13
Brynn
With the grace of a newborn calf, I roll out of bed, then stumble down the hall and stairs, bleary-eyed and bushy-haired. I pass through the kitchen to the back door, where I pause with my fingers on the lock, my city-girl instincts forgetting for a moment where I am.
“Who is it?”
There’s the sound of a deep sigh on the other side of the door.
“Only the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
It’s a female voice.
A voice that I’d know anywhere.
I fling open the door.
“Poppy?”
She stands poised with her hands on her hips. “The one and only.”
Again I get that now-familiar thrill at seeing in the flesh a face I stared at on TV for years. Poppy was—and apparently still is—Sloan Edwards’s best friend. They met in the ninth grade when Poppy’s dad got a promotion and moved Poppy and her twin brother, Peter, to the island from Minnesota. She knows all of Sloan’s secrets and is Sloan’s unwavering ride-or-die (with the exception of the first half of season two, where she had a brief relationship with Spencer).
“It’s so good to see you.” I take in the sight of her. “You look—”
She holds up a finger. “Choose your words wisely, woman. There is only one correct way to finish that sentence.”
“Exactly the same.”
She does. Poppy Bensen looks as iconic as she did at sixteen. Her hair is cut to shoulder length now, but it’s still her signature cherry red, as is her lipstick, expertly applied and as meticulous as the quiet luxury look of her Chanel jacket.
She crosses her arms and sighs again, but there is a satisfied smile on her lips. “I was thinking absolutely fabulous, but I’ll take it.”
“Seriously.” My eyes roam over her still-perfect complexion. “You haven’t aged a bit.”
Poppy breezes past me into Sloan’s kitchen with a laugh. “Well, if you’re talking to Chad, the reason is Pilates and the fact that sixty percent of my diet is bone broth, but between us girls, Doc Martin is doing Botox out of the back of his shop. You should stop by.” She cups my chin with her hand, the pad of her thumb smoothing the spot between my eyebrows. “He’s really quite excellent.”
I ignore what might have just been an insult, too caught off guard by the diamond ring I just noticed on her finger.
“Oh, so you and Chad are still…”
Poppy holds out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Sixteen years of wedded bliss, or whatever.”
“Wow!” I attempt to school my shock. “That’s really great.”
Poppy and Chad were a huge controversy both on and off the show. After the Watermelon Festival incident with Luce and Spencer, Poppy started to lose interest again and dumped Chad a second time. Instead of just confessing his feelings like a normal jilted ex, Chad proposed. Two episodes later, they were married in a very elaborate beach ceremony at the tender age of seventeen. NBC got so many angry calls from disgruntled parents that they sort of avoided any storylines that directly referenced their marriage and pretended it never happened the entire last season.
I and a majority of the Carson’s Cove fan forum assumed they would have broken up immediately after high school. Apparently, we were all wrong.
“So.” Poppy takes a seat on one of the kitchen barstools. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but you know me, no filter whatsoever.” She leans forward, fixing me with her stare. “You’ve been back in the Cove for twenty-four hours now and have yet to call, text, visit, or send a carrier pigeon. I am starting to feel like you’re avoiding me. Are you avoiding me?”
“No. Not at all. I was going to—”
“Good,” she interrupts before I can finish. “Because Chad said I was acting like a psychopath and that you were probably still getting settled, but I needed to come right over and clear that up. Because Poppy and Sloan are back! And not a moment too soon. You would not believe some of the things I’ve been putting up with around here lately.” She holds up a perfectly manicured hand and examines it.
“Like what?”
Poppy continues to study her nails. “Oh, you know. People being annoying and not knowing their place. But I can sleep with one less Ambien tonight because I have my sidekick back.” She holds out her arms. “I missed us, boo.”
I walk around the counter and wrap my arms around her. “I missed us too.”
She pulls away, holding my shoulders. “There are, like, a million things we need to do now that you’re back. You don’t have plans today, right?”
My eyes subconsciously shift to the window and the blue cottage next door.
“Oh, sweetie.” Poppy follows my gaze. “Don’t tell me you’re still pining?” She reaches up and cups my cheek. “Aw, you are. I don’t get it. I mean, I get it; you were always the romantic type, but I kind of thought you’d have grown out of it by now.”
I get a flashback of last night. Of how everything was so perfect until it wasn’t.
“Maybe I should? It might be easier.”
Poppy tsks. “Still got his head up his butt, huh? That doesn’t surprise me. I guess you’ve talked to him, then?”
I nod. “Yes, we went out to the islands last night.”
“A date?”
I shake my head. “No. Just hanging out.”
She tilts her head to the side and studies me. “But did it seem like he could be into you?”
My insides twist into a familiar knot.
“I don’t know. There weren’t exactly sparks. He didn’t seem interested in me at first, and then I got a little bit of an inkling on the walk home, but nothing happened. I’m kind of getting the impression he just wants to be friends.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “You and I both know that Sloan Edwards and Spencer Woods are meant to be so much more than friends. As much as I hate to admit it, you two are soulmates. When we were growing up, there was always something holding one of you back, but now that you’re both back in town, it feels serendipitous. Like it’s your time.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, honey.” She rubs my back in slow, soothing circles. “He might just need a little nudge. You two have been friends for so long. He still sees you as that girl next door that he’s always known. That’s always been your problem. We need to show him you’re a woman now.” She snakes her arm around my neck, pulling my head to hers. “And I know exactly how we’re going to do it.”
“The salon?”
Poppy holds out her arms in a way where the proper accompanying expression should be ta-da.
“Where else would we go?” She takes me by the hand. “If you want Spencer to finally realize he’s in love with you, you’ve got to address the most obvious problem.” She pets my head, but her fingers get caught in my curls.
“My hair?”
She nods. “And a few other minor things. Just trust me.”
Curl Power is Carson’s Cove’s one and only beauty salon. It was a regular set on a show that tended to have a disproportional number of formal events, from seasonal proms to dancing telethons, fashion shows, and pageants.
Poppy throws open the front door, having presumed my trust is secured, and waves to Lois, the salon owner and head stylist, who stands behind a maroon leather spinning chair as if she has been expecting us.
“This is 911, Lois.” Poppy flings her purse into an empty chair. “Sloan is in need of some hair therapy. She’s desperate.”
I take a seat and try not to take offense at the use of the word desperate or the way that Lois frowns as she picks up one of my dark curls between her fingers and then promptly drops it.
“I’m thinking the works,” Poppy says as Lois covers me with a vinyl apron. “Blonder, straighter, maybe even some extensions, and could you do something about the…” Poppy points to the space between my eyebrows, to which Lois responds with a knowing “Of course.”
Lois promptly pulls over a wheeled cart filled with blow-dryers, styling tools, and containers filled with bright-blue liquid. She reaches down to the bottom shelf and pulls out a piece of cardboard with tiny swatches of hair in varying shades of blond. She hands it to Poppy, who points to a swatch that I swear reads Malibu Sunrise, but I can’t confirm, as Lois swiftly takes the card and tucks it away.
“I’ve cleared my whole morning,” Lois says to Poppy, leaving me to wonder why I have yet to be included in this conversation. “It may take a few attempts to strip all of this out,” Lois says. She pulls a lock of hair straight and then lets it bounce back into a curl. “I’m thinking a relaxer. Definitely bleach. I’ll also heat up the wax.”
She moves to leave, but I hold up my hand. “Hold on.” My heart is beating rapidly. “Bleach feels a little bit drastic, don’t you think? I was thinking more along the lines of a trim. Maybe a few highlights?”
I watch in the mirror as Lois and Poppy exchange a look behind me.
“Sweetie.” Poppy leans forward to level her head with mine. “You know I think you’re beautiful, right?”
She nods and holds my gaze until I nod too.
“Good. All I’m suggesting is that we make your outer beauty match your inner beauty so that everyone in town can see how gorgeous you really are.” She leans in closer, her lips right at my ear. “Especially Spencer.”
Whether she meant to or not, she has said the magic words.
And just like magic, I’m closing my eyes, nodding, and even convincing myself I actually want this extreme makeover as Lois begins to paint my head.
An hour later, I have a head covered in tinfoil.
“Smile.” Lois pokes at my frowning lips. “You’ll be beautiful before you know it.” She adjusts the final foil, then wheels the dryer over and places the bowl over my head. “Isn’t it every girl’s dream to walk into the salon and then come out of it as a whole new woman, ready to turn heads?”
Her question remains rhetorical as she flips the dryer’s switch, and all conversation is drowned out by the low whirring.
She isn’t exactly wrong.
An ugly duck turning into a beautiful swan is a tale as old as time.
Especially in a place like this, where Lois’s makeovers always seemed to be at the center of any girl-must-reinvent-herself storyline. Even Poppy’s.
When she first moved to Carson’s Cove, Poppy was a homely nobody with big ambitions, but her dirty-blond hair made it hard to stick out in a town where everyone was a ten. Until the day she walked into Lois’s salon, where Lois dyed her hair to its signature fiery red. From there, everyone began to notice her. Her makeover made her confident. It was the catalyst for a high school career of overachievements: cheer captain, prom queen, and Chad Michaels’s girlfriend.
Maybe Poppy is right, and it’s exactly what Sloan needs.
Three hours later, my resolve begins to wear thin. I’m still in Lois’s chair. I’ve been stripped, cut, straightened, bleached, and glued and have grown a new appreciation for why makeovers in movies are always shown as montages. I’m exhausted, and I’ve completely lost feeling in my right butt cheek, so when Lois asks, “Are you ready to see?,” my breathy “Yes” is said more out of desperation to get out of this chair than excitement. But as she turns me toward the mirror, I hear a gasp and realize that the sound is coming from my own mouth—because the woman staring back from the mirror is undeniably beautiful.
It takes three more blinks to fully comprehend that the reflection is, in fact, me.
Gone are my dark curls, replaced with silky smooth waves the color of honey.
My eyebrows are pristine.
My lashes are long and dark.
I look stunning.
I look like Sloan.
As Lois said, it should be a dream come true, and yet…
“Do you love it?” Poppy throws her arms around me and squeezes. “Oh my god, Lois, you made her cry.”
Poppy pulls back and places a hand on her heart. My fingers swipe my cheeks and, sure enough, come away wet—yet I wouldn’t say I’m filled with joy.
“You look absolutely lovely,” Lois says, wiping away her own tear. “Oh, gosh, just like a princess.”
“No,” Poppy says, shaking her head. “Like a queen.”
There’s a notable pause as Poppy and Lois exchange another look in the mirror. It’s just a brief glance this time, the slightest dip of the chin in a knowing nod, but I get prickles up my arm.
“So, Sloan, babe.” Poppy sits on the arm of my chair, her tone unusually high. “I’m not sure if I mentioned it earlier, but Lois and I are co-chairing the pageant this year. As you probably already know, it’s the seventy-fifth anniversary—a really important year. So, as you can imagine, it’s crucial that our contestants hold up a certain image. Now, I know the last time you entered…” She exchanges another look with Lois. “Well, it didn’t turn out how you hoped, but Lois and I are both thinking that with your new hair and look, maybe this year is your year….”
She continues to talk, but her words blend into an indecipherable womp womp womp as I unpack what I think she is suggesting.
The Ms. Lobsterfest pageant was the climax of the last Carson’s Cove season finale. It was supposed to be Sloan’s chance to show Spencer and the rest of the town that she was no longer the quiet, innocent girl they once knew. She had grown up, become a force to be reckoned with, and was now ready and willing to take on the world—starting with the boy next door.
Her whole plan started off so perfectly. She transformed herself from an unassuming girl next door to a full-blown beauty queen using YouTube makeup tutorials and a well-executed chignon. She even found her dead mother’s evening gown from twenty years earlier when she was crowned, and it fit like an absolute dream.
During the pageant, Sloan wowed the judges in the question round. Her years of studying and love of books culminated in thoughtful answers that poked just enough at the important issues of the day without actually offending anyone. By the evening gown round, the crown was in sight.
The competition had been whittled down to Sloan and three other girls: Poppy, Luce, and some random cheerleader who never had an official name. But when Sloan went to change into her dress, it was nowhere to be found. Then, when she tried to go out on the stage in her casual wear, Lois disqualified her.
From there, everything fell apart.
Sloan lost her confidence. She didn’t tell Spencer how she felt, and he left for LA without ever knowing her true feelings.
“So.” Poppy nudges my arm, reminding me that we’re still in the middle of a conversation. “What do you think?” she asks. “Are you in?”
That pageant was Sloan’s darkest moment and, I imagine, her biggest regret. Yet the thought of actually participating in one gives my feminist heart the creeps.
“I don’t know.” I look up, intending to catch Poppy’s eyes in the mirror—but there is someone else staring back at me.
He’s wearing a hot-pink Curl Power T-shirt that’s a size too small, and it strains against his chest as he washes a woman’s hair at the sink. His own normally wild hair is combed into a smooth pompadour with a streak of shirt-matching pink running through it that was definitely not there yesterday. I may not have even recognized him if not for his eyes: light green and piercing.
“Sheldon?”
He doesn’t say anything; he keeps on washing, but his eyes remain on me.
As if he’s waiting…
The pageant.
I’d almost forgotten.
He wants Sloan to win.
It’s the linchpin in his meticulously laid plan. Win pageant. Win Spencer. Brynn and Josh get to go home.
“So, what do you think?” Poppy draws my attention away from Sheldon for a moment.
“Think of what?” I ask her, having missed half of the conversation.
“The pageant,” she says. “Are you in?”
I ignore her and look back to the sink again, but this time, Sheldon is gone.
My eyes scan the sinks and the rest of the chairs. The door. There is no sign of Sheldon anywhere.
“I need to go.”
I move to stand, but Poppy pushes me back down. For such a tiny person, she’s freakishly strong.
“Sloan, come on.”
“Can we talk about this later?” I make a second, far more successful attempt to get to my feet, but as I move to the door, Lois and Poppy block my path.
“No. This is important.”
I need to find Sheldon.
“Whatever you want, Poppy. Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”
Her smile is immediate. Her hands find mine, and she squeals. “Oh my god, this is going to be so much fun. Just like old times.”
I tear the vinyl cape from my neck and power walk toward the front door. As I push it open, I hear her yell, “Sloan Edwards, Carson’s Cove’s next Lobsterfest queen.”
I look down at my arms, and I have goosebumps.