The Secret Identity of Devon Delaney by Lauren Barnholdt

say.
    “It totally is,” Kim says.
    “Hmm,” Lexi puts her hand back down on the table. “I think I might want to change my color.” The nail technician nods and pulls out a bunch of tiny bottles of polish. Lexi studies them critically.
    “Excuse me!” Kim yells over to the hairdressers on the other side of the room. One of them, a very tall woman with black hair, comes rushing over. Her nametag says, LUCINDA. “Hi,” Kim goes on. “My friend here”—she points to me—“would like to get her hair cut and some blond highlights, just around the top.”
    “Certainly,” Lucinda says, all businesslike. “Come with me.” She produces some sort of black cape as if she’s a magician and ties it around my shoulders.
    “Actually,” I start to say, “I’m not—”
    “And a shampoo, too, please,” Kim calls after us. I see Lexi nod in agreement.
    Lucinda plops me down in a chair, leans my headback and, before I can protest, starts running warm water over my hair. I want to tell her to stop, but it feels too good. Nothing like when I get my hair cut at the Hairport near my house. Lucinda pulls a bottle of yummy-smelling shampoo off the shelf over my head and starts rubbing it into my scalp. Mmm. Relaxing. Maybe I’ll just take the shampoo and then I can tell her I changed my mind. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’m already in the middle of getting my hair washed, anyway, so it’s not like I can stop her. That would be rude, pulling up my big, soapy head. Not to mention a total mess. I’ll just take the shampoo and then tell her. Mmm. Feels good. But I’m definitely stopping. Really, I am.
    An hour later, I leave the salon with a newly shaped haircut, blond highlights, and no money.
    “Devon Nicole Delaney!” To say my mom is not pleased with my new look would be putting it mildly. “We’re going back. You’re getting it fixed.” She grabs her keys and her wallet off the counter and turns to Katie, who’s sitting on the living room couch. “Katie, get dressed. We’re going to the mall.”
    “The mall, the mall, the mall,” Katie sings. She stands up and twirls around. “I love the mall. And I am dressed.”

    “Then get your shoes on.” Katie runs off.
    “Mom, this is not a big deal,” I say, trying to sound mature in an effort to deal with her reasonably. “It’s just a few highlights.” I am in love with my new haircut. Seriously, I don’t know why anyone would get an extreme makeover when they can just go to Lucinda. I feel like a whole new person. Which is a strange choice of words, given the fact that I’ve been living someone else’s life. But maybe this is the life I was supposed to lead. Maybe I was supposed to be A-list this whole time and I just needed an excuse to let the new, better Devon out. Like those people who lose a ton of weight and then claim their new thin selves are the person they were supposed to be. You’d think my mom would realize this because she watches so much
Oprah.
    “A few highlights that you got without my permission and with my money,” she says, throwing her hands up in the air. Hmm. My mom could seriously use a manicure.
    “If it’s the money, I’ll pay you back,” I say. “I’ll babysit Katie, whatever you want.”
    “That’s not the point, Devon,” my mom says. She yanks a blue-and-white sneaker onto her foot and starts tying her laces.
    “Mom,” I say, putting my hand over hers andstopping her from tying. “Please. Calm. Down. It’s just some hair dye.” She sighs. “Listen, can we talk about this later? After we’ve both cooled down? I’m sorry I didn’t ask permission, but if I knew you were going to get this upset about it, I definitely would have.” My mom doesn’t say anything, and I rush on. “Plus Luke is going to be here any minute to work on our project.”
    Our doorbell rings then, saving me like a snowstorm on the day of a big test.
    “Fine,” my mom fumes. She pulls her sneaker off. She still looks very, very