Split Ends by Kristin Billerbeck

bad haircut and an appointment with a scary, foreign woman who will take my skin and turn it into the plastic look of everyone else. Which, lucky for me, I can’t afford yet. And rather than money in my pocket, I’m in more debt for the job requirements—along with a necessary four days off next month for pain and suffering! I have entered Stepford, and my transformation is nearly complete.
    I look at my watch, wondering where on earth Scott went and if he has any plans to retrieve me. I’d call his cell, but wait—I don’t have one.
    Thankfully, he pulls up just then. He spends a moment cooing into yet another woman’s ear before clicking shut his phone, which is far too small for the size of his head, and looking at me. “You’re done?”
    â€œYou’re disgusting, do you know that?” I climb into the car.
    â€œI’m only paying the bills. How’d the interview go? You’re starting tomorrow, I take it. Your hair is ghastly, by the way.”
    â€œYeah, thanks. Love you too. I got the job, but only because he wants your clients.” I cross my arms. It seems I’m destined to be defined by family members no matter where I go. “That’s the only reason he’s hiring me. When he cuts hair, someone shadows him at all times, and I may get that privilege in six months or so. Until then, that’s as close as I’m coming to a head of hair unless I take a trip home to Sable. Or buy a Barbie head at Toys“R”Us. My duties will include making sure the toilet seat is down after a male client goes to the bathroom, sweeping up hair, and making coffee concoctions with a steamer engine posing as an espresso machine.”
    My cousin starts to laugh.
    â€œNot funny!” I tell him. “Not funny at all.”
    â€œIt’s a little funny. Who doesn’t have to pay their dues in life, Sarah Claire? What makes you so special?”
    â€œI have a skill,” I say with my palm on my chest.
    â€œTo Yoshi, you have an eight-by-ten glossy and a skill yet to be learned. Right now, you have only potential.”
    â€œChauvinist—”
    â€œNever mind. Certainly you didn’t think you were going to have your hands on Ashton Kutcher in the first week.”
    â€œI’m scheduled for a blue peel next month before I'm let loose on the hallowed grounds of Yoshi’s styling floor to sweep hair.”
    â€œOuch.”
    Not what I wanted to hear. “It hurts?”
    â€œHair is such a personal thing. My clients go where they want, so don’t let that stop you with Yoshi. Just appease him and you’ll have your job. If you get good enough, he’ll lose all power. Did he give you the Yoshi spiel?” His eyes roll. “You know, the ‘ You are Yoshi. You will eat Yoshi, sleep Yoshi —’”
    â€œIt wasn’t that bad.”
    â€œI guess he’s trying not to scare you. He is that bad. He’s a genius, but a crazy genius. Tom-Cruise-jumping-Oprah’s-couch genius.”
    We squeal up the road until we’re once again in traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard, the place to be while you sit in your overpriced car wasting gas on idling. His phone rings again, and he holds up a finger. “Scotty here.”
    Scotty?
    Another distraught female voice comes over the speaker. “They’re saying I’m not on the list, Scott!”
    â€œWho’s saying that, baby?”
    â€œThese thugs at the door! Big-necked losers. They have no idea what they’re doing! Didn’t you get me on the list? How could I not be on the list?”
    â€œI’ll be right there, Cassie. Just hang on.”
    â€œYou’re going to help me, baby, right?”
    â€œI’m just the blackness in your universe, helping you shine.”
    Can I puke now?
    He flips the car around and pulls to the side of the road, then reaches over me to open the passenger door, pushing it toward the dirty