Flames with Fire

Chapter 2

I skid to a stop in front of 'Hair Hotline' nearly 30 minutes late, my hair a mess and out of breath. The first I do when I'm inside is give Mim a detailed (albeit breathless) explanation: 
"School. Principal. Bloody. Unavoidable. Talk."

See?
Detailed, right?


Mim shoots me a cool glare, as though assessing my truthfulness, and when she decides that it meets whatever Mim standards that she follows, says "You've used up your Bimonthly late pass. If you're late again this month, Estas Despedida. Get to work, Chica."
I nod, grab an apron and tie it without looking, then grab a flat iron and do a quick once-over on my hair- after all, I'm practically a walking advertisement for the place, especially since I work here.

"Hey Mim, did you get the dye I need yet?" I call toward her, not bothering to look away from the mirror. 
"No, that proveedor idiota seems determined to make me find a replacement for him. I'm working on it, lo prometo." I nod and frown at my hair- the iron worked fine, but Mim's supplier has been making trouble for the past year, so there are almost two inches of hair that is technically undyed but is covered in temporary dye, the kind that lasts for a week and can be instantly removed with a special solution. I do think that it's also rather relevant that what hair I have that is technically dyed has already faded nearly to the original black color- you can barely tell that it was ever blue.

I sigh and pull away from my reflection before I turn to the one customer currently sitting in the shop. I make an effort not to snap at her, and ask (Tonelessly, but how much can you expect from a girl?) "What can I help you with?" The lady tilts her head as though searching the heavens for the answer, and it takes a herculean effort to convince myself not to ask her if she really can't decide on hairstyle without consulting with Lux.

I'm about 3 seconds away from smashing her forehead into the counter, since this day has been shitty enough without having to deal with an idiot customer when her face suddenly lights up- If you were to judge by her expressions, you'd think that she'd won the lottery- and then she announces to the room at large: "I remembered! I wanted a blowout!".

"Wonderful.", I deadpan. I hear Mim snort somewhere behind me, and the woman smiles proudly, as though congratulating herself on remembering. Dear Nix. "I thought it was something like that..." I hear her mutter under her breath. "I knew it wasn't that other word that Natalia said, that 'blowjob' thingy she mentioned..." I start coughing vigorously to hide my laughter, and I can hear Mim choking behind the counter.

The imbecile inquires on my health, and after I get the coughing under control I mutter an excuse about swallowing wrong. I finish with her as fast as I can, if only because she's alternating between asking me questions and singing at the top of her lungs. I can see Mim giving her a side-eye, probably because even I can tell that Patty (As in Chatty Patty, and if that's not the name on her birth certificate than it should be) is butchering the opera.
And I can assure you. I have never. Ever. Shown any interest. Whatsoever. Of any sort. In opera.
Patty was that horrid.

When she (Finally!!!) leaves, I let myself be swept away in a tide of dyeing hair, smoothing curls, braiding and twisting and sticking bobby-pins. Truthfully, there are three reasons that I decided to work at Mim's: a) I'm good enough at the job to get it done well, but b) It still requires enough attention that I can't focus to much on other stuff (As in- it's distracting), and c) It pays well.

I manage to spend a blissful hour lost in the job, but I'm broken from my reverie by a shouted "Sweetheart!!! How have you been!!!! It's honestly been too long!!! I've missed you so much!!!"
I sigh in resignation, mourning the fact that I'm thinking about the headache and about the stupid boarding school.