This week's writing prompt comes to us from Love is Music. Congratulations Love is Music! Let's see what I can do with it!
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jenniferwelbornwrites@gmail.com by 11:59 PM on Tuesday. Reader Wednesday will normally be on Wednesday.
Prompt:
Most kids set up a lemonade stand to make money, but not us. We decided to...
open our own hair salon. How hard could it be? Liza and I did our own hair every day and all the other 8th graders complimented us. Besides, Liza's parents were out of town and her older brother (Brett--super hot and he had his own car, but a total bonehead) wasn't home. Who knew where he was? Who cared? This was our chance to make some serious dough. So we let everyone at school know that Liza and Renee's Sexi (using the I was Liza's idea, she thinks it looks hip) Salon was open--one day only, $10 a pop.
Our first customer was Rosie Jones. She had crazy frizzy hair, black coke bottle glasses, and braces. My older sister had naturally curly hair so I got to do the honors of the first hair cut. I didn't really cut anything. I just plugged in Chelsea's (that's my sister--she'd kill me if she knew I had it) hair straightner and went to work. Her hair was really thick and it was actually quite pretty. The blond locks shone in the sunshine streaming through the window. Just when I was about to turn her around to face the mirror, Liza stopped me. Liza untied the hideous paisley scarf Rosie had wound around her neck, folded it twice, and turned it into a headband. Hey, look at that! It was actually a pretty snazzy headband, and Rosie was actually really pretty. We let her turn around to face the mirror we had set up in the corner. She smiled. Rosie never smiled! And look at that--she had dimples! Wow. She handed over her $10 and left without a word, grinning from ear to ear.
Well that was all the advertising we need. After the other girls saw what we'd done to Rosie, naturally they all wanted to partake of our expertise. So we spent the day straightening, curling, and crimping hair. We had only been at it for 2 hours and we'd already made about $120. It was all going pretty well really, until Joanne Carmichael showed up.
Joanne was the Queen Bee of York Road Middle School. She was the hottest girl in school. She had boobs. I looked down at my own flat chest, wish mine would come in already. I hated her guts. But she was the kind of person that no matter how much
you hated
her, you would always want
her to like you. Her dark brown hair was perfectly straight, layered, and curled prettily under her chin. She had big green eyes and her daddy was richer than God, which of course meant that she was always wearing clothes the rest of only wish we had.
She sauntered up the driveway and pranced her prissy little butt right into Liza's kitchen without so much as knocking. Placing a pink fingernailed hand on her hip she looked us up and down. "What do the two of you think you're doing? I mean
really," she stalked over to where I stood and flipped my hair into my face, "look at your ugly mousy hair. Do you even wash it?"
Maria McMann was still sitting in the chair. We had just curled her red hair and Liza had put a little green eyeshadow over her mossy colored eyes. She looked quite pretty really.
Joanne stalked over to the chair and pulled one of Maria's newly set curls, watching it spring back into place. "You look ridiculous Maria. Who are you supposed to be? Shirley Temple?" she said disdainfully. Maria teared up and ran out of the house without paying.
"Hey! Look what you did!" I shouted. I was getting mad. Joanne was so mean! She twirled around and pointed at Kensley Smith. We had crimped her light brown hair like Madonna's in that one really old music video, and Liza had lent her a pair of cool plastic bracelets. Joanne pointed at Kensley, "And you! You look like a poodle." Kensley inched out the back door, lip quivering. The other girls laughed nervously.
Joanne turned on Liza. Liza had a red streak in her black chin lengthed hair. She had done it with kool-aid earlier that month. A blue stud glistened in Liza's nose and her ears were pierced even at the top, you know where the cartiledge is--where it hurts the worst to have it done. Liza was edgy like that. Nobody messed with Liza. Joanne snickered, "Why would anyone let
you touch their hair? You look like a freaking zombie with that pale skin and that ugly bloody streak in your hair." And that's when it happened. That's when everything went downhill. Liza drew back her fist and punched Joanne right in the face. She knocked that snotty little weasel right on her butt!
"Get out of my house you troll!" Liza thundered. Joanne's nose was bleeding all over the kitchen linoleum. Big fat tears were rolling down her face. She stood up and ran to the door. "You're going to regret this!" Joanne snarled, slamming out the kitchen door.
The other girls stared at Liza, mouths hanging open. They were in awe of Liza. So was I. She had just hit the meanest girl in school right in the face! Maria and Kensley rushed into the room, "Ohmygod! Liza you hit her," they gushed. "What do you think she'll do?" I whispered. Liza drooped into a kitchen chair, chin in her hands, "I don't know," she said miserably. And so our salon was closed for business. We had made nearly $200 and lots of new friends, but we had also managed to make one dangerous enemy.
A few hours later Liza's mom showed up. Joanne's mom had called her. Liza's mom was P-Oed. She had had to come home early from her weekend getaway. She was giving us both a lecture about how you were supposed to solve problems with words not fists when my mom walked in the door.
"Renee Danielle Atwater! You are in serious trouble young lady!" she shouted. Uh oh--I had been middle-named. I was in big trouble.
I may have suggested that Liza's parents were home when I got permission to stay the night. I guess that cat was out of the bag. My mom grabbed my hand, said her apologies to Liza's mom, and tugged me to the car. Liza's mom was still yelling at her when we left.
The next Monday I tried to tell my mom I was sick, and my stomach did hurt, but she wasn't buying it. She shook her head at me, "You have to face the consequences of your actions Renee. That's part of growing up." She dropped me off at school. Everyone in the hall was whispering about what Liza had done. I slunk into first period and slipped quietly into my seat. Liza was already there. But Liza wasn't like me. She didn't keep her head down.
Liza was sitting with her arms crossed, glaring at anyone who dared utter her name. "What do you think she's going to do?" I whispered. Liza shrugged, "Who cares?" But I knew she cared. So we both sat nervously, waiting on Joanne to walk through the door and make our lives miserable. But Joanne didn't show up in first period. Or second period. And just when we thought we were off the hook we heard laughter in the hallway.
The bell hadn't rung yet so me and Liza poked our heads out the door. And there was Joanne. Head down. She never kept her head down. Her long brown hair was masking her face. She rushed past us and into the room, and then she looked up and we saw why she'd had her head down. A metal thing was taped over her nose with white tape.
Liza gasped, walking over to Joanne. "Did I do that?" she whispered. Joanne nodded without meeting Liza's eyes. "Geeze," Liza said, "Sorry."
"Hey Bulldog, nice nose!" Maria McMann sneered. Everyone laughed. One tear slid down Joanne's face. Liza, who had been stooped next to Joanne's desk, jumped up, hands on hips. "Why don't you just shut your pie hole Maria McMann!" Liza shouted.
Kensley stood next to Maria, "Hey Liza don't talk to Maria like that! You know that smush-face over there deserves it!" She had a point. Joanne
was mean.
Joanne put her head on her desk, covering her face with her hands and sniffling softly. Even I felt a little sorry for her.
"How do you like it when people call you freckle face?" Liza pointed at Maria, "Or when people call you metal mouth?" she pointed at Kensley. The other students snickered.
"Doesn't feel so hot does it?" Liza snarked, sliding into her seat just as the bell rang.
"Why'd you do that?" I whispered. "As soon as it heals, she'll just go right back to being mean."
"Yeah. But we don't have to be like her," Liza whispered back.
Mr. Prost walked in, "Open your books to page 318." And that's how our salon experience ended.
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