Paul's hand extends into the cab, waiting to help me out onto the slick sidewalk.

"Now is not the time to worry, Chasity. Let's go. Your appointment started ten minutes ago. We can't afford to miss it."

Much like the dark sky, my eyes are ready to start pouring at any second. I haven't even been in New York City for ten minutes, and already the experience is straight out of a horror movie.

Begrudgingly, I let Paul pull me out of the bright yellow taxi. The sidewalk is crowded with people, even with the bad weather. Paul doesn't let go of my hand as we fall in line with the crowds. He's probably afraid I'll run away before we can reach the Upper East side salon he said he's taking me to.

Without a word, he veers us to the right side of the sidewalk, stopping just before a set of double doors, which he holds open for me. I mumble a thank you as my palms start to sweat. The second I step inside, I'm expecting to hear all the typical sounds. Blowdryers, talking, hairspray cans. But, it's silent once the door closes behind Paul. The sounds of the New York City streets are muffled already, almost too far away.

"What kind of salon is this?" I look up at him as he continues strutting past me in that way he usually does. Somehow, he looks even more posh here in New York than in Los Angeles.

"The kind you've never been to before," He muses, smirking. "Get used to it."

The short hallway we walk down opens up to the front desk, and a waiting area. I stand against the wall as Paul goes up to one of the ladies behind the glossy desk. All of them stare at me as Paul exchanges words too low for me to hear. When I look away to escape their eyes, I realize that the floor is a crisp marble. My dirty converse look out of place standing on it. No wonder they're staring.

As Paul turns back to me and gestures to follow him, I almost don't move. I contemplate running. Running out this fancy salon, clutching at my hair for dear life, just like he thought I would out on the street. But instead, I just trudge after him without a word.

He didn't say we were here to cut my hair. But it doesn't matter. Even the mere chance of it happening is too much for me. I won't cut it.

The further we go into the salon, the louder and the more expensive it gets. All the hairdressers and the people in their chairs look like they belong on the cover of magazines. The fancy lights and big mirrors everywhere only help them out, highlighting and reflecting their beautiful faces and features and clothes everywhere. As I catch a glimpse of Paul and I in one of those big mirrors as we hurry past, I can't help but think he fits in, and I look even more out of place the longer I'm here.

When we pause in front of an open station and the gorgeous woman standing beside the empty salon chair looks right at me, I realize I've finally met my demise.

"Chasity Novelo." The woman says my name in her accented voice like it means more to her than I understand. "Paul has told me so much about you. I'm Shannon."

The more she speaks, it finally registers that she must be from somewhere in France.

"Hi Shannon, it's nice to meet you." I have to force the words out of myself. Run. Run, now. She's the one who's going to cut it all off. Run!

"The pleasure is all mine," Shannon clasps my hand for a moment before looking to Paul. "You're late. If you weren't one of my best friends, I'd have turned you away already," She chuckles while moving in for a hug.

Paul laughs, too. "Yes, well, I can't make planes at JFK touch down myself. Chasity's flight was running behind, and I had to go fetch her from baggage claim. You know I don't leave my girls to fend for themselves."

"You're too good," Shannon says, shaking her head at Paul with a serious look. "Well, we better get to work. Fashion Week starts tomorrow, and I have six more appointments today after you. Then it's backstage for an entire week. The busiest and best time of the entire season," She sighs. As I observe her, I realize she looks tired. Exhausted, really. But then her perfect face snaps back together like it never even faltered as she meets my eyes again. "God, how rude of me! Please, sit, love."

I have no choice but to do as she says. Her elegant hands meet my shoulders, and move me into the leather chair before one of those massive mirrors. The black cape she throws up in the air feels cold as it flows over my body, ready to shield me from all the hair she's about to chop off. My eyes start to water again, and in the mirror, I see Paul has an amused look on his face.

"What's wrong?!" Shannon cries, looking at my reflection. Her hands come to rest on my covered shoulders again. I decide that it's comforting, and if she wasn't about to do the worst, I would really like her already.

"Chasity thinks I brought her to you to cut her hair," Paul answers for me. "The second I told her we were going to a hair salon, she's been on the verge of tears. I tried to tell her we weren't going to be doing any buzz cuts or angled bobs today, but I don't think she trusts me yet."

My hands shoot out from underneath the cape, reaching up to my hair. I don't have to go far-it's is almost to my waist now. "Please, don't." It's all I can manage right now as my eyes flicker back and forth to Paul, then Shannon.

They both laugh.

Shannon gingerly peels my hands away as she pulls my hair back, out of reach and into her own hands. "I would not dare, Chasity. It's so beautiful!" Her eyes are wide as she runs her fingers through it. "So thick, with all these waves and curls. Very, very beautiful. I work with a lot of models all the time, and not a single one has hair like you. You are special, just as Paul says."

I blush from her words and the relief I feel. "Thank you."

Then, Shannon pats my shoulders once before turning the chair around quickly. "Now, trust me."

"What?!"

Paul speaks as Shannon's muscial laugh sounds from somewhere behind me. "You can't know what we have planned for you, that would ruin the makeover! It's a surpise."

"But-"

"You got your confirmation that Shannon won't cut it short."

"But-"

"No buts, Chas. You're going to look fabulous!" Paul looks down at me with sincerity in his eyes. Today is the very first day he's begun using my chosen name, using Chas. When he first found me in the airport, waiting for my suitcase, he said my name, Chas, so loud it startled me. I'll never forget it.

As Shannon gets to work and Paul leaves to make some calls, I try to surrender to them both. I recall their promises over and over and over again, until Shannon speaks.

"This is your first Fashion Week, huh?"

"Yes," I nod for a second, until I remember I should probably sit still. My eyes focus on the cracks and curves in the marble floor as I speak. "My first time modeling ever."

Shannon gasps behind me. "Oh my. You are brand new. Paul didn't tell me that."

I laugh, not surprised. The more time I spend with him, the more I realize he likes to keep details under wraps unless (or until) they're necessary. "He found me at the mall in Los Angeles. Ever since, none of this has felt real."

"How do you like New York City? To me, it's very different from Paris. It must also be very different from California for you."

"It is," I agree. "The last time I was here, I was six. This is my first time traveling alone."

Both my mom and my dad are from New York City. They met here in college, and moved to Los Angeles just before having me. Our last visit was as a family, but now I'm here for work, which sounds weird in itself. I feel like I'm still too young to have a job. Like I should still be in the third grade. Riding bikes with Michelle after school. Playing guitar with Duff, and annoying him by banging loudly on his drumset. Not in New York City alone, less than twenty-four hours away from making money by walking down a runway in expensive clothes while having my picture taken.

In four days days, the Guns N' Roses Appetite for Destruction tour arrives in town. Until then, all I have in this city is Paul, and my suitcase. Michelle is back in L.A., busy at the Rolling Stone office. My mom has her hands full raising Shawn and Layla and looking after our house. My dad is in the courtroom, just as he always has been. Axl and the boys are on their first big tour. And I'm here. It all feels unreal. This has been the plan for months, ever since the casting, and it still doesn't seem like real life.

"You're going to do very well," Shannon says. "All of Paul's girls are wonderful. I'm sure you are no exception."

Just as I'm about to say thank you, I hesitate. "Can I be honest?"

Unlike me, Shannon doesn't hesitate as she works on my hair, doing whatever it is she's doing. All I feel is light tugging every now and then. "Yes, please do."

"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know what it's like, backstage and everything. You said you work at Fashion Week?"

"I'm hardly ever here," Shannon says, referring to the salon all around us. "I mostly work on set, at photoshoots and backstage at fashion shows. I started in Paris, then I came here, to New York. I travel almost constantly, going wherever photographers and designers need me. I'm sure I'll even see you often. I try to work with Paul and his girls as much as possible. We've known each other a very long time. He was just brand new too, when I first met him. And look at him now. He's unstoppable," Shannon laughs, which makes me laugh.

I might not know what I'm doing, or know a lot about fashion, but I'm trying. I've talked to Frances on the phone a few times since I saw her at the casting, and she's told me a lot about what she's seen and done. One thing Frances also mentioned? Paul is one of the most respected agents in the industry. He had something to do with Gia Carangi, a beautiful girl I myself remember seeing all over billboards and magazines a couple years ago. She's had a lot of personal problems, but as Frances said; "People in fashion never forget." And Paul's influence was not forgotten.

Now, I'm with him, and I'm terrified that the only thing I'll do all week is not only embarass myself, but him, too.

Shannon doesn't let me get too involved in my thoughts as she continues to do my hair. She keeps us both talking, asking questions about everything, even when Paul comes back and sits in the vacant chair beside mine.

The two of them play off each other as they include me in the conversation, and for a while, I don't feel so otherworldly. Like this is right where I'm supposed to be. I don't think about what Michelle is doing, or my parents. I don't worry about falling on my face tomorrow, or the next day. I don't worry about where I'm apparently sleeping all week, The Model Apartment (as Frances calls it,) which is home to any and all Elite models in New York when they visit the city. I don't even think about Axl.

Not until Shannon asks if I have a boyfriend.

It's hard to see anyone's face with how Shannon has my head positioned, my chin tucked close to my chest. I think she's doing something with tinfoil-shiny metal caught my eye earlier. When I say nothing, and do nothing, both of them do everything.

"I think that means a yes, no?"

"Definitely a yes, Shan. Ugh, I can't believe I never thought to ask this earlier! Chasity Grace has a boy toy!"

I almost blurt out "do not!" Maybe it's embarassment, or maybe it's the fact that I have to compulsively lie in front of everyone I know besides Michelle. Either way, my actual response takes a lot of strength to spit out. "What does it matter."

"Oh, c'mon!" Paul moans. "Chas, you're too pretty to be a single girl! I know all those boys in little Pasadena, California were in lo-ove with you," He teases in singsong.

"Nobody ever liked me," I scoff. Besides one. . . I shudder as I think about it, but luckily I don't feel Shannon's hands in my hair. She must be grabbing something. "I'm serious!"

"No, I'm serious!" Paul counters boldly. "Tell us about him. I already know he's real cute!"

For a moment, I really do consider it.

What's the harm? They don't know Duff. They don't know anybody I do, actually. Besides Frances, at least. Frances. She could find out if they found out. And although I already love her, once she starts talking, she doesn't stop. She's supposed to come with me to the band's show in a couple days. If I tell Paul now, and he brings up Axl to Frances, she'd never keep it a secret.

I better not.

"Remember how I told you my dad is a criminal lawyer?"

"Yes, I do. But what's that got to do with your boy toy? Are you trying to change the subject?"

"Well, my dad would probably create an entire fake crime just to get my alleged boyfriend behind bars, and away from me! That's how upset he would be if I had a boyfriend. He says I'm not allowed to date until I'm twenty-five," I say. My voice doesn't waver once, and that's because everything I say is the truth.

Except for the fact that my dad wouldn't have to construct an entire fake crime for Axl. He could probably just put the pieces together from actual, real life.

Paul drops the subject, and I suppose that Shannon is too focused to do anything but follow in his footsteps. Once she says we're getting up to walk to a shampoo bowl, I start to feel anxious about what I'm going to look like when she's done with me. The hot water and lavender scented shampoo helps calm my nerves, but not by much when we get back to the chair, and I'm still not allowed to see what's going on. I realize that she's making my hair straight once a big, round brush is being taken through my waves, and a blowdryer nozzle is pressed flat against each section. It takes a while, and I begin to recognize the hunger pangs in my stomach. The last time I ate was breakfast, back in L.A. I wonder how much time has passed. I haven't seen a clock in I don't know how long.

"Okay. Are you ready, love?"

My eyes are already wide as I feel Shannon's absence on my head, and the blowdryer she was using clicks off. "I'm dying."

After she turns my chair back to the mirror, no one has any words. I'm the first to eventually speak.

"I've never been blonde before."

The colors change as my hand glides through the hair over my shoulders. Dark chocolate, to rich caramel, to real blonde. By the time my fingertips are at the smoothly blown ends, it's a warm champagne. The brightest pieces are near my face, framing my cheeks and eyes. I have to convince myself that this even is my face, my hair, my body. It's hard to recognize myself-my hair hasn't been straight in months. It looks even longer now than it does wavy. And so blonde.

"I only lightened a few pieces, it's subtle." Shannon gets to undoing the cape. She flicks it away swiftly, all dramatic. It makes my now bouncy, voluminous hair blow away from my face like a commercial. I remain still, staring.

"You look great, Chasity." Paul rests a hand on my t-shirt covered shoulder. He's brief, but I can tell he does it because he's worried.

I realize that I should probably reassure them that they both have absolutely no reason to be. "I love it."

And I do. It's not subtle to me, even though Shannon thinks so. It looks totally different, new. But nonetheless, it's what I needed. I've never changed my hair. I've looked the same for my entire life, and now's the perfect time for something like this. Everything is evolving, so why shouldn't I?

After hugs for Paul and I, Shannon walks us out of the salon. They both move briskly, and in turn, so do I. It feels more natural now as we glide past all the beautiful people and their reflections. It becomes hard to pick out which one is me amongst them all. The stares from earlier no longer exist, and I think I begin to understand that this is what it feels like to exist in this world, even if I've hardly set foot in it yet.

Once Shannon waves goodbye and promises she'll see me again soon, Paul makes me hail our cab. At first, I'm mildly afraid as I get closer to the curb, cars speeding past us, only inches away. But when I raise my arm up into the air and a bright yellow taxi stops a lane over, it feels so natural.

After Paul tells the driver that we're headed towards an address near Central Park, I wonder what's happening now. Probably the Model Apartment. Meeting my new roomates. . . Oh, God.

I decide that practically getting a total makeover and stopping New York City traffic is enough adventure for today. I brace myself as I get ready to ask Paul about what I already know we're racing towards.

"We're going to the Model Apartment now, aren't we."

"Nope," Paul says. "We're going to the hotel."

"Hotel? Frances said that-"

Paul waves me off the second I say Frances' name. "Chas, do you seriously believe that I would just throw you to the sharks your first job? Your very first trip away from home?"

When I say nothing, he continues on, laughing.

"I don't know what our girl Fran told you about the Model Apartment, but I will tell you that every new girl who goes to stay in one on her first job gets freaked out. All the girls talk and try to give advice, and it does more harm than good. You'd probably like it there besides all of them trying to coach you, but I can't take the chance of you throwing up backstage tomorrow morning. You're already a flight risk," Paul asserts. "So up in a hotel you'll stay."

I ignore him basically calling me a delinquent model. "Wait-I'm getting an entire hotel room to myself?"

"Honey, I love you, but I'm not gonna be your roommate, too."

"This is awesome!" I raise my fists in the air as I shout. It makes Paul laugh out loud, and the driver's dark eyes stare at me warily in the rearview mirror. "Sorry, sorry! But seriously?!"

"Yes. But there's a catch."

"Which is?"

"Once we get to the room, you have to stay there. Getting enough sleep is one of the most important things in this job, Chasity Grace. If you don't take care of yourself, this job will make you."

I just nod, a lot. Being around Paul is like being a student, or a prodigy of something. It's like when Duff would teach me to read notes, or play a certain song and stay on time, or how to tune a guitar properly. Except now, I'm being lectured on shoes, and beauty rest, and who Gianni Versace is.

It doesn't feel real. . . It doesn't feel real.