She held a silver compact up to her face, checked her lipstick and snapped the lid shut with a sharp plastic click.

“We’ve already booked the salon package down in Sioux Falls,” Tasha told the woman next to her, her voice carrying easily across the gym.

“Madison insists on the whole thing, hair, nails and makeup, so we just paid the deposit yesterday.”

The mother beside her made a quick note on her clipboard.

“Those salon packages run two hundred dollars minimum this time of year.”

“Oh, easily,” Tasha said, wrapping her sugary concern around the words like shiny ribbon.