“Emma! Are you up yet? And by ‘up’ I mean actually out of bed!” her mother shouted from down the narrow hall of the Roses’ apartment.
“Yes!” Emma stared into the organized chaos of her tiny closet. Though it was no wider than the length of her arm, it held an impressive number of clothes and accessories. Emma used antique hooks scavenged at flea markets, stacked sweater boxes decorated with collages she made from magazines, and a few extra shelves her dad had built to keep her closet tidy.
Maybe I’ll wear that smoky-purple silk scarf I picked up on the street near school, Emma thought. One of the best things about Downtown Day was that the exclusive private school was located in SoHo, one of Emma’s favorite neighborhoods. It had tons of cool boutiques and art galleries. Just peeking in the windows gave her inspiration for her designs. She stood on tiptoe, reached up, and slid out a box that she had decoupaged with cutouts of colorful flowers.
“What did you say?” her mother called, her voice sounding closer now.
Emma rolled her eyes, plucked out the scarf, and slid the box back into place. She swung open her bedroom door. It wasn’t like her family’s three-bedroom apartment was so huge that her mother couldn’t hear her behind the closed door. But Emma knew this was one of her mother’s tricks to make sure her kids weren’t still in bed. “I’m up! Satisfied?”
“Very,” her mother said. “You know how I love torturing you and your brother every morning. It’s my favorite part of the day.”
“I thought bugging us about homework was your favorite part,” Emma mumbled.
“I’m ignoring that.” Her mother rapped on William’s door. “Will! Up! Now!”
Emma gently shut her door. Normally, she would still be lying in bed, trying to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep. She knew her mother woke them up earlier than really necessary, scared they would make her late for work. Mom taught English and composition—at Emma’s school. When she first started Downtown Day, Emma was really proud of the fact. She used to visit her mother’s classroom all the time and beg to help grade papers.
Now, she rerouted through the halls with the primary mission of avoiding her mother. Sure, Joan Rose taught in the high school, which was attached to the middle school, but that was really just a technicality. Any way she looked at it, Emma went to school with her mother. Way too much family-togetherness time.
But this morning, the excitement of meeting Paige Young was still so fresh in her mind that the minute Emma opened her eyes, she jumped out of bed. What happened yesterday at Laceland was too mind-blowing for words. She didn’t even care if anything ever came of it. Emma switched on her laptop. She hoped Holly was online so she could tell her all about Paige. Holly had been missing in action all night.
As the computer started up, Emma went back to her closet. What can I wear with the scarf? she wondered. Maybe those narrow khaki riding pants with the brown suede patches on the inner knees she’d bought on a whim last spring. She reached for the pants and held them up with the scarf, considering the combo. Good, but she’d have to find a top and shoes that were the complete opposite of horsey. She definitely didn’t want to look like she was dressing for Halloween.
Emma glanced at the computer screen. Neither Holly nor Charlie was logged on. Figured. She clicked open her favorite bookmarks and rolled the cursor over the link to StylePaige.com, Paige Young’s own blog. Emma had just looked at it last night, but she felt like reading it again. It made yesterday more real. She needed to spend a few more minutes reliving it all before the reality of school crashed down around her.
The home page featured the usual stuff—reviews of fashion shows, the latest “it” bag for fall, and some young, starved model who was the hot, new runway sensation. Emma stared at the artfully photographed picture of Paige Young at the top of the right column. She clicked “Refresh” and then scrolled down the page for another few seconds. The clock at the bottom of the screen said 7:02…oops, 7:03. She had to get moving. Just as she turned away, something caught her eye. She whirled back around. A new posting.
Emma gasped. Leaning closer, nose almost touching the screen, she read the latest headline out loud, “Smokin’ Hot New Design Talent Discovered Yesterday: Exclusive First Peek at Allegra Biscotti!”
Emma blinked really hard and looked at the page again. There it was: Allegra Biscotti.
That’s me! Emma thought. I’m on StylePaige!
There were photos—photos of her dresses! She couldn’t stop staring. They looked so good. So professional. So real.
Emma noticed a short paragraph under the headline. She sank into her desk chair and began to read:
Deep in the heart of the Garment District, Allegra Biscotti has been quietly working away on three of the freshest designs I’ve seen in eons. (See my exclusive pix below!) Helped by the yummy sorbet colors, these playful and imaginative dresses hit just the right note, like the first truly warm day of the season. One thing’s for sure: this style spotter is going to have her eyes peeled for more from Allegra Biscotti!
Emma leaped up and whirled around her room. She didn’t know what to do first. She wanted to cheer, to dance, to celebrate with someone! She swung open her door and ran out into the hallway. Her mother’s angry voice from the kitchen stopped Emma in her tracks.
“William! Are you kidding me with this? You are not wearing basketball shorts to school!” her mother yelled. “Go change. Now.”
Emma tiptoed backward into her room and quietly closed the door. Nope, she wasn’t about to get in the middle of whatever was going on out there. Charlie! She had to tell Charlie the good news. She grabbed her cell phone out of her school bag and hit the speed-dial.
“Whaaat?” Charlie whined after the second ring.
“Did I wake you?”
“Obviously,” Charlie grumbled. “This better be good.”
“It is, I promise!” The words tumbled out as she told him about the blog post on StylePaige. “And she even says at the end that she’s ‘going to have her eyes peeled for more from Allegra Biscotti!’ How cool is that?”
“That so rocks!” Despite the remnants of sleep in his voice, Charlie sounded truly excited. “You’re famous. Or Allegra is.”
Emma couldn’t stop grinning. “You know what’s kind of weird, but in a good way? I’m reading about myself but not, you know? Right now, you and I are only two people on the planet who know that Allegra Biscotti is really me! I can’t wait to tell Holly.” She clicked on “Print” so she could take a copy of the posting with her to school.
Charlie yawned. “Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Sure, but don’t you have to get up in like five minutes anyway?”
“Every minute counts.”
Emma tapped her fingers against the metal door of her locker, her eyes trained on the end of the hall. She felt like she’d been waiting forever for Holly. She flipped open her phone to check the time—again. Less than ten minutes before the last bell. She was literally going to explode if she didn’t get to tell Holly about Allegra.
The corridor became more crowded by the minute. Now she couldn’t see the top of the stairs. Standing on tiptoe, she craned her neck to peer above her classmates’ heads. Where could Holly be?
Suddenly, her eyes locked with Jackson Creedon’s.
For a split second, the chaos of the students filling the hall dropped away. His eyes were so blue, his gaze so steady. What am I doing? Emma thought. He’s going to think I’m staring at him! She ducked for cover behind Coco and pretended to organize her books. Had Jackson asked about her? Holly better show up soon!
Leaning back ever so slightly, Emma snuck another look at Jackson. She couldn’t help it. After three weeks of being in the same few classes with him, she still didn’t know much about him other than what she could observe from brief glances—okay, fine, when she stared—at him:
1. He was super-cute (obvious).
2. He was quiet (or at least not as loud as the guys he hung out with).
3. He spent a lot of time writing or drawing or doodling in his notebook, which made him seem like he was not paying attention in class, kind of like Emma, now that she thought about it. She so wished she could get her hands on that notebook… Yeah, like that was ever going to happen.
4. When he did look up at the teacher or the board, he had the cutest way of squinting and biting the right corner of his bottom lip. She couldn’t let herself look at the whole lip-biting thing for too long because it made her stomach spin…but in a good way.
The only other thing she knew about Jackson was that he played on Downtown Day’s soccer team—not that she had ever been to a school soccer game before. Maybe I should go one of these days, Emma suddenly thought. Then I can stare at him freely. In fact, she reasoned, if I went to a soccer game and didn’t watch, it would be rude.
In Emma’s mind, Fantasy Jackson was deep and super-thoughtful. She imagined that he sometimes felt like he didn’t fit in, even though he so clearly did. And after seeing him put a few pieces of scrap paper in the paper-recycling bin before leaving the classroom once during the first week of school, she imagined that he was super-caring about the planet.
In the Real World, a massively huge ocean separated them socially. He was in the cool crowd, and Emma was… not. Even though she had been going to school with most of these kids since the fourth grade, Jackson had been able to walk into school and immediately fit into the most popular crowd.
Then again, Emma hadn’t ever tried to get into the popular crowd—not like Holly seemed to be doing now for some reason. Emma had realized that the only hope she had of getting to know Jackson was through the new Holly-Ivana alliance. At least that was a teeny, tiny ray of hope…because otherwise, there would have been no chance of their worlds ever crossing beyond the few classes they were both in.
There was a major downside to this social bridge to Jackson. Ivana came with Lexie, who so obviously wanted to be Jackson’s girlfriend. Emma had seen Lexie purposely sit next to Jackson in biology on the first day of school, so she would wind up being his lab partner. And even though Lexie’s locker was on a different corridor, Emma noticed that Lexie was always hanging out at Kayla’s and Shannon’s lockers, which were much closer to Jackson’s.
It was within the realm of possibility, Emma supposed, that that particular piece of evidence could have less to do with Lexie being after Jackson and more to do with the Ivana-Bees’ inability to be separated for more than thirty seconds at a stretch, but Emma highly doubted it.
After years of being in the same small school together, Emma knew that Lexie wasn’t the type of girl who ever lost at anything. She got straight A’s; she was the captain of the middle-school field-hockey team, which was undefeated last year; and most importantly, every semester since sixth grade, Lexie had decided who was going to be her boyfriend, and within a few weeks, she and the guy were a couple.
Not that Emma would ever admit it to anyone, but sometimes she envied Lexie’s focus, drive, and determination. Lexie saw what she wanted and went after it. As Emma’s brother, William, always said, probably parroting his favorite sportscaster, “You gotta be in it to win it.” Lexie was definitely in it. Emma? Not so much.
“Earth to Emma!” Holly was suddenly standing next to Emma and waving her hands in front of her face.
“It took you long enough to get here!” Emma exclaimed. “We only have like two seconds before the next bell. Tell me everything that happened at the park yesterday. What did you find out?”
“Well,” Holly began, clearly happy to dish. “Let’s see. Jackson was there, of course. Looking very cute. Not that I thought so exactly, but you probably would. And he talked a lot more than usual. He was actually kind of funny, but you had to be paying attention or you wouldn’t really notice.”
I knew it! Emma thought. “What else?” She desperately wanted more detail so she could begin replacing Fantasy Jackson with Real Jackson.
“He was telling us about how he goes off to some crazy place in New Jersey on the weekends to ride dirt bikes with his cousins.”
“Wow, that’s pretty cool,” Emma said, digesting this new tidbit. Suddenly Real Jackson and Fantasy Jackson melded as she pictured him wearing a black leather motocross jacket with red and white padded stripes on the elbows and shoulders, ripped jeans covered in mud, and heavy black motorcycle boots with silver rings on the ankles.
She could see them hanging out together, her wearing, of course, a matching leather jacket with brass studs, a black lace top, and a white gauzy skirt with lots of stiff crinoline underneath to give it that fun pouf—very rocker chick meets third-grade ballet recital. Emma’s fashion reverie was interrupted by the grating sound of Ivana’s voice.
“And the manicurist at the spa wouldn’t stop calling me ‘Wanda!’ Can you believe it? I’m like, lady, the name’s I-va-na!” The Ivana-Bees, flanking their leader, shrieked with laughter. Emma didn’t think Ivana’s story sounded that funny, but maybe “you had to be there,” as they said about practically every one of their experiences.
The three ’Bees paused as Ivana reached out to link her elbow with Holly’s. “Holls, you coming with?” Ivana asked.
Emma cringed. Ivana had taken her nickname for Holly. Emma had been calling Holly that since the second grade, when they saw a movie about four best friends who made up nicknames for each other. It had sounded like a very mature and cool thing to do back then.
“Totally!” Holly slammed her locker door shut and slid into formation with the ’Bees. “Ivana, I love-love your sweater. It’s awesome.”
“I know, isn’t it?” Ivana answered.
Emma eyed the sleeveless sweater—an obviously expensive cashmere with a small ruffle along the deep V-neckline. The color was just the right shade of lavender to set off Ivana’s red, perfectly flat-ironed hair. Emma had seen the sweater in the window of Shape, the pricey SoHo boutique near school that provided Ivana with most of her wardrobe. Ivana wore it with the same ivory lacy camisole displayed on the mannequin. There are so many other fun ways she could’ve worn that, Emma thought, layering it in her mind with patterned sweaters and tops.
“Shaye,” Holly continued, “did you do something different with your hair—part it on a different side, maybe? I like it. You should totally wear it that way all the time.”
Shannon, who was the most tomboyish of the group, probably because she was growing taller without getting curvier, reached up to touch her brown chin-length hair with a confused but pleased look on her face. “I don’t think so, but thanks!”
Holly turned to Kayla. “That lip gloss is killer, Kay. New?”
Kayla was like a walking advertisement for Beautylicious, the beauty company her mother had started five years earlier. She bragged about her mother all the time, as if she were the Secretary of State bringing about world peace instead of a makeup artist turned businesswoman.
Unlike Shannon, Kayla had no problem in the natural curves department. Plus she had been wearing a full face of makeup religiously since the age of twelve, which Emma thought made Kayla look, at times, like she was spending too much time with the clowns at the circus.
Now Kayla puffed out her lips so everyone could see. “Yeah, my mom just brought it home yesterday. It’s not even in the stores yet. It’s called ‘Fire Starter.’”
Holly turned back toward Emma. “Hurry up, Emma! We’re going to be late.”
“Trying!” Emma yanked on her bag. The strap was stuck on something inside her locker. By the time she freed it and closed the door, the group was already halfway down the hall.
Emma sighed and walked at a normal pace. She couldn’t bring herself to chase after them. Besides, now that Ivana and the ’Bees had swallowed up Holly, Emma knew that she wouldn’t be able to finish their conversation. Or tell Holly about Allegra Biscotti. I’ll grab her at lunchtime to eat with me in the student lounge, Emma decided. She knew Holly would celebrate with her once she found out the big news.
Emma scooted into the classroom just as Mr. Whitmore was closing the door.
The crescendo from the lunchroom hit Emma long before she even walked in the door. The cafeteria, which was in the basement next to the gym, was the worst room in the school. The ceiling was low, and the cement floor was painted the ugliest green color Emma had ever seen.
Since there were no windows, the only light was from the industrial fluorescent bulbs overhead, which Emma thought made everyone look like they had the flu. On top of all that, the lunchroom perpetually smelled like grease, even though the PTA had voted fried food off the menu two years earlier.
Emma stood in the doorway and scanned the buzzing room until she spotted Holly paying the cashier. I need to grab her, Emma thought.
Holly smiled when she saw Emma coming toward her. “There you are. You brought your lunch today, right?”
Emma always packed a yogurt and chips. The mysterious ingredients and origins of the school lunches were too baffling to a girl who never got higher than a B in chemistry. She liked being able to identify her food. “Do you want to go to the loun—”
Holly cut her off, lifting her tray with one hand and grabbing Emma’s elbow with the other.
Emma’s heart sank as soon as she realized where they were headed. “Remind me again why we have to sit with Ivana and the ’Bees?” she asked.
“Because everything’s different now that we’re in eighth grade,” Holly explained. “Plus it’s more fun to hang out with Ivana and the girls than those random people we used to sit with. You have to admit, Em, those kids are kind of weird.”
“Charlie isn’t weird,” Emma protested, yanking back on Holly’s arm to stop her before they reached the table. “We always had fun with him. He’s our friend.”
Holly snapped her gum. “Charlie barely eats in the cafeteria anymore. He’s always off in the student lounge listening to his iPod or looking at those weird Japanese comic books. Trust me. He hasn’t even noticed that we’re gone.”
That was sort of true, actually. Charlie liked being a bit of a shadow, fading in and out without anyone noticing. Plus, he hated crowds. And the color green. But Emma suspected that this new lunch-table situation had more to do with Holly being flattered that Ivana had invited her—and probably not both of them—to sit at her table. For the past few weeks, Emma had been going along with Holly’s new seating arrangement. She figured as long as she got to sit with Holly, maybe it would be all right.
But so far, it hadn’t been that great.
“Come on, Em! I’m starving.” Holly gave Emma’s elbow another tug, coaxing her toward the table.
Reluctantly, Emma gave in. They barely had twenty minutes left to eat lunch and would have even less by the time they got upstairs to the student lounge anyway. As Holly slid into the empty chair next to Ivana, Emma settled down in a seat at the end of table. The Ivana-Bees were in the middle of a heated discussion about their ideas for this year’s first fund-raiser.
“Last year, the eighth-grade class held a bake sale, and they raised a ton of money,” Shannon said, nibbling on a carrot stick. The way she wrinkled her nose and scrunched up her face reminded Emma of a rabbit.
Ivana laughed loudly, tossing her long red hair over her shoulder as if she were in a shampoo commercial. “Shaye, you can’t be serious. Remember the last time you tried to bake something? Di-SAS-ter!” Ivana turned to Holly. “She almost burned down her kitchen because she put the oven on broil instead of bake.”
“The doorman had to come turn off the fire alarm because Shannon didn’t know how to do it!” Kayla added—again just to Holly.
Holly giggled. “That’s hilarious,” she said. “I so wish I’d been there!”
Emma snuck a sideways glance at Holly to see if she was faking her enthusiasm. But Holly was totally serious.
“It was pretty embarrassing,” Shannon admitted, though she seemed more flattered than embarrassed that she was the focus of attention. “But I still think a bake sale is a good idea.”
“How about something that doesn’t require using the oven—or any fire, for that matter?” Ivana suggested.
“I know! We could have a car wash!” Kayla leaned forward.
“Ew!” Lexie squealed. “I don’t want to have to wash some weirdo-stranger’s car!”
“Um, hello?” Ivana added. “We live in a city, remember? Most people don’t even own cars.”
Emma pretended to be fascinated with the last dollop of strawberry yogurt in the container. She swirled it around with her plastic spoon. Since she hadn’t joined the Fund-Raising Committee like Holly and the other girls, she didn’t have much to contribute. Nor had she signed up for the Social Committee or the Film Club, even though Holly had begged her to do those with her, too.
What was weird was that Emma and Holly had never been “joiners” before.
They had always been happy to move around the edges of all the groups without necessarily being a part of any one of them. Emma could tell who was who just by looking at what they wore. She had sketched them all, fascinated by how clothes ruled the cliques. Each group had their own style, she knew. If your clothes didn’t fit in, than neither did you. For as long as they’d been friends, Emma and Holly had hung out with various kids from all of the groups, but they mostly spent their free time together because that’s what they had the most fun doing.
Until this summer.
After school ended, Holly’s workaholic parents had dragged her to their new weekend house in Litchfield, Connecticut. Holly complained to Emma via a torrent of daily text messages about how there was nothing to do and no one to do it with. But then Holly started to sound like she was having fun. That’s when Ivana’s name began popping up.
Ivana’s mother and latest stepfather had a place in Litchfield, too. Emma was shocked. If she had been stranded on a desert island with Ivana, she would have sooner befriended a lizard than Ivana Abbott. When Emma complained about it to Charlie, he said that it was probably just a “friendship of convenience.” Emma spent the rest of the summer hoping he was right.
But now it looked like he wasn’t. Around the Ivana-Bees, Holly was different. Emma couldn’t put her finger on how. She just knew that suddenly she felt like their friendship went from being the most natural, easiest thing in the world to requiring a conscious effort to keep it going.
“Maybe we could put on a fashion show,” Holly said. “That’d be fun, wouldn’t it, Em?”
Emma looked up, surprised. She had started to draw a new outfit for Ms. Ramirez, the dowdy cafeteria cashier, in her sketchbook. It was coming out like a futuristic jumpsuit. Maybe not the best look. “For what?”
“A class fund-raiser,” Holly answered. “Don’t you think we could build a catwalk in the gym and get some of the students and teachers to model? Maybe call some boutiques to see if they would let us borrow their clothes?”
Ivana and the ’Bees faced Emma expectantly.
“Um, I guess so,” Emma answered.
“And you could be our fashion expert,” Holly added enthusiastically.
Someone snickered, but Emma wasn’t sure who. She glanced at the digital wall clock. Four minutes until lunch was over.
“Or,” Ivana began, turning everyone’s attention right back to her, “we could do an auction. I bet everyone’s parents have something decent they could donate as prizes. It would be so much easier. My cousin is an event planner, and she always says how no one ever realizes how much work it is to do events. Plus they’re super-expensive.”
“An auction is such an amazing idea, Ivana!” Holly gushed, leaning forward in her chair. Again, Emma was surprised by Holly’s tone. Was Ivana’s idea really that amazing? Hadn’t auctions been done since the dawn of time—or at least, since the invention of school fund-raisers?
“Actually,” Ivana continued, “I was thinking we could make it a green auction. You know, with all eco-friendly stuff.”
“I bet my parents could score a free dinner at the organic restaurant they go to practically every Saturday night,” Lexie said. “The restaurant’s owners only use ingredients they can buy locally. That’s green, right?”
“And my mom could donate a gift bag of her company’s new all-natural makeup line,” Kayla added proudly. “The stuff smells so good! I’ll bring you samples. We have a ton at home.”
And with that, the girls chattered on, excitedly throwing out ideas, each trying to top the other. Emma’s momentary existence in their plans evaporated into the puke-green floor.
Emma slid the printout of the Allegra Biscotti post from Paige Young’s blog from her sketchbook. Just looking at it made her heart jump. Her dresses! Hers!
Emma glanced at the clock again. The bell was just about to ring. Maybe she could get Holly to hang back for a few seconds while the other girls tossed their garbage. Then she could show Holly the blog and quickly tell her what happened with Paige…
“Holls, don’t forget. We need to stop at your locker before class so you can give me your To Kill a Mockingbird notes from yesterday,” Ivana said, already standing.
“Right!” Holly leaped up to follow Ivana. “See you later, Em.”
Emma watched Holly and the girls leave the cafeteria. She wanted to stop Holly, but she suddenly felt glued to her seat, unable and unwilling to run after them. The noise level dropped as everyone headed for the halls. Emma continued to sit, gazing at the paper in the hands. Allegra Biscotti.
Not being able to tell Holly what happened with Paige didn’t make it any less real. She knew that. She really did. And she didn’t want to be upset—not now.
Someone important said I was a talented designer, and that’s a really good thing, Emma reminded herself, finally standing to leave.