Angel liked that. It soothed away at least one angst niggling at her, the worry that she was stepping on her feminist principles if she was too girly. Feminism is about being free to be myself, she thought, and this is who I want to be tonight. A princess. No, a queen. Just for night.

Her face changed over the next couple of hours. She didn’t become someone different; the artist brought out her unique features, highlighting the beauty she hadn’t realized was there. Angel was awed by the smoky black cat eye. It made her look sexy and fierce. She decided to wake up every day and immediately outline her eyes with a thick Marilyn Monroe wing. She felt strong and beautiful, admiring the black gel liner and shadow, a gold shimmer lightly layered over the black on the lid and along the lower lashes.

Her eyebrows were shaped to suit her pixie face. Fake eyelashes were attached in the middle and allowed to flutter at the ends. As a final touch, the artist used a silver holographic glitter on the inside corner of the eyes and along the outer edge of the shadow, and then dusted it along the top of Angel’s high cheekbones as a highlighter.

“You gorgeous!” Gabriela said, hands on her hips, face lit up with happiness for Angel. “Your face is beat!”

“You should work for M.A.C.,” Angel told the artist. The young woman had magic in her.

Two of the salon ladies had been working on her nails, one at each hand. They’d applied acrylics, shaped the nails perfectly, and painted on a rich gold color. Angel loved it. It looks like I dipped my fingers in liquid gold, it’s so pretty.

Through it all, Gabriela slaved over Angel’s dark mass of long, spiraling curls, clapping back at the unwanted advice and jabs from the roomful of stylists. When Angel had first sat in Gabriela’s chair, her friend had undone her ponytail and run her hands through Angel’s hair, gently detangling it and fluffing it out. “Look at you, girl. This hair is amazing. I can’t believe you stick it in a ponytail every day.”

“Mama used to run her fingers through my hair like that,” Angel said dreamily. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Gabriela caught her eye in the mirror and nodded sympathetically. Angel pictured her mama sitting next to her on the stoop on a sunny summer morning, folding her long, wild hair into braids. Tears welled in her eyes.

Latisha saved her, pressing tissues to the corners of her eyes. “Stop being a pussy. You’re going to smear your makeup.” Her cutting remarks weren’t real, though; she patted Angel’s shoulder before walking away to retrieve hair product.