“I made you a schedule,” Charlie announced at Emma’s locker Monday morning.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Charlie, who never got embarrassed, looked slightly uncomfortable as he handed her a chart printed out from his computer. “It’s nothing major. Just a calendar showing how many days left and when each piece should be finished.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Emma said. “It’s not like I finish one piece and then start another. They all kind of flow together.”
“Fine, so toss it.” Charlie reached for his chart, but Emma held tight and pushed it into her locker. When her mother constantly followed up on her schoolwork, Emma found herself unendingly frustrated. But having Charlie check up on her was a nice surprise.
On Friday, Emma had run directly from school to buy the muslin. She’d spent the entire weekend working on her collection—first draping the dress forms at her studio; then creating the patterns; then mixing and matching. After much pinning and unpinning of the tiny swatches, she was able to buy the right amount of fabric. Naturally, she’d holed up in her bedroom into the night cutting the fabric with her favorite fabric shears—which meant she was more exhausted than usual for a Monday morning.
“The only thing I didn’t get to do was homework,” Emma admitted to Charlie. “But I have a plan for that. I’ll squeeze it all in during study hall and lunch this week.”
It wasn’t like she loved sitting with Ivana and the ’Bees in the cafeteria anyway. Emma figured they probably wouldn’t even notice that she was gone. As for Holly, Emma wasn’t sure if the peace offering in the auditorium was just a onetime thing. She was beginning to suspect not having Emma around made Holly’s life with her new friends much simpler.
“Any chance you’re ready for the geometry quiz this morning?”
Emma stared at Charlie. “What quiz? Oh, no. I totally forgot.” She scrambled to find her math textbook. Maybe if she glanced at the problems right now, she’d luck out and pull off a C on that one.
“Bees at three o’clock,” Charlie mumbled out of the side of his mouth. He nodded toward Lexie and Kayla, who were now standing at the other end of the hall.
Emma’s mouth dropped open.
“What?” Charlie asked.
“I…can’t believe it!” Emma gasped, peering around Charlie’s shoulder. “Lexie is wearing the exact same outfit I styled for Holly at Bloomingdale’s. Well, she switched the pink sequined miniskirt for a pink corduroy one, but otherwise it’s the same!”
“The one you told me they busted on?” Charlie asked, trying to take a peek without being obvious.
“Yes! Tell me what they’re doing,” Emma demanded.
“Holly, Ivana, and Shannon are with them now,” he reported. “And Lexie is spinning around, like she’s showing them her outfit.”
Emma could hear the girls—especially the famously loud Ivana—oohing and ahhing over Lexie’s outfit, Emma’s outfit, all the way down the hall. She doubted that any of them was giving her a single ounce of credit. Emma stood on tiptoes to sneak a look over Charlie’s shoulder again. She had to admit Lexie looked pretty fabulous. The gray mohair sweater-vest made her long dark hair look that much shinier, and the miniskirt showed off her tanned, athletic legs.
“Ugh—here they come,” Emma said, sinking back on her feet.
“Later!” Charlie said. He took off in the opposite direction.
“Coward!” Emma loudly whispered after him.Moments later, the girls crowded around Holly’s locker.
“Hi, Em,” Holly said. The other girls stood talking and giggling behind her, waiting for her to grab her books.
“Hey,” Emma replied. “Sorry, but I’m not going to be at lunch today. I need to go to the library.”
Holly popped a bubble and shrugged. “No biggie. You ready for the geometry quiz? I think it’s going to be kind of hard.”
“Uh, no. Not really,” Emma answered. How can Holly just stand there and pretend like this isn’t the most awkward moment ever? Emma wondered. She must realize that Lexie took my outfit combination, since Holly was the one who wore it first.
“Cute outfit, Lexie,” Emma ventured, hoping her subtle comment might prompt Holly to acknowledge the truth. “Really cool combo.”
Emma waited for Holly’s reaction. But she didn’t have one. Holly just continued pulling stuff out of the locker, getting ready for the first few periods of the day.
“Thanks.” Lexie beamed with genuine delight. “It’s my new favorite. Fun, isn’t it?”
“Super-fun,” Emma responded sarcastically. “It kind of looks like the one I styled in Bloomie’s, don’t you think?” She spoke to Lexie but stared directly at Holly.
“Not at all.” Ivana quickly jumped to her friend’s defense. “This outfit is much more stylish.”
Emma continued to stare at Holly. Willing her to say something. But Holly remained mute, suddenly intent on organizing pens and pencils in a case.
Emma glanced down at the geometry book in her hand, then over at Lexie’s outfit and Holly fervently lining up pencils. So this was how it was going to be. She slammed her locker shut and walked away.
She wondered if Coco Chanel had days like these.
Six hours later, as Emma pushed down on the foot pedal of her sewing machine, laying down the first stitches to the Allegra Biscotti Collection, thoughts of her so-called best friend and quizzes on congruent triangles were blissfully forgotten. She began with the jacket, joining each piece together—left side front to left side back, right side front to right side back—with flawless seams.
She had sewn something so structured only a couple of times before, and that had been with her grandmother sitting right next to her, coaching her like an air-traffic controller guiding in a plane. Step by step. I hope I can remember all the tricks Grandma Grace taught me, Emma thought as she worked two sleeve pieces together under the bobbing silver needle.
Emma studied the newly sewn sleeve and the open armhole. Attaching the sleeve correctly was the trickiest part. Her hands began to flutter. If I measured and cut the patterns right, the sleeve should fit perfectly. But by the time she had re-threaded the machine, her hands were trembling.
How she wished her grandmother was here beside her—or at least in her condo in Florida. Then she’d only be a phone call away to talk Emma through the hard stuff. It figured that the one time Emma really needed her, Grandma Grace was off on a one-month honeymoon cruise around the world with her new husband, Elliot. What was he thinking in taking her grandma on some huge ship way out in the ocean and making her completely unreachable? She wasn’t due back until more than a week after Emma had to turn in Allegra’s collection to Madison.
Emma stood and walked around her worktable a few times. Shake it off, she told herself. You can do this. Just go slowly but confidently—that’s what Grandma Grace would say. The minute the machine thinks it’s controlling you and you’re not controlling it, you’re doomed. Be the boss!
Emma sat back down, picked up the garment pieces, and positioned them in the machine. She pressed her foot down on the pedal to start the motor. But within seconds, the sleeve was bunched up and crooked. She yanked everything out, removed the botched stitches, and tried again. And then again. After five tries, she still couldn’t get it right.
She needed to get these sleeves done today so she could stay on schedule. She grabbed her cell off the table behind her. She hit the speed dial and held her breath. She didn’t want to bother her grandmother on her honeymoon, but this was an emergency—and Emma was desperate. She knew her grandmother, who loved making clothes as much as Emma did, would totally understand why Emma needed to interrupt her cruise.
The call went right into voice mail. Emma jammed her finger down on the red button. Great. No service.
Emma debated calling Charlie. If it were a Paige issue, she wouldn’t have hesitated. But what would Charlie possibly do about a misaligned sleeve? She looked around her empty studio, the force of the realization hitting her like an oncoming city bus. I’m on my own, she thought. When it comes to making the clothes, I’m really on my own.
She couldn’t decide if that was scary…or exciting. It might just be both.
“Do you have the invoices from August ready?” Marjorie asked.
“August…yes, I have them here,” Emma said, flipping through the stack on her lap. Emma had made the mistake fifteen minutes earlier of pacing out of her studio to calm herself. Caught not working at work, she had no choice but to drop the sleeve problem and deal with the invoice problem. Normally, it wasn’t a big deal—going through invoices with Marjorie—but today every minute away from her sleeve and her studio felt like hours.
Marjorie slowly read off the names of companies and the shipments they sent. Way too slowly.
“You can go faster,” Emma suggested. “Or maybe we can switch, and I can read off the list.”
Marjorie took off her glasses and raised a pre-arched, penciled eyebrow at Emma. “What’s going on over there? You got somewhere better to be?”
“Not really,” Emma said as she fidgeted in the uncomfortable vinyl guest chair. “I just have a lot going on right now.” Like sleeves that won’t align, Emma thought, and the English paper I haven’t even started yet that’s due tomorrow. And all the sewing I have to do in less than a week.
“Anything I can help with? A big project, maybe?” Marjorie asked.
Emma froze. Does Marjorie know something? There’s no way Marjorie could’ve figured out the Allegra thing—is there?
“I don’t think so…but thanks.”
“Okay, then.” Marjorie put her glasses back on. “Let’s see. Where was I? Do you have the one for Global Lace Mills?”
Just then, Emma’s phone tucked in her jeans’ pocket buzzed. She slid it out slightly, peeking at the screen. A text from Paige Young. What could Paige want? Marjorie was still reading through the list no faster than before. Emma squirmed in her seat.
“I think that covers August, unless you have any extra invoices there,” Marjorie said, looking over the top of her rhinestone-embellished reading glasses. Emma wasn’t quite sure if Marjorie wore them to be retro cool (which they were!), or if she just hadn’t stopped wearing them since the first time they were in style.
“Nope—we’re all set. I just need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a second.” Emma tossed her pile of papers on Marjorie’s desk and dashed down the hall and into the warehouse. She pulled out her phone.
Ms. B: Need sumthing 4 online preview of Designers 2 Watch section. Can I come by ur studio 2 see ur collection & take some digi-photos? Pls advise. Ciao, PY
Here? I can’t have Paige come here, Emma thought. There’s nothing to see, because I’ve barely started. She gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles turned red. How could she possibly put off Paige without making her suspicious? Emma speed-dialed Charlie.
“What’s up?” Charlie said.
Emma told him about Paige’s request as she walked quickly back and forth up the dark aisles lined with boxes and bolts of lace. “What do I do?”
Charlie was quiet for a minute. “Hmm. That’s a tricky one. How about you tell Paige that Allegra has like, a policy that she doesn’t allow editors to see her stuff while she’s working on it?”
Emma paused as she let that idea sink in. “That sounds sort of believable, I guess. But wait—how will I explain why Paige was able to see Allegra’s dresses when she first came to Laceland?”
“Easy,” Charlie replied. “Paige wasn’t supposed to see the dresses that time, remember? She just happened to be at Laceland and was being nosy and found the dresses herself. Not that you’d say it that way, but you know what I mean. She wasn’t invited to see the dresses. So you could just say that Allegra’s interns—meaning us—were new and didn’t know her policy.”
“You’re right. Okay, that works. Got it. I have to get off so I can send the text and get back to Marjorie.” Emma’s eyes slid toward the hallway to make sure Marjorie wasn’t looking for her.
“I’ll let you go right after you admit that I am a brilliant mastermind,” he said.
“Oh, please!” Emma laughed. “Fine. Good-bye, brilliant mastermind!”
Emma quickly typed a text to Paige explaining her “policy” and pressed send. She took a few steps back toward the reception area, and her phone vibrated again.
OK. Can I get them 1 or 2 days early so I can c them b4 my boss does? Need 2 know what I’m working with ahead of time. I can’t afford any surprises.
Emma frantically typed her response.
Sorry but I need every minute until the deadline 2 get everything just right. Can’t rush the process. Will b worth the wait, u’ll c! AB
Emma squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath for sixty beats. Please let Paige be cool with that, Emma wished, clutching the phone between her hands as she counted…56, 57, 58…At 59, the phone began vibrating furiously, one angry buzz after the other, faster than she could read through the sudden avalanche of messages.
NOW I’m worried. U r going 2 b finished by Monday, rite? I’m counting on u! My job, no my CAREER, depends on u delivering on time & sending FABULOUS stuff!!!
My reputation is on the line. I fought like crazy 4 u 2 b included in the feature. If u don’t deliver the spread will b empty & I will b FIRED!
My ed-in-chief is a perfectionist tyrant in couture. She wldnt blink 2x b4 firing an editor over failing 2 produce what she’s promised. Seen it happen.
Plenty stiletto-wearing vultures circling here 2 take my job & plenty more designers who’d kill 2 take urs! This is OUR chance. Pls pls pls don’t let me down!
Promise me u will b done on time. If not, I’ll have 2 find a replacement, like yesterday. Not my preference AT ALL. But will do it if I have 2.
P.S. Thank u. Ciao, PY
Emma typed out what she hoped would be her last response for the day.
U will get my designs on Monday, guaranteed. They will b completely finished & fabulous, guaranteed. U dont need 2 find a replacement. I AM ur Designer 2 Watch.
“Emma?” her dad called as he entered her work space an hour later. “Emma!” he shouted over the roar of the sewing machine.
Emma lifted her foot off the pedal. After she was finally done with Marjorie and the invoicing, she’d raced back to her studio. She’d flung the frustrating jacket sleeve on her work table and grabbed the pattern pieces for the vest. She needed to get at least one thing done by the end of the day, and she thought that she could sew together the outer fabric of the vest quickly. No such luck. She had designed it with four outside patch pockets with flaps that needed perfect seams since they’d be visible. Plus the flaps had to line up perfectly over the pockets. But so far she had only managed to finish one. She knew the construction of these pieces had to be flawless.
“What’s up?” Emma asked, as pulled all the flyaway pieces of her hair back into the ponytail.
“Ready to go? I thought you were going to meet me up front at six.” He was wearing his jacket and carrying his nylon briefcase.
Oh, no! She hadn’t realized the time. “But I’m not ready yet. I still have so much to do,” Emma explained, the words from Paige’s earlier texts still swirling around in her head. “Can’t we stay a little longer? An hour? A half hour?”
“Nope. I’m beat. I got here really early today. And it’s my night to cook,” her dad explained.
“Can I please-please-please stay? I’ll leave soon, I promise.”
He frowned. “You know I’m not leaving you here alone after hours. The security guards go off duty after six.”
“What about Isaac?” Emma suggested. “When’s he leaving?”
“He’s already gone. Had tickets to a food festival down-town. The other warehouse guys are gone, too,” he said. “Come on, it’s late.” He turned to leave.
What now? Emma racked her brain for a solution. She needed more time. She only had a couple of days with her sewing machine before Saturday arrived. Who knows if I’ll be able to get into Laceland over the weekend? She’d worry about that later. Right now, she had to figure out a way to stay and finish the vest.
“Is Marjorie still here? Can I at least ask her?” Emma begged.
Her dad snorted. “I love Marjorie Kornbluth, but I don’t think the woman has worked late a day in her life. But if you want to ask her, be my guest.”
Emma raced by her father toward the reception area. Marjorie was reapplying her frosted pink lipstick—a sure sign she was about to leave. And considering how impatient Emma acted earlier, Marjorie probably wasn’t about to trip over herself to do something for Emma.
“Marjorie! Can you please do me the hugest favor in the world? Could you stay like another hour while I work on something? Noah needs to leave and—”
“He won’t let her stay here alone,” he finished for his daughter, as he joined them up front. His eyes twinkled in a mischievous way, as they often did. He thought it was funny that Emma was asking Marjorie.
Marjorie looked back and forth between Emma and Noah as she tucked her mirrored, enamel compact and lipstick tube back in her purse. “I don’t know about that. I have plans, and I—”
“Please?” Emma interlaced her hands together in front of her chest. “I promise to do all the billing for a week.” After my collection is done, she added in her head.
Marjorie tilted her wrist to look at her delicate antique watch. “I suppose I could stay a little longer. I’m not meeting my sister for dinner downtown until about eight, and it doesn’t make sense to go all the way uptown just to turn around an hour later. If this is all right with you, Noah. I’ll lock up and put her in a cab when I leave.”
Noah frowned slightly as he considered the plan. “You have cab money?” he asked Emma. She put out her hand and accepted the ten dollars he dropped into it, having spent every last penny on fabric. “Okay. Be home at seven-thirty, or your mom will kill us both.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She gave him a quick hug. “And thanks, Marjorie! I owe you one.” Emma returned to her sewing machine, adrenaline pumping and raring to sew.
But the fairly ancient machine wasn’t in the mood to cooperate with her need for speed-stitching. It fought back by pricking her finger with the needle over and over again. Her grandmother should’ve mentioned that the Singer had a temper! She wrapped her fingers in Band-Aids and pushed on. But the only thing that was moving forward was the time. It was now six-forty, but Emma wasn’t any closer to finishing the pockets.
“Arrgh!” Emma cried out after another needle prick, this time through the Band-Aid. “Why won’t you behave?”
“Who’s not behaving?” Marjorie asked, suddenly appearing out of the shadows of the darkened warehouse and into the pool of light flooding Emma’s work space.
“This…stupid…machine!” Emma blurted. “And these annoying vest pockets!”
“Hmm,” Marjorie said, taking in the scene, “you certainly seem to have your hands full here, honey. This is no rinky-dink operation. What’s all this for?”
Emma’s back stiffened as she remembered Marjorie didn’t know—couldn’t know—the truth. If Marjorie knew, then her dad would know, and then her mom would know, and then, well, Emma wasn’t sure how she’d react. And there was no way her dad would keep this kind of info from her mom. He was always saying they were a “team.”
“It’s, uh, an art project for school, and I really need an A. I didn’t complete some other assignments, and the teacher said that if I didn’t—”
Marjorie rolled her eyes and waved Emma off with her hand. “Spare me the soap opera. Who do you think has been dodging all those calls from Paige Young? Who didn’t let her back here when she came by the other day demanding to see Allegra Biscotti? I know I wasn’t born yesterday, but seriously, I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Emma gaped at Marjorie. Did she hear that correctly? Paige was looking for Allegra—here? Of course! It suddenly made total sense that Paige would come back to the place where she first saw Allegra’s designs to find her. No wonder Paige was having a total text-message meltdown.
“Don’t bother denying it,” Marjorie continued. “I’m not mad or anything. While you were in school, I saw what you had going on back here. I put two and two together. I’m smart like that,” she said, tapping her finger to her temple.
So Marjorie did figure it out!
After Noah had given Emma her work space, Marjorie had never once asked Emma what she was up to when she brought in shopping bags from Allure. Emma thought Marjorie hadn’t even noticed—or cared.
“Does…does my dad know?” Emma stammered.
“Nah.” Marjorie shrugged. “I figured you had your reasons not to tell him. Besides, I make it a rule never to get involved in office politics…or family matters,” she added with an arch of her eyebrow.
Emma felt her shoulders slide down a couple of inches away from her ears. “Oh, thank you!”
Marjorie reached for her reading glasses, which hung from her neck on a beaded chain, and placed them on the bridge of her nose. Then she picked up Emma’s design sketch of the vest, as well as the close-up sketches of how the pockets were meant to go, wrinkling her nose as she studied them.
“Slide over,” Marjorie commanded.
Still in shock over all the new information she just learned, Emma did as she was told, abandoning the chair in front of the sewing machine. Marjorie leaned over to inspect the two pockets Emma had sewn on.
“I think I see what’s going on here…” Marjorie said. Then she fiddled with some settings, lowered the presser foot and then the needle, revved up the motor, and let it rip.
“What are you doing?” Emma cried in horror. “Wait! Stop! You’ll ruin it!”