"Right on time," Mr. Scott said as I walked through the door the next afternoon. "Good."

I shrugged as I glanced around. I was too nervous and left way too early, which meant I loitered in the area before walking in the door. "Where do I start?"

"And getting right to business, too. That's good in some cases, but we need to work on manners." He stood and gestured me around the counter. "Take a seat. I'm going to grab a chair from my office."

Once he was gone, I sat in the chair and rolled it up to the desk. The view was so different when I looked up. It felt just a little weird to be on this side of things. I knew I'd adjust eventually, but for now, well. I was fascinated to say the least.

He returned a few moments later and sat in the chair he brought. "Now, the first thing you have to do is get acquainted with the appointment book. Every shift, you're going to come in and you're going to look at this and see what appointments were added or canceled." He tapped the computer screen.

A calendar was open, displaying today. There were two appointments coming in this afternoon. Right on cue, the door opened, and someone stepped inside. "Good afternoon," I told him. The young man nodded happily.

Mr. Scott pointed at the screen. "Find him."

I glanced at the screen. One-forty-five. Ryan. Trim, dye, and style. "Ryan?" I asked, peeking up from the screen. He nodded once and Mr. Scott stood.

"Right this way," he said politely, and Ryan followed him. Mr. Scott gave me a look over his shoulder that made me jump to my feet and scramble after him. "Here we are. Stool three." A man with longish hair and a nose ring was lining up a couple of combs, a pair of scissors, and some foil.

The man grinned at us, revealing perfect teeth. "Hey, I'm Kenny. Take a seat."

Mr. Scott led me back to the desk as Kenny got to work on Ryan's hair. "Now, when the next one gets here, you ask them their name, then take them to the correct station. I'll explain those in a moment. We need to finish covering the basics of the appointment book." We took our seats and he pointed at a big calendar on the desk. "Do you see those marks?"

Certain days had small numbers written in pencil. "Yes."

"Those are the number of appointments open for that day. It's a way you can quickly find the next one available, especially when you're on the phone. You're not my only receptionist. Myself, my wife, and another lady also handle this job. It gives everyone a clear reference. When you come in, first you look at the appointment book at that afternoon's schedule, and then you look at the next available day. When you see which day – in this case it's Tuesday – it's easier to find the next open appointment. So if someone calls to make an appointment, you can say that the next available appointment is on Tuesday, is that day okay with you? While you're speaking to them, pull up Tuesday. Whatever their answer is, act accordingly. If they say depending on the time, you read off the open times. If they say, no I need another day, find another day and repeat the process until they either hang up or they have an appointment.

"Let's practice. Let's say I just called, and I need an appointment for Thursday. What do you tell me?"

I glanced at the desk. "We do have a few slots open," I said sweetly as I found Thursday in the 'book'. "We have times at noon, one, two-thirty, and five. Would any of those work?"

"Two-thirty will do fine."

"Okay. Can I get your name, please?"

"Michael Rhodes."

"Okay, Mr. Rhodes. Have a good day!"

He shook his head. "You did well, but at the end of the call, always repeat the appointment time back to them before you say the last bit. Something like, 'We'll see you at two-thirty Thursday!' You also need to ask what they're making an appointment for. It helps on down the line. If they want makeup, we've got a makeup artist that also does nails, and she's counted different. Haircuts, shaves, and even waxing are all counted together. You did right just now, but just remember that for the future. You see those tiny letters above the numbers on the calendar?"

I looked closely. An 's' and an 'a' were at the top of each day with another number below them. "Yes."

"One stands for 'stylist' and one stands for 'artist'. Stylists do hair, the artist does nails and makeup." I nodded when he paused. He got up, rounded the counter and looked at me. "Okay, pretend I just walked in the door. Show me what you do."

I glanced at the screen and smiled. "Hello, are you Mrs. Wanda James?"

"Yes, I am."

"Welcome! Follow me, please." I stood and then gave him a blank look.

"Good, very good. Now, when the customer comes to the counter, you should also confirm what their appointment is for. You're fine, but just remember that next time. Let me show you which stations you'll bring the people to." I followed him through the archway into the salon portion, which smelled of hair dye. Ryan sat with foil all over his head and one of those cape things around him. Kenny was re-sorting his combs and scissors.

Ryan nodded at us, and Kenny ignored us in favor of the lively chat he was having with Ryan. "Now," Mr. Scott said, drawing my attention back to the chairs. "That first station is for makeup and nails." He gestured at the wall of nail polish and the counter full of makeup brushes and cases and tubes. "That's pretty easy to remember. The seat closest to the wall is for nails, and the other chair is for makeup. If they're here for both, put them in the nail chair if no one's there, and she'll sort it out from there. Those other three chairs are for the stylists. We have Kenny right there and our other stylist. We don't have a third, but that's for unexpected clients, or clients that come too early or too late. If these chairs are full, tell them to take a seat in the lobby."

"So when the person makes the appointment, how do the stylists and artist know when and who their next client is?"

"Good question. When you take the call and make a note of who each person is and sort them either into the calendar for the stylist or artist, you also put down what needs to be done. They all review what they're going to do when they get in and at various points during the day."

"Do they use the computer up front?"

"Oh, no. They have another computer in the break room. Come, I'll show you where it is." I followed him down the only hallway. "You know that's my office." He gestured at one door. "Across the hallway are the supply closet and bathroom. Customers may use it, but only if they have an appointment or if they're a walk-in." He opened the door at the end of the hallway. "This is the break room."

We stepped into a large room lined with shelves, except in one corner. Some boxes were stacked near a door I assumed was for deliveries. In the corner there were a couple of counters with a microwave and a coffee pot. A small fridge sat on the side. A table with a laptop stood nearby. The laptop sported a big sticker that claimed Mr. Scott to be the owner. A woman sat behind it, and another woman had a chair pulled up and was looking over the first woman's shoulder. They both looked up when we walked in.

"Oh, you're the new girl," the one with the red hair said. She'd cut it in a bob and wore her makeup so light that I barely could tell she wore any. Her nails appeared to have been freshly manicured.

The other woman, the brunette, nudged her. "Britt!" She turned to us. Her hair was pinned back, but I couldn't tell any definite style. "Sorry. I'm Shay and this is Brittany."

I nodded at them. "Daisy."

Mr. Scott nodded, seeming pleased. "She's training today. You'll be able to ask her a million questions tomorrow."

They rolled their eyes but went back to their conversation as Mr. Scott led me out of the room. We headed back to the front counter and took our seats. He leaned back and propped his feet up on the desk as the phone rang. "Answer it. Say the salon's name then yours."

I swallowed and picked up the phone. "Scott's 'Dos and Nails, Daisy speaking."

"Hi. I need to make an appointment for tomorrow." It sounded like a young woman – possibly one of my classmates.

I glanced at the calendar. The artist had room for one and the stylist had room for three. "What will we be doing for you?"

"I need my makeup done."

I flipped to the schedule for the next day. "Our only opening is at three-thirty tomorrow afternoon."

Silence. "That'll work."

"Can I get a name?"

"Elise Jonas."

The name sounded familiar. I added her appointment to the correct slot for the next day. "Okay, I've got you down. See you tomorrow." She said her goodbye and I hung up. I turned to Mr. Scott, waiting.

He nodded once. "Pretty good."

Ryan walked up to us, his hair varying shades of blue, reminding me of the ocean the one time I'd got to see it. Mr. Scott showed me where our pricing list was and showed me how to use the small machine that looked like an ancient calculator. He gave me money, I gave him change, and then a receipt. Then he showed me how to run credit and debit cards. Then he handed me a handwritten note I soon realized was a schedule. He told me I could leave at closing – which was 8 – and then left me for his office.

No sooner did he leave than the next appointment for the stylists came in, accompanied by the one for the artist. I showed them both to the proper seats, and then got back to the desk in time to answer the phone. I made an appointment and hung up, only to have the phone ring again the moment I put it back in its cradle. Things didn't slow down for another hour, and then, when they did, I finally took a breath and checked my phone.

Nothing. I snapped a picture of the desk, used a filter, and posted it to Instagram. No caption with it to make people ask about it.

The hours seemed to both creep and fly, made so by bursts of activity and times of stillness. I sat in the chair until, around four, the brunette poked her head around the corner. "Busy?"

I glanced at the appointment book and saw that only one stylist was busy. "Not at the moment."

"You can come here and I'll show you some of the stuff I use to style hair." She smiled at me when I turned to her. "Don't worry – I won't make you do something weird to your hair."

I glanced at the door, knowing I had about fifteen minutes before someone came through it. "I don't have much time."

"We can be quick." She gestured for me to come, so I went. She led me over to a station that wasn't in use and sat in the chair. "Now, the first thing you should always do before doing anything with hair is wash it. Once it's washed, even if they're not getting a cut, you can style it. You just want to make sure you get their approval about it first. Once you style it, it can be very hard to redo it, depending on what style you were going for."

I nodded, not really listening. My attention was more on the woman in the other chair, her hair being cut by Kenny's precise hands. He seemed focused on what he was doing, but right now he seemed . . . softer, I guess, around the edges. I couldn't place exactly what was different, but he looked at ease for the first time all day.

Shay began rattling off more instructions, ones I barely heard. My mind was more happily occupied with thoughts of going to the play with Mario, of my upcoming first date with George, what I'd wear to both of them, and then I realized I had no idea what to wear to a play. I'd have to ask Mario.

There was a sudden silence from Shay, and I realized she'd stopped talking at some point. I flushed. "I am so sorry," I said, not as much feeling as I would have liked in my voice. "I didn't mean to zone out on you."

She shrugged. "It's okay. I mean, if it's not your thing, I can understand."

I shook my head. "Sorry," I repeated. "I'm listening now, I promise."

She studied me for a moment before sighing. "Okay." She began again, and I listened to her this time. I listened until the next customer came.