Read Online Anastasia's Chosen Career by Lois Lowry - Free Book Online
Authors: Lois Lowry
Tags: Ages 9 & Up
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towel turban and handed Robert his glasses. He put them on and looked around. His damp hair stood up in spikes. He didn't look romantic at all. He just looked Giannini-esque, only worse.
Also, Anastasia realized, it was embarrassing to see a boy with his hair wet. At a swimming pool, okay. You
expected
it at a swimming pool. But in a room with pink walls, it was weird and embarrassing, as if he had just gotten out of the shower or something. She looked away as the old lady led Robert to a different chair.
Henry had picked up an old issue of
Vogue
and was leafing through it. "Look," she said, and pointed to a picture of a tall, elegant black woman wearing a yellow chiffon evening gown. "You think I could ever be a model like that?"
Anastasia examined the picture. Then she studied Henry Peabody. Henry's hair looked like the plastic Chore girl her mother used to scrub pots and pans, and she had skewered it into place with green barrettes shaped like butterflies. She was wearing an oversize sweat shirt, jeans, and grubby sneakers. But she had a slender face, huge eyes, and a beautiful smile. And she was very tall—taller than Anastasia, who was five foot seven.
"Yes," Anastasia said. "I think you could."
"What if I went home tonight looking like that?" Henry said, laughing. "My mother would have a heart attack. Boy, if I go home looking like that, you might as well start dialing 911 for the ambulance to cart my mother away."
"Where do you live?"
"Dorchester. Just takes me about twenty minutes to get here on the T."
The T was Boston's subway. Anastasia nodded. "I come by bus," she said. "Robert comes on the T, though. He lives in Cambridge. I used to live near him."
She glanced over at Robert and blinked. "Hey, look," she said to Henry.
Robert was still bibbed in the plastic sheet, but he looked different. His mop of curly hair had been shaped into something sleeker, more sophisticated. He was staring at himself in the mirror while the old lady zapped the back of his neck with an electric razor.
Next to him, Bambie was chattering to the woman cutting her hair. "I should've brought my mousse," Bambie said. "Do you have mousse? I really need it for body and highlights."
"Hold your head still," the woman commanded, "or you'll get the point of these scissors right in your jugular."
Beside the third chair, Aunt Vera was watching intently as the third old lady snipped at Helen Margaret's dark hair. "The ears are exquisite," Aunt Vera said. "I want you to shape it carefully to expose those ears."
Exquisite ears? Anastasia had never in her life considered the possibility of ears being exquisite. Ears were
necessary,
period. You couldn't
hear
without ears. But she had never thought they were worth looking at.
Yet, watching, she could see that Helen Margaret did have small, perfectly shaped ears. Earlier they had been concealed by the thicket of dark hair that had also covered her forehead and most of her face.
Now her long, straggly bangs were gone. In their place was a smooth, even edge of hair above her eyebrows. The rest of her wet hair was combed sleekly back while the woman snipped carefully with her shiny scissors. Anastasia could see Helen Margaret's face for the first time. She could see the pale, almost translucent skin and a pair of deep blue, long-lashed eyes peering shyly into the mirror as the woman worked.
Helen Magaret was beautiful. Anastasia realized it with astonishment, and then she poked Henry and said it to her in a whisper. "Helen Margaret's beautiful."
Henry looked up from the magazine, where she was still studying the black woman in the yellow dress.
Henry stared. "Holy—" she began, and then fell silent. Finally she whispered, "Like a painting. She looks like a painting at the museum.
"Shoot," she went on, "that one's not going to be no Miss Cranberry Bog. That old Helen Margaret, she could be Miss
World.
"
***
Robert, with his hair blown dry, was reading
Esquire
magazine. Bambie was under a
Also, Anastasia realized, it was embarrassing to see a boy with his hair wet. At a swimming pool, okay. You
expected
it at a swimming pool. But in a room with pink walls, it was weird and embarrassing, as if he had just gotten out of the shower or something. She looked away as the old lady led Robert to a different chair.
Henry had picked up an old issue of
Vogue
and was leafing through it. "Look," she said, and pointed to a picture of a tall, elegant black woman wearing a yellow chiffon evening gown. "You think I could ever be a model like that?"
Anastasia examined the picture. Then she studied Henry Peabody. Henry's hair looked like the plastic Chore girl her mother used to scrub pots and pans, and she had skewered it into place with green barrettes shaped like butterflies. She was wearing an oversize sweat shirt, jeans, and grubby sneakers. But she had a slender face, huge eyes, and a beautiful smile. And she was very tall—taller than Anastasia, who was five foot seven.
"Yes," Anastasia said. "I think you could."
"What if I went home tonight looking like that?" Henry said, laughing. "My mother would have a heart attack. Boy, if I go home looking like that, you might as well start dialing 911 for the ambulance to cart my mother away."
"Where do you live?"
"Dorchester. Just takes me about twenty minutes to get here on the T."
The T was Boston's subway. Anastasia nodded. "I come by bus," she said. "Robert comes on the T, though. He lives in Cambridge. I used to live near him."
She glanced over at Robert and blinked. "Hey, look," she said to Henry.
Robert was still bibbed in the plastic sheet, but he looked different. His mop of curly hair had been shaped into something sleeker, more sophisticated. He was staring at himself in the mirror while the old lady zapped the back of his neck with an electric razor.
Next to him, Bambie was chattering to the woman cutting her hair. "I should've brought my mousse," Bambie said. "Do you have mousse? I really need it for body and highlights."
"Hold your head still," the woman commanded, "or you'll get the point of these scissors right in your jugular."
Beside the third chair, Aunt Vera was watching intently as the third old lady snipped at Helen Margaret's dark hair. "The ears are exquisite," Aunt Vera said. "I want you to shape it carefully to expose those ears."
Exquisite ears? Anastasia had never in her life considered the possibility of ears being exquisite. Ears were
necessary,
period. You couldn't
hear
without ears. But she had never thought they were worth looking at.
Yet, watching, she could see that Helen Margaret did have small, perfectly shaped ears. Earlier they had been concealed by the thicket of dark hair that had also covered her forehead and most of her face.
Now her long, straggly bangs were gone. In their place was a smooth, even edge of hair above her eyebrows. The rest of her wet hair was combed sleekly back while the woman snipped carefully with her shiny scissors. Anastasia could see Helen Margaret's face for the first time. She could see the pale, almost translucent skin and a pair of deep blue, long-lashed eyes peering shyly into the mirror as the woman worked.
Helen Magaret was beautiful. Anastasia realized it with astonishment, and then she poked Henry and said it to her in a whisper. "Helen Margaret's beautiful."
Henry looked up from the magazine, where she was still studying the black woman in the yellow dress.
Henry stared. "Holy—" she began, and then fell silent. Finally she whispered, "Like a painting. She looks like a painting at the museum.
"Shoot," she went on, "that one's not going to be no Miss Cranberry Bog. That old Helen Margaret, she could be Miss
World.
"
***
Robert, with his hair blown dry, was reading
Esquire
magazine. Bambie was under a
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