Free Of All the Stupid Things by Alexandra Diaz Page B

of his nose. I shift away from his espresso machine. I pretend I was reaching for hot chocolate instead. He’s still staring at me.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Morning,” he replies. “How are your grades so far?”
“A’s, top of the class.”
“Good. That’s what we like to hear.” Then he picks up The New York Times from the breakfast table and returns to his study with it.
I go back to the espresso machine.
“Oh, darling, you don’t have time for that.”
I stare at my mother. “Why not?”
Mother makes faces at her reflection in the microwave. “We have appointments with Pierre in twenty minutes. My hair is an absolute mess and yours doesn’t look much better.”
She’s not looking at me. She’s not even looking at a dim version of me through the microwave. “And I set up appointments with Marissa for some waxing while we’re there. Hopefully she can do something about those eyebrows you got from your father. They look like something you’d expect to see on some exotic animal.”
“I plucked them last night,” I tell her. She’s given up on the microwave and is now rummaging around in her purse. She waves a hand in my general direction. I hate it when she does that.
“Of course you did, darling, and that’s fine, but won’t you feel better once Marissa works her magic touch?”
Again I keep quiet.
Mother waves a hand again, this time to dismiss me. “Hurry up and get dressed, we don’t want to be late. And make sure you put on clean underwear. It’s probably time for your bikini wax again. You don’t have your period right now, do you?”
“Yeah, I do.” Not really, but it’s worth a shot if it gets me out of a bikini wax.
“Then make sure you use the super tampons. You don’t want to bleed all over the place, now do you?”
I stare at her and wonder if it’s worth telling her that Tara’s mother thinks body hair is beautiful.
“Don’t look at me like that, young lady. I was your age once. I used to get my period too, you know. Now hurry up, we’re going to be late.”
I come down ten minutes later and Mother takes another fifteen before we leave the house. We get to the salon a good forty minutes late for our appointments. Not that it matters. Pierre isn’t ready for us. He never is, and yet he always charges for extra services. Mother never notices and I’ve never seen the point in telling her.
I go straight to the coffee machine at the salon. I add one sugar and one Sweet’N Low to my drink. I used to do two Sweet’N Lows, but Pink claims that artificial sweeteners cause cancer in lab animals. Personally, I think that’s bullshit (if it’s true, then why are they legal?), but I humor her anyway.
I thumb through the magazines and drink the coffee while I wait my turn. Although I won’t tell her, I’m glad Mother dragged me to the salon. My hair has been pissing me off for weeks. It’s time for a change. And Pierre’s a genius. He figured out that if he changed his name from Pete to Pierre, he can get paid more as a hairdresser by pretending to be ethnic. It adds to his exoticness and people pay for that. I can learn a lot about money from him.
And I guess I do need a bikini wax.
“Hi, sweetie.” Pierre comes up to me and gives me a kiss on each cheek like they do in Europe. “I swear you must keep those boys begging for mercy. Come. Let’s see if we can make you more gorgeous than you already are.” Pierre leads me down to the chair.
I look over at Mother. She’s sitting with foil on her head, explaining the basic psychology behind effective parenting to the woman next to her. She doesn’t even remember I’m here. I wonder if she’d notice if I suddenly pulled out a gun and took Pierre hostage. Probably not. At least not for another half hour, until it was time for the next step in her hair treatment. So instead of pulling out a gun, I put on my public face and smile.
I reply to Pierre’s teasing with a laugh. “Ah, but the one guy I want won’t look at