Free Charlotte Cuts It Out by Kelly Barson Page A

Tony’s her older brother, and he’s spent a couple of years away from their family.
    I’m glad that someone at least is looking forward to Thanksgiving. While I love having the day off, Grandmother Vanderpool will be coming. She’s so formal, which always makes us more tense than grateful. Even Mom is tense, and Grandmother Vanderpool’s her mother.
    They continue to talk about Ann’s family as I lotion and massage and paint her toes. She chose Iridescent Iris, too. I knew I liked this girl.
    When they’re both done—and Lydia has, thankfully, done a decent job—Raynee decides that yes, they’ll splurge on the manis, too. She loves the Harvest Pumpkin color I suggested.
    While they talk about double-dating with their boyfriends, I look over at Lydia, who’s concentrating on Raynee’s right hand, and imagine spa days in our own salon with us gabbing about our boyfriends—or maybe even husbands, down the line when we’re fully established.
    We’ve never let guys come between us. It’s kind of our rule—we don’t date anyone unless the other approves, and we don’t bail on plans with each other for a date or a boyfriend. And if we’re both in a relationship at the same time, it’s important that our guys like each other, too. The few times it’s happened, we’ve all hung out and it’s been awesome.
    This gets me thinking about Reed, and how I want Lydia to meet him before he asks me out—
if
he asks me out, which I hope he does, soon.
    After we finish the girls’ nails, they ask for more flyers to pass out to people they know. We hand them a whole stack and thank them for supporting us. They thank us and tip us each five bucks, even after they pay the ten to the salon. I can’t believe we’re getting paid for doing something we love so much!
    The rest of the morning flies by so fast that I’m shocked when Ms. Garrett tells us to clean up our stations because the bell is about to ring.
    Once class is over, we head out to the hall together.
    Lydia sighs and rubs her temples. “That was rough. We barely had enough time to finish one client before the next one showed up.”
    â€œI know. Wasn’t it great? I bet we set a record! Shall we sneak out for lunch to celebrate?”
    â€œCan’t,” she says. “I have a meeting with Mr. Finn.”
    â€œFinn? Why?” I stop walking and some kid from auto tech runs into me.
    â€œHey, watch it!” he snaps. “Hey, Lydia, did you say you’re meeting with Finn?”
    I growl at him, as if he were my dog Buffy not wanting to go outside.
    â€œEasy, killer.” Lydia laughs. Then to the guy, she says, “Don’t worry. Her growl’s worse than her bite. Yeah, I am. Why?”
    He gives me a sideways look as he says to her, “Can youtell him his car is ready? We changed the oil and fixed the broken windshield wiper.”
    â€œSure. No problem, Jake.”
    Jake
walks off toward the cafeteria.
    â€œYou know that guy?” I ask. “And why are you meeting with Finn?”
    â€œSort of. We’ve talked a few times. He’s nice. I can’t explain about Finn now, but it has to do with the stuff I need to talk to you about.” She takes a few steps down the hall, turns around, and walking backward, says, “Let’s hang out this weekend.”
    Now I’m super curious. She’s tried to talk to me a few times, and nobody meets with Mr. Finn on purpose. Maybe this has to do with being late on Monday? “For sure. Text me.”
    Except that doesn’t happen. First of all, Lydia isn’t in any of our afternoon classes. And when she texts, I’m working and can’t get back to her. By the time I remember, it’s late, so she doesn’t reply. Sunday is pretty much the same. If something were really wrong, I’d know, right? When her dad was sick, we talked (or texted)