"And what year was Rome founded, Adrien?" My father's assistant, Nathalie asks. I sigh. Every since my mother died, Nathalie has stepped in to fill in as my teacher as Mother taught me all my classes. I miss my mother so much, its like I have a gaping hole in my chest, and today is one of those days.
"753," I tell her. "Very good, Adrien!" I don't want praise, I want my mother. Mother who to make my lessons more interesting, she would sew costumes and play someone famous we were studying. Mother had my sense of humor, and I can totally see her in a helmet. Tears blur my eyes, one escaping and smearing my carefully written notes, and I stand up, shoving my chair back.
"Will you excuse me?" I mumble abruptly, not wanting for her response. I dash out to the back gardens, finding comfort in Mother's flower garden, next to her statue. Alone and finally able to breathe, I cry.
And it feels good, a sense of relief. Father is to busy making dresses and costumes, and though I understand he is one of the most famous fashion designers in the world (if not the most famous), he should make time for his grieving son. Its not that Father is cruel, just the opposite in fact, but these days our relationship is fractured.
Quiet footsteps make me look around and Nathalie comes to sit with me on the garden bench. "You okay?" she asks gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shake my head. "I need some new memories, Nathalie. Mother is everywhere here, and if I were able to go to public school, maybe I could be happy again, make new friends, new memories." "You have a good point, Adrien. I'll talk to your Father, but try not to get your hopes up." "Oh, thank you, Nathalie! I'm going back inside to finish studying."
At dinner that night, Father points his fork at me. "Nathalie tells me your ready for a change. You know you can talk to me about anything, Adrien." That's a lie! I want to shout, but I hold my tongue. "Will you let me go to school, Father?" I hold my breath.
"I'd rather have you here, but Nathalie convinced me that change would be good for you. I'll contact the school and set up a tour soon." And like that, Father is back on the phone, heading towards the office. I finish quickly, heading back to my own room, and flopping down on the bed.
I'm not exactly a popular person even if I model for Father's brand. Sure, I may be on the cover of Teen Weekly, but those are fans, not friends. If I could have one wish, it would to meet someone, a best friend.
My hair keeps getting in my eyes, and I get up heading for my computer. If I'm going to have changes, I want a new look. Nothing green or exotic, just a change.
I type into the search engine "Paris Hairdressers near me" into Google and about a million results pop up. I rub my temples, erase that and try again. "Small hair care businesses" and an ad catches my eye.
"Looking for a change of hairstyle, or looking for a whole new look? I do it all. Contact Marinette Dupain-Cheng." under the ad it lists an address, and I quickly scribble down the address before filling out a form. To my surprise, my appointment is in a hour, and since its not that late, I head out.
Stragglers coming home from work pass by me, but I don't really give them any mind, following my map and gasping when I reach my destination.
Marinette lives at a bakery? I open the door, looking around as a small bell jangles above me. "Can I help you?" A large man in an apron asks. "Yeah, I'm here to see Marinette?" I ask, wincing as my voice shoots up three octaves. He stares me down, and I seem to pass some sort of test as he sighs. "Follow me," he leads me across the bakery and up a small set of stairs.
I've left at the front door, and knock and hear a shuffling sound coming from inside. The door opens a girl about my age stands there. "Are you Adrien?" she asks, and I stand there nodding like an idiot. "Follow me."
Marinette is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen with long black hair that she wears in two pigtails, a jean jacket and mottled pink jeans. We head up to her room which one first glance is very pink.
"So, you looking for me to dye your hair or…" her voice trails off. "No, no," I stammer. "Maybe straighten it? And do you pierce ears and do nails?" Her eyebrows disappear into her hair. "You emo or something?" If "emo" means I have emotional baggage, then yes. I shrug.
"Okay, let's start with your hair," Marinette instructs me to sit back in a reclined chair and begins to pour water over it. "Are you new to Paris?" she asks, as she works. "I haven't seen you at school." I nod. "I've been home schooled. But I'm transferring to the public school soon. Maybe we'll have some classes together."
When my hair is wet, she pours shampoo into her hands and begins to lather, rubbing her hands together. I gulp nervously. "There's no dye in there is there?" she gives a light laugh. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."
She begins to work her fingers into my hair, and a happy shudder runs through my body. How touched starved am I, and I just met this girl?
Strange, when I first looked in, I was nervous but now I feel right at home, something I don't feel at my actual home.
We chat and get to know each other and its late by the time she's finished. My newly finished hair is now parted to one side, I have black nails and studded ears. "Want to do I owe you?"
"200 dollars. To tell you the truth, I'm not planning to be a hairdresser, but a fashion designer, but my sewing machine blew the coop last week."
I hand her the money, and as she takes it, our fingers brush leaving me with a tingling sensation. I left the house earlier tonight wanting new memories, but I had no idea I'd get them quite this soon, for when I go to bed later that night, I can't keep Marinette Dupain-Cheng off my mind.