I had decided to compromise with my mother on the issue of the upcoming dance and my hair. I didn’t want a fussy hairdo for that night, and my mom had agreed that a simpler style would suit the dress. However, she strongly suggested that at least I should have my hair trimmed before the big night. Since this was something I had been thinking about anyway, it was easy to give in.

I knew that Anne’s mother owned a hair salon in town, and so on Wednesday after school, Michael dropped both of us off at the corner of Main Street and Second Avenue. Anne had promised to stay with me and make sure nothing radical happened to my hair.

“My mom is pretty good about listening to people and what they want,” she promised. “But still, sometimes people get talking and get carried away… I’ll have your back.”

Second Avenue Rose was a small but quaint salon, tucked on a side street and bearing only a simple wooden sign over the door. Two operator chairs sat along the wall, and in the corner, a waiting area was furnished with small, overstuffed benches.

As we entered, a bell tinkled over the door, and a woman emerged from the back of the salon. She was an almost exact replica of Anne, only with smooth platinum blonde hair in place of her daughter’s darker curls. Her face lit up with a smile when she caught sight of us.

“Hello!” she called in greeting. “You must be Tasmyn. Anne has told me so much about you. Welcome to King—welcome to Second Avenue Rose!”

She was so bright and lively, I couldn’t help but smile in return. “Thanks, Mrs. Lewis. I appreciate you fitting me in at short notice.”

Mrs. Lewis brushed away my thanks with a wave of her hand. “No problem at all. Look at you—you’re just lovely. And this hair—” she held a length of my hair away from shoulder, “—why, it’s gorgeous. Such a pretty shade!”

I flushed. “It’s just brown, really,” I mumbled, embarrassed.

“Nonsense! I have customers who pay big money for this shade, and you can never exactly re-create it, no matter how expert a colorist you might be. See how the light picks up the golds, the reds… no,” she sighed, shaking her head, “Never could duplicate this. But I can help you out with a trim. Even beautiful, healthy hair needs a little pick-me-up now and then.”

In no time at all I was seated in one of the chairs, with my hair wet and streaming down my back and in front of my face. Mrs. Lewis was busily—and carefully, I hoped—snipping away at my split ends.

“So,” she said as she moved around me, “how are you liking King High School?”

“Oh, I like it,” I assured her. “I’ve made some good friends already. People have been nice, mostly.”

“Yes, you’ve made at least one pretty special friend, haven’t you?” she remarked meaningfully, raising her eyebrows.

I repressed a sigh. “Yes, Michael has made all the difference,” I agreed.

“He’s just the best. He and Anne have been friends for so long—I used to hope, I’ll admit, that maybe they’d be more—”

“Mom!” Anne, sitting in the other operator chair, rolled her eyes in protest.

“No, no, listen, it’s true, I did hope, but then I could see that they were only meant to be friends. And now he’s found you, and Anne tells me you’re perfect together.”

I was silent, not sure how to answer. But Mrs. Lewis didn’t wait for one.

“And how about classes? Do you like your teachers?”

Now here was an opening I could use. Since listening to my Chemistry teacher’s thoughts, I had been curious about her and how she had come to be at King High.

“Well, I like English and History,” I began. “Speech is not my favorite. I’m staying afloat in Math mostly thanks to Michael. And Chemistry—” I made a face. “I guess it’s okay, but the teacher is a little odd.”

“She has Ms. Lacusta,” Anne put in.

“Oh,” Mrs. Lewis nodded, understanding on her face. “Yes, I’ve heard she’s a little different. She hasn’t been here that long, you know. This past spring, Mr. Hennings got really sick. It came on him all of a sudden. So the school hired Ms. Lacusta. She’s from—where is it, Anne? One of those Eastern block countries…”

“Romania,” Anne supplied.

“That’s right. Romania. She did okay, I heard, but a couple of my customers said she was funny about the boys.”

I frowned, perplexed. “Boys? What do you mean?”

“She didn’t seem to like boys in her classes. One of the women who comes in here said her son complained she never called on him, wouldn’t answer his questions, either. When the mom complained to the principal, Ms. Lacusta claimed the boys weren’t letting the girls participate, and she was just trying to keep things fair. Most of the boys ended up transferring out of her class.”

“That’s strange,” I mused. “You know, there’s only two boys in my chem. class, and I don’t think they participate much, either.”

“She gives me the heebie-jeebies,” Anne said. “And I’m not the only one. You remember me telling you about Nell Massler and her boyfriend Kyle? She broke up with him because he didn’t like Ms. Lacusta, said there something strange about her.”

“Hmmm…” I was thoughtful. We were all three quiet for a time, and then Mrs. Lewis pulled out the blow dryer, effectively ending conversation while she moved around the chair, twirling her brush through my hair.

“Voila!” she finally announced, spinning the chair to face the mirror. I smiled as I examined my head from one angle and then another. “It’s perfect, Mrs. Lewis! Thanks so much.”

“I had good material,” she replied.

As I paid for the haircut, she asked, “What are you girls up to now?”

“I’m going to walk home with Tasmyn, if it’s okay. We’re going to try out new makeup for Friday night.”

“And I’ll drive Anne home afterward,” I added.

“Well, have a good time, girls. Tasmyn, you come back any time.”

I thanked her again, and we left the salon.

“I love your mom,” I told Anne.

She laughed. “She can be a little much sometimes, but she’s got a good heart. I think she’s happy to see me back with all my friends. She worried when all that was going on last year with Nick.”

That reminded me of something else. I knew it was meddling, but...

“Anne,” I ventured as we crossed the street and walked along the sidewalk, “what do you think about Jim?”

An odd expression crossed her face, and then she glanced at me sideways. “He’s a friend. He’s one of us. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. I just noticed…” I bit my lower lip, considering. “Did you know some days at lunch, he can’t take his eyes off you?”

Anne’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? He’s staring at me?”

“Well, not exactly. He tries not to let you catch him at it. But I’ve seen him. And the way he looks… I think he has more than friendship in mind.”

Her face pinked, and I hid a smile. “He never really forgave me for last year, though,” she murmured. “He hardly talks to me anymore.”

“I don’t think it’s about forgiving you,” I said slowly. “I think it might have been more that he was worried about you with Nick, and then when it happened like he thought it would, he was hurting because you were hurting. And now, he’s just waiting for you to be over Nick…”

“Wait.” Anne wheeled around to face me and stopped walking. “Did he tell you all this? Did he put you up to talking to me?”

“No!” My denial was horrified and honest. “No, he doesn’t have any idea I even know how he feels. And maybe ‘know’ is too strong a word. I’m just guessing, really.” I hadn’t realized how close I was to saying too much of what I’d sensed in Jim. The line between observation and supernatural hearing was very fuzzy, even when I hadn’t actually listened to Jim’s thoughts.

“Those are pretty specific guesses.” Anne was still suspicious.

“Look, I’m really good at intuiting what people are feeling. All those years of moving and having to size people up—it’s paid off, I guess, because I get a good sense of what others are thinking.” That was putting it mildly. “You could ask anyone else who sits with us at lunch, and I bet they’d tell you the same thing. It’s pretty obvious how Jim feels about you.”

We had resumed walking, and I could feel Anne considering, rolling this new possibility around in her head.

“Could you—do you have any feelings for Jim?” I ventured finally.

Anne knit her brows together. “It’s hard,” she said. “I’ve always known him, as long as I’ve known all the others. And it made me so sad this year, when he didn’t seem to take me back the way everyone else did. It’s been like a hole in my life. I used to think—back, before Nick—that maybe Jim and I could have something together—but he never made a move. So I figured he didn’t feel the same way I did.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” I encouraged her.

“But how?” Anne moaned. We were turning onto my street, and I slowed my steps and considered.

“You’re both going to the dance,” I pointed out. “Neither of you has a date—you’re just going with the crowd. So once you’re there, ask him to dance. On a slow dance. They have those at dances like this, right?” I asked, suddenly remembering that I really didn’t know.

“Yes, of course they do,” Anne answered. “But what if he says no?”

“Trust me. He won’t,” I promised her with complete assurance.

“But what if he says yes?” she asked, her voice rising in panic. “What do I do?”

I thought about it as we walked up onto my front porch. “I think, once you ask him to dance, you won’t have to do anything else. Once he finally gets the hint that you’re over that other loser and that you like him, I don’t see Jim letting much grass grow under his feet. And—” I smiled at her. “If he doesn’t do anything, use your feminine charms. I have faith in you. It’ll all work out perfectly.”