettuce. "Yes," she said. "It looks great."

Hmm. Maybe it did look okay. Maybe it would just take a little getting used to.

Over the weekend I tried to get accustomed to my new look. But by Monday I tried to find a way to return to the old Mattie--the one with the battened down hair. With all the new layers, however, I had little success. It would have taken dozens of bobby pins to hold down every lock. Since it was a showery April day, I had a chance to cover my hair, at least temporarily, with a floppy rain hat.

I checked my watch just before leaving for Walt's house. I kept track of the time it took me to walk there. I could cover the half mile in seven minutes if I concentrated and remembered to walk briskly. Occasionally, when the mornings were warm and sunny and the air was sweet, I tended to saunter along, stopping to admire a splash of daffodils or a mass of tiny white flowers clustered on the delicate branches of a bridal wreath bush.

Head bent against an increasingly heavy rain, I got to Walt's front door with seconds to spare. Just as I pressed my finger on the doorbell, Walt emerged with a big, black umbrella which he immediately opened and held over both of us.

"Walt, you're the only person I know who remembers where he put his umbrella," I teased.

"Umbrellas suffer from a bad reputation," Walt said. "What they need is some good public relations."

I wasn't sure if Walt was serious. Sometimes it was hard to tell. But it was more comfortable with the rain drumming on the sturdy umbrella instead of dripping from the rim of my hat.

At school Walt held the front door open for me with one hand and shook the water off his umbrella with the other. Unfortunately, he splattered water all over Nicole Sandhurst, who was also just arriving, for once without Kevin at her side.

Nicole shrieked. Drops of water ran down her face, causing tracks of mascara to trail down her cheeks. "My makeup!"

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry," Walt said when he realized what he'd done.

Nicole stomped through the door, furiously shaking her fist at Walt and me.

I looked at Walt and burst out laughing.

"I regret splashing Nicole," Walt said with an air of total seriousness. "But that is one girl who has no sense of humor whatsoever." He shook his umbrella at me in mock anger.

I clutched my sides, laughing even harder.

"How about letting me in on the joke?"

I looked up. It was Kevin. I stopped laughing. "Oh. Uh. Nothing, really. It was one of those things. You had to be there."

"Too bad I missed it." Kevin smiled, and I swooned inside. "I could have used a laugh after trudging through that rain. Hey, have you seen Nicole? There was no answer when I went to her house. She must have gotten a ride to school."

"She came in a few minutes ago," I said, almost laughing again. "I think she went to, uh, comb her hair or something."

"Well, I'll see her later, I'm sure," Kevin said.

Was that a trace of bitterness I detected in his voice? Or wishful thinking on my part?

Kevin pretended to take off an imaginary hat and did an exaggerated bow. "May I have the honor of walking you to your locker?"

I looked around for Walt. He was gone. So I took off my hat, made a deep curtsy and giggled. "I could use an escort."

Much to my surprise--and pleasure--Kevin looped his arm through mine. As we walked down the hall arm in arm, Kevin whispered in my ear, "Your hair looks really nice. I like it that way."