Free Charlotte Cuts It Out by Kelly Barson

you have time.”
    â€œWe’ll make time,” I say.
Cha-ching!
    â€œCute shirt,” Lydia says to Ann. “Snapz!, right?”
    â€œActually, it’s part Snapz! and part Raynee Gilbert.” Ann holds her arms out like she’s presenting a fabulous prize on a game show. “Raynee alters most of our clothes.”
    â€œYou? Wow! That’s amazing!” As usual, Lydia is instantly comfortable and making conversation with Raynee as if they’re old friends. They talk about sewing and how it’s a lost art and clothing sizes and how they don’t fit anyone, really.
    It’s not as easy for me, but I try. “What school do you guys go to?”
    â€œOfficially, Northwest,” says Ann, “but we’re taking dual enrollment courses three days a week at Jackson College.”
    I set up my scrub, lotion, and tools on the tiled area around the foot spa. “That’s cool. My brother did that, too.”
    Lydia pulls out her pedi note card and sets it next to her. Raynee notices, but doesn’t say anything. I’m super embarrassed. “We’re students, so we’re still learning,” I say quickly. “We want to make sure we don’t skip anything.” I leave out the fact that we should know how to do a simple pedi blindfolded by now, and that
I
do.
    â€œNo problem.” Raynee scrolls through her phone.
    Lydia and I set up the rest of the tools and lotions on a towel while Raynee and Ann relax, soaking their feet in the warm, sudsy, lavender-scented water. Music plays in the background, like in a regular salon. Around us, several others—even some guys—are getting the salon treatment.
    When I start buffing the rough spots on Ann’s feet, she pulls away and giggles. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m really ticklish. That’s why I’ve always done my own pedis.”
    â€œNo problem.” I smile and apply more pressure. “Is this better?”
    â€œActually, it is!” She seems really impressed. “Thank you. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to do this.” Then she turns to Raynee and says, “I’m going to have to send Mom, Jackie, and Chris in here. She’s really good. And my feet really needed it.”
    I smile as I move around each toenail with a curette. “That’s my purpose in life. Ridding the world of calluses andunsightly toe jam one foot at a time.” Ann and Raynee laugh, and Lydia just shakes her head.
    Even though I joke, I really do feel as if I’m doing something important. People feel better about themselves when they’re well-groomed, and when they feel better they’re nicer, and when people are nicer, everyone around them is happier. So the way I see it, I’m promoting world peace. Well, maybe I wouldn’t go
that
far. But who couldn’t use a little self-esteem and mood boost?
    I remind them about our upcoming fund-raisers—every other Friday, starting right after Christmas break—and tell them I’d really appreciate any referrals. They say they’ll definitely let their friends and family know, and I get to work with a nail rasp. Lydia fumbles with her cards, then looks at her tools and shrugs. As nonchalantly as possible, I hand her the rasp and slowly demonstrate one-direction filing. She follows my lead.
    â€œGuess who’s coming for Thanksgiving?” Ann asks Raynee.
    â€œJon?” Raynee wiggles her eyebrows.
    I pretend I’m not listening, but I am. Not only does cosmetology make the client feel good, it allows me to eavesdrop freely and without disdain. Today is the best day ever.
    â€œNo! You know he has his own family dinner.” Ann air-swats her. “Tony!”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œReally.” Ann beams. “Gram invited him, and he accepted.”
    â€œThat’s so cool.”
    I guess I’m not very good at pretending to not listen, because Ann explains that