Chapter 22 Charlotte
TWENTY-TWO
CHARLOTTE
“Stop hogging all the bobby pins.”
Sarah’s voice cuts through the backstage chatter as I glance down at the arsenal of pins clutched in my left hand.
“I’m not hogging them,” I reply.
“You literally have enough there to secure a small building.” She holds out her palm expectantly. “Share the wealth, Palmer.”
I drop half the pins into her hand with a laugh. “Better?”
“Much.” Sarah grins, immediately sticking several between her teeth for easy access. “Though now I look like a very fashionable vampire.”
“The most important kind,” I say, turning back to our model. “Jade, you doing okay up there?”
“Perfect,” Jade replies from the styling chair, her voice warm with excitement. “I can’t believe I get a front-row seat to watch you two work your magic.”
It’s Saturday morning, and Sarah and I are backstage at the Fit Mountain Beauty School Auditorium, frantically setting up our station for the showcase.
My hands shake slightly as I arrange our tools.
Curling irons, brushes, hair spray, the works.
Everything needs to be within easy reach when the clock starts ticking.
I step back to survey our station, then adjust the position of our spray bottle.
My mother would have known exactly where everything should go without thinking twice.
She had this incredible spatial awareness when it came to her work station.
I can still picture her salon in Cheyenne, every tool in its perfect place, her hands moving with practiced grace that made it all look effortless.
People still talk about her. Even here, hours away from where she built her reputation, I’ve had instructors mention her name when they learned who my mother was. That legacy sits heavy on my shoulders today.
The baby shifts inside me, a flutter of movement that makes me press one hand to my stomach. She’s been restless all morning, little feet and elbows jabbing at me like she’s picking up on my nerves.
“You okay?” Sarah notices my hand on my bump.
“Just active today. I think she knows something big is happening.”
Sarah grins. “She’s probably excited to watch her mama kick ass.”
I smile at that, but my stomach churns with anxiety. Fifteen percent of our final grade hangs in the balance. That sounds manageable until you’re actually standing here with your heart hammering against your ribs, knowing that judges will scrutinize every move you make.
“Thank you again for doing this,” I tell Jade for probably the tenth time this morning. “I know giving up your Saturday wasn’t exactly on your weekend agenda.”
Jade waves me off with a smile. “Are you kidding? I get a professional makeover and get to watch my cousin work her magic. Plus, you’re going to make me look amazing for my date tonight.”
Sarah beams at the mention of her cousin’s date.
“Well, whatever he has planned, you’re going to look incredible,” Sarah says, running her fingers through Jade’s hair to test the texture. “We’ve got this.”
I wish I had Sarah’s confidence.
My hands won’t stop trembling as I line up our brushes. I pick up a rattail comb, set it down, then pick it up again and move it two inches to the left. Nothing feels quite right.
The baby gives me another kick, stronger this time, right under my ribs. I suck in a breath and press my palm against the spot. “Easy there, baby girl.”
“She’s really going today, huh?” Sarah asks.
“She hasn’t stopped moving since I woke up. I think she’s more nervous than I am.”
“That’s not possible.” Sarah squeezes my shoulder. “But seriously, Charlotte. We’ve practiced this routine so many times we could do it in our sleep. You’ve got this. Your mom would be so proud.”
I want to believe her. I need to believe her. But standing here, knowing what’s about to happen, all I can think about is not measuring up. Not being good enough. Not honoring the legacy my mother left behind.
I peek through the curtain separating us from the auditorium. My heart does a little flip when I spot Koda in the third row. He’s got his phone out, already recording everything, and when he sees me looking, he waves with that crooked smile that never fails to make my knees weak.
For just a moment, I wish Dad was here too. I push the thought away quickly. Today is about proving myself, not dwelling on what’s missing.
We do a final check of all our tools. Sarah tests the curling iron temperature while I make sure we have enough bobby pins in easy reach. Everything is exactly where it needs to be.
Professor Lowell appears at our station, clipboard in hand and that serious expression she wears during evaluations. “Charlotte and Sarah, you’re up next. Five minutes to get on stage and set up.”
My stomach drops to somewhere around my ankles. This is it. All those weeks of practice, all those late nights perfecting techniques, everything comes down to the next twenty-five minutes.
I think of my mother standing in her salon, her fingers weaving through a client’s hair with absolute confidence.
She made it look like art. Like breathing.
I used to sit in the corner of her salon after school, watching her transform people.
She’d catch my eye in the mirror sometimes and wink, like we shared a secret about the magic she was creating.
“You can do anything you set your mind to, Charlotte,” she used to tell me. “You just have to believe in yourself as much as I believe in you.”
I wish she could be here to see this. I wish I could look out into that audience and see her face. But I can carry her with me. I can make her proud.
“Ready?” Sarah asks, grabbing our tool kit.
The baby gives me one more solid kick, like she’s telling me to get moving.
I nod, following Sarah and Jade toward the stage entrance. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The auditorium lights are blindingly bright as we walk onto the stage.
I blink against the glare, trying to adjust my vision.
Gradually, faces in the audience come into focus.
Koda gives me a thumbs up from the third row, and I spot several of our classmates scattered throughout the seats.
Three judges sit at a long table in the front row, their scoring sheets already out, pens poised.
My legs feel shaky as I walk to our station. The stage is bigger than I expected. More exposed. Every eye in the room is on us, watching, evaluating, judging.
The head judge stands, and the room falls silent. “Good morning, everyone. Our next team is Charlotte Palmer and Sarah Smith, working with model Jade Chen.”
Hearing my name announced makes it real. I straighten my shoulders and arrange the last of our supplies.
“Contestants,” the judge continues, “you will have twenty-five minutes to complete one hairstyle challenge. The style you must create will be randomly selected now.”
She reaches into a box on the judges’ table and pulls out a card. My heart hammers as she reads it.
“Your challenge is to create a braided crown with cascading curls. The style should be elegant, suitable for a formal event, with the braid forming a complete crown around the head and the remaining hair styled in loose, romantic curls. You may begin... now.”
The timer starts, and Sarah and I spring into action.
We’ve practiced variations of this style dozens of times, but the time pressure makes everything feel more urgent.
My hands move to Jade’s hairline, sectioning out a portion for the braid.
Sarah positions herself on the opposite side, ready to maintain tension as we work.
I take three small sections at Jade’s temple and begin the Dutch braid, my fingers working carefully despite the clock ticking.
This is where I’m supposed to be. This is what I’m meant to do.
Sarah moves with me, anticipating what I need before I have to ask.
She hands me bobby pins at exactly the right moments, her timing perfect.
The crown takes shape beautifully, each section lying smoothly against Jade’s head.
As I approach the connection point, I taper the sections carefully, and Sarah secures everything while I weave the ending into the beginning.
“Time check?” I ask as the braid completes its circle.
“Thirteen minutes left,” Sarah says, already unclipping the rest of Jade’s hair.
We move into the curling phase, working efficiently. I wrap each section around the barrel, counting silently before releasing perfect spirals. Sarah sections and sprays while I curl, our rhythm seamless. The baby shifts and kicks, but I stay focused.
My mother used to work like this—hands never stopping, creating beauty without even having to think about it. She would have loved this moment.
“Five minutes,” Sarah says, and I push faster, trusting my muscle memory.
The final curl springs free just as Sarah calls out, “Ninety seconds.”
We finish with spray, do a final check, and step back. The crown braid circles Jade’s head like a halo, flawless and smooth, with romantic waves cascading over her shoulders.
“Time!”
I step back and raise my hands, breathing hard. The baby gives one final, triumphant kick.
We did it. We actually finished, and it looks incredible.
The judges make notes, their expressions neutral. As soon as we’re backstage, Jade throws her arms around both of us.
“That was amazing!” she squeals. “I feel like a movie star!”
I collapse into a chair, adrenaline draining away all at once, leaving me exhausted and trembling.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“You and baby girl did great,” Sarah says. “Seriously, Charlotte. Your mom would be so proud.”
The tears I held back during the performance threaten to spill over now. “You think so?”
“I know so.” Sarah squeezes my hand. “You’re carrying on her legacy. Can’t you feel it?”
Maybe I can. Maybe that certainty in my fingers came from her. Maybe she was with me up there after all.