Nina continued, “I know someone who might be able to help you. Her name’s Willow and she cuts for Jarrett.”

Mateo whistled. “Takes months to get an appointment there, and the cuts are like five hundred dollars.”

“Are you serious?” It’d never occurred to me that a haircut could possibly cost so much.

Nina said, “Four hundred and fifty dollars for a cut by Jarrett himself. Willow’s second-level staff, so her haircuts are a hundred and fifteen dollars, not including tip.”

“I can’t pay that,” I said.

“You don’t have to. Willow’s a friend of mine. We met at a party in the East Village. We have a trade set up where she cuts my hair and I teach her a Latin class. She’s crazy about it. She’s been wanting more lessons than my hair can handle. Also, I’m just so wrecked from Sammy, I don’t have the time or energy. You’d be perfect.”

“So, you mean I’d teach her in exchange for a haircut? But her cuts are so expensive.”

“And a lesson with you is worth a hundred and twenty dollars. So it works out, see?”

I hadn’t realized I was that expensive too. I wished I could tell Pa. He would have been so tickled. “Is there really any difference between a twenty-dollar haircut and one that’s a hundred and twenty?”

Nina raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely. After Willow cuts your hair, it never curls the wrong way. No pieces stick up in the back. The cut will look very simple but it’s perfect, and it’ll do exactly what you need it to do. I’ll tell her about you. She’ll be excited.”

“And you know,” Mateo said, “I’ll do your makeup after we get back to the studio.”

—

In the crowded teachers’ room, Mateo set me in front of the mirror and started to chuckle. “I’ve never seen a woman put on makeup like you. You just throw it onto your face with your eyes squeezed shut. Then you go out and everyone’s like, ‘Oh, what a lovely girl.’”

“They don’t say that,” I said.

He patted my cheek. “You’re different, Charlie. Now, let the expert take care of you, honey.”

“What would you know about makeup?”

“Everything.”

I shut up. Mateo flipped through my makeup bag. It was a collection of cosmetics other people had discarded and given to me, plus a few pieces of makeup I’d bought after I started at the studio. “This is all wrong for you. You’ve got makeup for elderly ladies. No, old ladies wouldn’t wear this stuff. You’re buying senior citizen rejects.”

“Thanks.”

“I need some tools here,” he called out. “Who can help me?”

Nina brought over a makeup case. It was beautiful, with all kinds of colors and pretty brushes. “I got this from my mom for Christmas.”

“Some of this will work for her eyes,” Mateo said, tapping his full lips with a finger, “but I need cooler lipsticks and powders. Katerina, cough it up.”

“Okay.” Katerina rummaged in her locker and came over with her bright pink makeup bag. Simone was sniffing her nasal inhaler as she often did and pointedly ignored us.

Everyone watched my transformation while Mateo made me up with a plum liquid eyeliner, which I’d never used before. He put on much more makeup than I was used to. Lipstick, blush. He feathered eye shadow up to my eyebrows. I kept blinking when he tried to put mascara on me, so in the end he gave up and let me do that part myself.

“You don’t need any foundation,” he said. “Your skin’s perfect.”

I was surprised by how dramatic the liquid eyeliner made my eyes. He’d emphasized their slanted shape, pulling the line up toward my temples. I paid close attention to everything he did.

“It doesn’t have to be expensive,” he said, “but you need the right colors. Go ahead and get the cheap stuff but no more of those neutrals for you. You need brighter colors, more blue-based. Your coloring can take a lot of drama.”

Pa would explode if he ever saw me like this.

“I don’t look cheap?” I asked.

Mateo looked shocked then laughed. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, ruffling my hair.

I examined my face in the mirror. I still looked like myself, but more so. My eyes leapt out, my cheekbones seemed more pronounced. Instead of looking pale, the way I usually did, I appeared vibrant. I wasn’t used to wearing such bright colors, but I had to say it was an improvement.

“You have to blend. It can be bright, but no harsh lines on your face,” Katerina said. “On the stage, you’ll need even more. But for studio, this is good.”

—

I bought some inexpensive cosmetics in the colors Mateo had shown me as soon as I could. That weekend, I dragged Lisa into our tiny bathroom and made her up. She was giggling so hard I could barely do her eyes.

“Shh! Pa will hear!” I brushed some powder across her cheek. Lisa had lighter skin than I did but she still had the gold undertone that we all shared in our family. She was such a beautiful girl, with her long lashes and almond-shaped eyes.

Lisa peered at herself in the mirror and gasped. I had overdone it a bit but she didn’t seem to mind. “I want to look like this every day!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, please.”

“Pa will kill me if he sees me wearing this stuff. What would he do to you?”

She drooped. “Oh, I wish he weren’t so old-fashioned sometimes.”

To cheer her up, I said, “Hey, the Broadway show jar is getting fuller. When we go, we’ll get all dressed up and I’ll do your makeup.”

Lisa’s eyes shone. “Even Pa couldn’t object to cosmetics for a Broadway show.”

—

Willow, the hairstylist, wanted me to come to her apartment in the East Village that Sunday. She was also an artist, and there were large canvases of collages and paintings all over her tiny studio apartment. Many involved tight clusters of newspaper headlines and handwritten phrases. “Buddha Cat!” one said, and stuck all around it were even smaller clippings that said, “Meow!” There were three meows, all in different typefaces, and then the fourth, as a surprise, said, “Vomit in the cafeteria of this nation.” I’d never seen anything like this. In Uncle’s house, he had traditional Chinese paintings. Most of the art I’d seen before had been soothing and meant to blend in.

Willow was African-American and taller than I was. She was extremely muscular, so much so that I asked if she also danced. She looked very different from the girls I’d grown up with in Chinatown. I wondered if Mo Li or Zan would like her. She was independent too, practicing her art here in her studio, living on her own.

“I hate to exercise,” she said. “I’m just naturally wiry, always have been. Hairy, too.” She pulled up her loose leggings to show me the thick stubble on her unshaven legs. Wow. The hair on my legs was so fine, I didn’t even need to shave. “But I love to dance. The problem is that Nina’s so busy, and her hair’s long, so she doesn’t need to get it cut that much. But now you’re here!”

Willow touched my hair, rubbing a few strands between her fingers. “Actually, I like what you’ve got. It’s so free. What do you want to do with it?”

“I don’t actually know. I’m hopeless with this kind of thing.”

“Hang on.” Willow grabbed her cell phone and dialed. When it was ringing, she put it on speaker. I realized she’d called Nina. “Hey, girl.”

“What’s up?” Nina said. A small child was shrieking so loudly so that I could barely make out Nina’s voice.

“I’m here with your friend,” Willow said. “Only she’s not sure what she needs.”

“Oh, so glad you called before she does something dumb to it. She’s either got to keep it quite short or long enough that she can tuck it up in a French twist.”

“What?” I said.

“That you, Charlie?” Nina said. “Listen, you can’t have your hair flying into your eyes or whacking your partner when you dance. It’s either got to be short enough to stay out of the way, or long enough to be put up. You guys decide. Actually, Willow, maybe you should choose.” The child’s voice grew louder, wailing something about a Popsicle. “Listen, I gotta go, but good luck, okay?” Nina hung up.