"And always, there was the magic of learning things."

Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn


Evie slammed her locker door shut, the force causing something to fall down in the locker beside her own. Probably a mirror, no doubt. Her neighboring locker belonged to Judy Martenero, a Soc-y girl in her grade, and one of the biggest, uptight bitches she had ever come across. Judy wasn't always so stuck-up and snobby, well, not until they started junior high—that was when everyone started venturing into their social cliques.

"Hey, Evie," a perky voice called out, capturing the girl's attention. She spun around, coming face to face with Angela Shepard, her lips turning down. The younger girl smiled, Jenny Arsele standing at her side with a cocky expression. "I heard you were running some kinda salon. That true?"

Well, Evie could have bashed someone's face in right about then. "Where'd ya hear that?"

She glared at the girls, wondering how word about her offering help to Ella Mitchell, and now Cathy Carlson, was getting around so quickly. Good Lord. If it had reached the likes of Angela Shepard, a freshman, then surely word was spreading, and not in a good way. It wasn't as if Evie actually ran a service or anything, so why was she suddenly this popular?

Angela cat-grinned. "Sylvia." Her eyes met Evie's. "I was just askin', 'cause if you're takin' customers, I was thinkin' about letting you do my nails for the homecoming dance."

Of-fucking-course Sylvia had to go open her big, fat mouth. Evie had told the other girl about helping out Ella Mitchell with her hair and makeup, as well as offering a style to Cathy Carlson, so Sylvia must had went and blabbed to every girl on their side of town—God only knew that Sylvia was a loud-mouth and couldn't keep a secret worth shit, especially when a bottle was in her hand.

"Well, I'm only helping two girls," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I ain't running no service here. And besides, who's taking you?"

But little Angela was ever persistent. "Bryon Douglas, of course. And are you sure? I know a few girls that would just love some help, cheap help, getting their hair done for homecoming." Her smile was stretching all the more. "It could help ya get some extra dough, too."

Evie considered the idea—it was tempting, but how in the hell would she have time to manage a business like that? She and Steve hadn't even gotten their tickets yet, and the dance was less than two weeks away! Glory, she couldn't actually book these girls with appointments, could she? She thought about Ella's out-of-control hair, and Cathy's plain locks, and . . . well, what about herself? Angela's words were growing more tempting, though, and she hated to admit it, but the younger teen was right—she could really make some serious dough if she decided to extend her "salon services."

"I'll think about it," was all she responded with, and turned away from Angela and Jenny, a scowl forming on her face as she headed in the opposite direction of them.

She had plans to speak to Sylvia about running her fucking mouth and spreading around that she was actually in business, like she was actually a hairdresser— The girl came to an abrupt stop, a thought crossing her mind as she considered her own words. A hairdresser . . . her! Evie Martin. Well then, perhaps this was only the beginning for great things yet to come.

XXXXX

Ella was drumming her slender fingers on the notebook she and Evie were sharing for the English notes on their book assignment. So far, the two girls had quite a list of things their characters had in common, not to mention, similarities between the two stories. Her eyes scanned over the list, wondering how they were going to summarize it all into an actual essay, or whatever.

Beside her, Evie's eyes narrowed as she huffed. "Could you quit that?"

The brown-haired girl's eyes broadened at the bite in Evie's voice, her hand falling into her lap. "You okay, Evie?"

"Fantastic," came the cool response, and Evie frowned. "Ever since this Cathy chick found out about me doin' your hair, I've become something of a hot commodity, well, my hair services anyway." She scowled even more. "Sylvia went and told everyone that I'm actually running a business and booking clients, and Angela Shepard thinks she can get me them. Can you believe that?"

Ella felt bad, but she didn't know what to say. If Craig Bryant hadn't asked her out, then perhaps she would have told Evie not to worry about her—it wasn't as if she was actually important enough to worry about. Suddenly, she felt even worse, but she reminded herself that Evie was the one who had offered her help in the beginning, not the other way around.

"Well," Ella replied, trying to be helpful, "you don't have to help anyone if you don't want to."

"And that's the problem," Evie said, running a hand through her shiny locks. She sat up in her chair, resting her chin in her hands, elbows spread on the desk. "I'd like to test out my skills and all, see how good I am at different hair styles, and what better way than taking up the offer? I'm only worried 'cause I won't be able to fit everyone in."

The other girl's face was sympathetic. "How about you offer your help, but with a limited number of people you think you can fit into your schedule? Say, like five customers for nails, five for hair, five for makeup, and . . . well, you get it. Would that work?" She smiled. "You could use one night to do nails, and Saturday afternoon for hair and makeup."

Evie's brows rose at the thought, and she wondered if that would work. Well, she already had both Ella and Cathy for hair, and Ella for nails. Her partner's idea was even more tempting than Angela offering to get her customers, and as she thought more about testing her skills and making money with this side service, she began liking it more and more.

She grinned at Ella. "You wanna help me out with this?"

"In which way?" She sounded nervous, looking at Evie with wide eyes, her pale cheeks seeming to become even more chalky.

Evie merely rolled her eyes. "Well, this was your idea, El. I'll need somebody to do booking for me." And then a smile formed on her lips. "You think this Cathy chick would consider making a few dollars, too? I could put her on hair washin'."

Ella nodded along thoughtfully. "That could work, I guess, but you'll have to ask Cathy yourself."

"Yeah," Evie agreed, sounding mildly perturbed. "I'll need some extra equipment, though. I mean, it don't sound like a lot, but five girls for every service each? That's including, hair, nails, brows, stylin', makeup . . ." She flicked her fingers back as she named her services. "How the hell am I supposed to get enough equipment for all that?"

But Ella was already thinking, and a certain person was coming to mind, somebody who she was sure Evie despised more than Miss Tracy for assigning her The Scarlet Letter a week ago. Maybe she could talk to the other girl first and see if she was interested before bringing the idea up to Evie herself.

XXXXX

Dallas sneered down at the banner on the table in front of him. This shit was ridiculous, he thought with contempt, wanting to be anywhere but there. Glory, but the looks the other students were giving him made the idea of decking one of them even more tempting by the minute. He didn't know what in the fuck ol' Girdle was thinking—he was no good at art, and he was certainly no good at designing shit, either; this was absolute bullshit.

The bright words painted in the school colors stared back at him, though—Will Rogers High School Presents: "Midnight in Paris" Homecoming 1965.

"That can't be your work," Two-Bit said, approaching the blond from behind. "God only knows you ain't that talented."

"Fuck off, Mathews," Dallas fired back, ready to whip his lighter out and fry the banner until it was nothing but . . . well, nothing.

"Now, now, Dallas," Two-Bit continued on, sounding quite chipper for someone who was now part of the Homecoming Committee. "That wouldn't be proper during school time, would it?"

The blond cocked an eyebrow. "Never stopped me."

"That's 'cause you're a dog, Winston," he replied, and laughed. "Well now, what have we here?" He reached for one of the paint brushes. "You supposed to be designing something?"

Dallas cursed everything under the sun. Yeah, he was supposed to be writing the names of those on the committee to make sure they all received recognition and credit for all their hard work, blah, blah, blah, he didn't care. He really loathed being there, surrounded by these fucking people, save for Two-Bit, but even he got fucking annoying, standing there yapping away like being a part of this was actually an enjoyment or something.

"Girdle thinks I'm gonna write the committee's names on this board," he answered, inwardly cringing at how much of a pansy he sounded like. "Fuckin' bullshit, man."

Two-Bit stuffed his hands in his pockets, a grin plastered on his face. "Well, I think I got the best job there is." At the younger teen's look of interest, he continued. "I'm gonna hold the ballot box the night of the dance, you know, for the votes and all."

And then, ever so slowly, did a mischievous look take over the hood's face. "Oh, are you?"

XXXXX

"I just don't know what to think, Steve," Evie admitted, rolling onto her side as she pressed her face into her boyfriend's shoulder. "Do you think I should do it?"

Steve sighed, running his hand down her arm comfortingly. "You gotta do what you want, babe. I know you're all into this . . . beauty shit, so if you wanna help these girls, go for it."

Evie blinked in the darkness, pursing her lips. "It's gonna be a lot of work, but Ella Mitchell promised to help me out, and now I'm gonna try to get that Cathy girl, ya know Cathy Carlson? Well, I'm gonna try to rope her in, too. 'Sides, she was the one who opened her mouth to that Bridget Stevens, and it ain't like I'm gonna do all this work for nothin'."

He nodded. "So do whatever ya want, Eve."

Even though she had been looking for more of his support, she was content with his answer. Steve had known for the longest time that Evie wanted to be a beautician, that she was one day going to take over her mother's salon and, as she told him, be the best hairdresser in town. Steve had total confidence in her, and she was thankful for that.

Evie smiled, draping her arm around his torso and pulling his body closer to hers. Glory, but she just loved him so much, and these little moments—when it was just him and her—made her feel like she was on top of the world. She thanked her lucky stars that Beth was staying the night at a friend's house, that her mother was out playing Bingo with Aunt Margaret, and Daddy was working late at the school doing custodial work, which meant that she had the house all to herself, well until ten thirty or so. Still, that was plenty enough time for her and Steve to be together.

The boy responded to her touch immediately, flipping himself on top of her, leaning down to kiss her lips, loving the sound of her soft moans of pleasure. His eyes shifted toward the clock on her nightstand as his fingers slipped down to unbutton her blouse, pulling it up from where it was tucked into the waistband of her skirt. Gosh, he loved the feeling of her skin against his, the smoothness of her body, and her floral-like scent. He was certain that he would never get enough of her—nope, not in a million years would he ever get tired of her.

"Fuck, Evie," he groaned, nibbling her neck, as her hands reached down to undo his belt and jeans. A drizzle of saliva ran down her skin, disappearing in her hair, but Steve was too engrossed on pulling her panties off and hiking her skirt further up her torso to care about it.

Evie grinned as Steve slipped inside of her, her eyes becoming more and more glossy as their bodies fell in synchronization, two pitches riding the same wavelength. The more absorbed the two became in one another, the more Evie's twin-sized bed began to rock, the squeaky frame growing more audible the faster Steve moved. Evie's nails dug into his back as her eyes popped open at the sound, hoping to God that her mother or father didn't come home early.

Suddenly, without warning, Steve shifted, and Evie's body propelled forward, sending her forward with a jolt, her head whacking into the headboard with a thump.

"Fuck," she cried, reaching her hands up to rub the aching spot. "Steve!"

The two came to an abrupt stop at the sound of the front door slamming shut, both of their faces holding the same shocked expression. And, as if Evie's own fear of somebody walking in on her was becoming a reality, the sound of footsteps grew louder as somebody made their way down the hall. Steve reared up, practically flying off the bed as he attempted to maneuver his pants back up, an expression of sheer discomfort blanketing his entire countenance, before he slipped, one hand reaching out to steady himself, but not before the night table shook, sending Evie's lamp tumbling to the floor.

"Evie?" her father called out, and the girl nearly died of shock, pushing Steve toward the bedroom window as she tried to quickly fix the buttons on her blouse.

"Hold on!" she called back as Steve literally fell out of the window, his head disappearing into the bushes down below as he let out a barely audible holler of pain. "I'm just— I'm . . . changing!"

It was a good thing Steve hadn't drove to her house, she thought, glad that Soda had dropped him off after his shift at the DX. She could only imagine her father's face if he pulled up and saw her boyfriend's car parked outside—he would surely do something worse than ground her. Good Lord.

As Steve ran off of her property, she didn't miss the comical look on his face, and she could tell that he was laughing at the fact that her father had practically walked in on them going at it. Then again, Beth had nearly walked in on Evie as she touched herself for the first time when she was fourteen or so—that had been embarrassing!

She shook her head, shoulders slumping as she placed the lamp back on her nightstand, her copy of The Scarlet Letter staring up at her from the inside of her bag on the floor.

XXXXX

Vickie's blue eyes were so sharp, they could have shattered glass, George was certain. She was angry, that much he could tell, and he didn't want to say anything else that could potentially upset her more than what she was. George wasn't afraid of Vickie Harper, but, glory, she was a force to be reckoned with, and George really didn't want to end up on the girl's shit list.

"So, Craig is taking Ella Mitchell to the dance, correct?" she inquired, sounding more like she was checking off a list than asking a simple question.

George nodded. "Don't worry about Ella Mitchell. I have plans for her."

The blond girl merely raised her chin. "Well, that's all fine and dandy, George, but I need order around here, so here are my plans for what's going to happen." She cleared her throat. "I have Bridget Stevens helping me with my campaign, and as you know, I need to— Well, we need to win."

"We've established this," George replied, sighing at the girl's demanding tone. "And don't worry, we're going to win, and whatever your problem is with this Evelyn Martin, that will be taken care of, too."

"Oh, really?" Vickie asked, seeming to leak irritation. "Because I heard that she's actually running a salon business now, George, and you know what I don't like?" Her eyes narrowed thinly. "I don't like hearing about Evelyn Martin trying to get Bridget Stevens as a client. Gosh, George, you can be so dense, I swear." She inspected her perfectly manicured nails. "Evelyn needs to know her place around here."

George looked bored, but he was listening intently. Sometimes, Vickie took things like school dances and functions a little too far, but then again, everyone knew who ran the show around here, and the one thing that had already irked the girl that morning was the fact that she had learned about Two-Bit Mathews and Dallas Winston being a part of the homecoming committee, albeit for different jobs. The news alone nearly caused the girl's head to fry, and George could tell that she was livid.

"Now," Vickie continued on in a leisure voice, "I have Bridget occupied with me, so I'm not too worried about her, but this Catherine girl needs to learn her place around here, too, much like Evelyn. These girls are from two separate classes, and they don't interact with each other." Her face was glowering, but she was scheming underneath. "If I hear anything else about this salon service of Evelyn Martin's, I think I'll just have to take care of it myself."

George grinned at that, knowing just how undermining Vickie Harper could be.

XXXXX

Ella was focused on her painting of Cathy Carlson, her lips pressed together in a fine line as she looked back and forth between her portrait and the actual girl. Cathy was engrossed in her own painting of Ella to notice that the girl was concentrating on her as well. Ella thought that her painting was a good interpretation of how she visualized Cathy—strong, independent, sympathetic . . . She had a lot of decent qualities, so the picture of the rising wave with calm waters flowing beneath, framed by a light blue sky, seemed to speak volumes of the younger teen.

The brown-haired girl smiled, reaching for a paintbrush to finish filling in the colors. When she glanced back up, she was surprised to find Cathy looking at her, gray eyes seeming to be in a trance of some sort, and Ella could tell, much like she had just been doing, that Cathy was envisioning her as her object of comparison.

Her gaze shifted to Cathy's own painting, which was situated on her easel, and she could just make out some forming branches and what appeared to be leaves.

"I'm not quite finished with it," Cathy announced, breaking Ella's stare.

"Oh, sorry," Ella replied, flushing. "I just— It's good from what I can see. Really good." Cathy was a really brilliant painter, and she seemed to absorb more in the class than what Ella did. Ella liked Cathy because she was so focused and observant, able to see and analyze things that she couldn't.

Cathy smiled. "Thanks!"

Ella licked her lips nervously. "So, um, are you letting Evie Martin do your hair for homecoming?"

The younger teen sighed. "Well, she told me she would help me with a style, so maybe. What about you, Ella?"

"Yes," she answered almost instantly. "I'm actually going to her house this evening so she can give me ideas and do a practice run on my hair." Cathy inwardly grimaced, but Ella continued on. "Since so many people seem to be interested in her doing their hair, too, she offered to let me help her book appointments, but there's only going to be so many girls she can help, so everything is limited."

Cathy nodded along. "I wonder what she thinks she's going to do with my hair."

Ella stared, hoping to God that Evie didn't cut too much of her own hair off. She liked her hair long, even if it was hopelessly bushy and a little frizzed, but glory, the length is what saved it from puffing up like an Afro—good Lord. Cathy had shorter hair, but it was straight and easier to manage, so what would Evie do with it?

"Maybe curls?" Ella guessed, looking somewhat curious.

The dark-haired girl shrugged. "Maybe. So, you're a bookkeeper now?"

"Something like that, but—" She paused, wondering how in the world she was going to say this, or how Cathy would react when she even offered the job. "Evie was wondering if you would be interested in helping out, too."

The girl perked up, but she didn't look too enthused. "Help? With what?"

"Well, if you wanted to help out with her salon business," she responded, trying not to sound like she was as nervous as she was. "Like maybe washing hair or something. Of course," she continued quickly, "you don't have to if you don't want to."

Cathy, though, simply nodded. "I'll think about it."

XXXXX

Truth be told, Bridget Stevens made Ella nervous. She thought she was decent enough in terms of personality, but she was still an upper class girl with style, charm, and looks—even Jerry Thompson had asked her out, and she was friends with Vickie Harper to top it off. However, when she found the girl by her lonesome at her locker later that afternoon, not surrounded by Vickie, Lucy, Missy, or her other friends, she looked just like your typical teenage girl.

Ella relaxed as she approached her. "Hi, Bridget."

The girl's green eyes fixed on the brown-haired girl, but a small smile touched her lips. "Ella, right?" she asked. "Ella Mitchell?"

"Yes."

Bridget nodded once, looking the other girl over. "How are you?"

"Good, thanks," she responded. "You?"

"Good!"

Ella breathed in slowly, hoping she wouldn't make a fool of herself. She wasn't quite sure how to go about bringing up Evie Martin, especially when she knew how Evie felt about Bridget. Then again, she reminded herself that Evie didn't particularly hate Bridget, either, though there was some form of jealousy that she felt directed at the wild-haired girl. Ella allowed herself to wonder for a brief second if Evie would like Bridget at all if she had never made that comment.

"Well, I was wondering if you would be interested in helping out with something," she started, an image of Evie strangling the hell out of her entering her mind as the words fell from her lips.

Bridget's brows pulled together. "What is it?"

"Well—" But before Ella could get the words out of her mouth, Cherry Valance was calling Bridget's name, nodding once to Ella, before coming to a stop at the other girl's locker. "Vickie is looking for you in the auditorium."

Bridget's shoulders seemed to drop. "I know, I know," she replied, and turned back to Ella with an apologetic look. "Can we continue this another time? I don't mean to be rude, but—"

"No, it's fine!" Ella said, quickly dropping the subject. "I'll see you around."

Bridget offered her a polite smile before following Cherry down the hall, the two of them disappearing around the corner, leaving Ella to wonder what she ought to do about Evie's situation of gathering enough equipment for her . . . newfound business.

XXXXX

"Right, now," Evie said, and tilted Ella's head forward, "I think two inches off will do just fine, just to clean it up."

Ella mentally cringed. "Two inches?"

"Don't whine, it ain't that much, Ella," Evie replied, placing a hand on her hip, scissors dangling in the other. "C'mon, I promise it'll grow back in a few weeks. Sheesh, with all the hair you've got, it won't even be noticeable." She pushed Ella's head back down. "Now just hush up. While I'm cuttin' it, why don't you tell me how you want your hair styled for the dance."

The brown-haired teen almost wished that she hadn't agreed to this. "I'm not sure, but I was thinking about curling my hair."

Snip.

"Curls, huh?" Evie repeated. "I think ringlets might look good on you. You've gotta nice face for them, not too round or nothin'."

She flushed. "You think?"

"Yeah."

The girl grinned, trying to envision herself with a head full of perfected ringlets, hair frizz free and finally tamed. Evie was right, though, her hair was incredibly long—long enough that she could sit on it if it was straightened out. Evie sounded rather impressed with the length along with the fact that it wasn't damaged or anything, and Ella remembered a week back when she complimented her nail-beds as well. Ella had never found anything about herself to be attractive, so hearing others point out positive attributes about her made her feel good about herself.

Evie continued to snip at her hair, eyes intent and focused on what she was doing. Ella kept her head down like the other girl had instructed, but she could see her face reflecting back at her through the vanity mirror. Ella trusted Evie to fix her hair and makeup, even if this was only a test to see what she could actually do with her appearance.

"So," Ella said after a few minutes, "do you think you can do ringlets, then?"

Evie nearly busted out laughing. "Do I think I can? I know I can. See, my mom's a hairdresser, and she taught me just about everything I know about hair. I'm gonna take the salon over some day, whenever she retires. It's been . . . well, it's been my dream since I was a young girl."

The other girl was stunned to hear Evie talking like that. She imagined that Evie had always wanted to be a beautician, but just hearing the passion seeping through her voice when she spoke about it was incredible. It seemed that Evie's greatest desire was to help others in some way, even if it was with their appearances. Then again, Ella noted, Evie was good at what she did, and the other girl found her skills to be very admirable.

As the girl set to work on styling her hair, Ella couldn't help but think of how wrong so many people were about Evie Martin—they sure had a lot to learn.

"I have laughed, in bitterness and agony of heart, at the contrast between what I seem and what I am!"Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter


Happy Palm Sunday, y'all!

You know the drill—S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders, though sometimes we wish we did. ;)

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