Monday was almost over, and Emma still hadn’t heard a peep out of Paige.
She must’ve gotten the dress by now, Emma thought as she walked to her locker after her last class. Or maybe not. Maybe she spent the day out of the office at another photo shoot or visiting a designer’s showroom. Maybe she’s at home with the flu. Or maybe she hates it. Maybe the other editors are gathered around her right now, mocking her for featuring the dress on her blog.
Emma tried to delete that recurring thought.
There could be a million good reasons why Paige hasn’t called yet, Emma decided. She opened her locker, grabbed her messenger bag, and pulled out her phone.
There was a text message. From Paige.
Pleasebegood, pleasebegood, pleasebegood, Emma wished. She flipped open the phone.
Thx so much 4 the dress! I ADORE it. I’d love 2 speak with u ASAP. I wld like 2 interview u 4 Madison magazine. Pls let me know when is convenient. Paige Young
Emma tried to steady herself as kids streamed around her in the hallway, completely unaware of how the earth was shifting under her feet at this very moment. Paige liked the dress. No, she adored it. That meant that she would wear it. And now Madison magazine wants to interview me? I mean, Allegra?
Emma caught sight of Charlie’s white-blond hair down the hallway.
“Charlie!” Emma shouted. “Char-lie!”
But no matter how loudly she called his name over the sounds of slamming lockers and chattering students who were finally free for the day, he didn’t turn around. She was too far away for him to hear her. She jogged down the hallway, bobbing and weaving, running an obstacle course to get to him as six strands of vintage art-glass beads banged against her chest.
“Whoa! What the…? Em, what’s up? You practically knocked me over,” Charlie said.
“You’ve. Got. To. See. This.” Emma directed him over to the wall of the front foyer and shoved her phone in his hand.
“Are you kidding me with this?” Charlie exclaimed. “This is awesome!”
“Yeah,” Emma said, beaming. “Except…”
“Except what?”
“I don’t know.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “I guess I never thought about what would happen after. I mean, I just thought Paige would get the dress, hopefully be happy, say thank you, and that’d be it. But an interview? I don’t know about that.”
“Are you crazy? An interview is good.”
Emma wasn’t sure it was good. “But I’m not an Italian fashion designer. I’m me. In middle school. I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I should just fess up, you know, before this goes any further.”
“Whaaat? No. No way, Em. Not now. Her asking to interview Allegra is a good thing. Telling her that Allegra doesn’t exist and that we were tricking her would be a bad thing.”
“I don’t know. I feel weird pretending Allegra is a real person.” Emma’s lunch started doing ballroom-dancing moves in her stomach. She leaned against the wall.
“Allegra is a real person! She’s you. You designed those dresses. So we’re not really tricking Paige at all. Isn’t this what you want? To be a fashion designer—a real one?”
“Well, yes—”
“So then you can’t stop now.” Charlie’s eyes glinted. “You handle the fashion stuff. Let me do the other stuff. Come on. It’ll be fun. We’ll be partners in crime. I mean, really, nothing good is happening around here.” He gestured to the empty hallways.
Emma closed her eyes and imagined the raspberry dress on Paige. Maybe Charlie’s right, she thought. After all, I did design those dresses, she reasoned. Allegra is me.
Emma snapped opened her eyes at the sound of typing—on her phone. Before she could speak or dive for the phone, Charlie pressed send.
Emma gasped. “What did you just do?” She snatched the phone away and read the sent text:
Ms. Young, I’m v. busy working on my new collection. Pls text ur questions & I will respond accordingly. All best, AB
“See?” Charlie said. “Problem solved.”
Emma widened her eyes at Charlie. “I can’t believe you just did that!”
“Can’t believe how obnoxious I was for sending a message to Paige without asking you first, or can’t believe how genius my response was?” Charlie grinned.
“Both.”
Charlie linked arms with Emma as they stepped outside. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?” he asked.
Just then, Emma’s phone vibrated in her hand. She and Charlie stopped. And then it vibrated again. And again. Three new text messages…four…five.
Emma gazed at the screen. All questions for Allegra Biscotti.
“Um, apparently, being interviewed by the editor of New York’s hottest glossy!” Emma beamed.
“And we’re off!” Charlie announced happily. “Here. Sit. We’ll bang out these answers in no time. This is wild!” He jabbed her arm playfully.
“Beyond.” Emma couldn’t help but feel her cheeks burn with excitement.
They hung their bags on the peeling railing, sat on the concrete steps of the school, and huddled over Emma’s phone.
Charlie scrolled back to the first text. “Okay, first question: ‘Where were you born and/or where did you grow up?’ Allegra’s Italian, right?”
“I don’t know about that,” Emma replied. “I mean, maybe she’s American or even a New Yorker. Paige did discover Allegra’s dresses in the Garment District after all. If she was Italian, wouldn’t she be living and designing in Italy? Besides, we have to make her story believable, don’t you think?”
“Believable is boring,” Charlie countered.
“True,” Emma agreed. “And Allegra is not boring! Her designs are ‘fresh’ and ‘playful’ and ‘imaginative,’ just like Paige wrote in her blog.”
“Not that you memorized her review or anything,” Charlie teased.
“I think Allegra deserves a supercool, creative story.” Emma closed her eyes and tried to picture the Woman Behind the Clothes. It was the first time she’d let herself do that since coming up with the name Allegra Biscotti.
“I know what we should write!” Charlie exclaimed. He grabbed Emma’s phone. He must’ve seen the horror on Emma’s face, because he added, “Don’t worry! I’ll show it to you for approval before I send!”
“Go ahead,” she said. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was good at this stuff.
When Charlie finished typing, he handed the phone to Emma.
She read his message out loud: “I’m a citizen of the world. I’m the daughter of a U.S. diplomat. We lived in Europe, Asia, South America—you name it. I’ve dined with royalty and slept in the desert.”
Emma giggled. She loved that her alter ego was so worldly. The only place Emma had been out of the country was Canada, and that didn’t really count.
“I love it. Approved!” she said. A thrill went through her as she pressed send.
Charlie took back the phone and read the next question: “‘Who are your design influences?’” He typed and then showed the screen to Emma. “All of the biggies,” he had written.
“What? No!” Emma grabbed the phone from him. Clearly his one-answer streak was already over. “Allegra would never say ‘biggies’!” Emma deleted Charlie’s response and started again.
I live in NYC & I luv the boldness & freshness of American culture—the colors, the food, and mostly the people!
“All right, I’ll give that one to you,” Charlie said, “but I think Allegra has to name some designers to sound legit.”
Emma tapped the phone against her chin. Charlie was actually right. But how was she going to narrow down her list of favorite designers to just 160 characters or less? But really the answer was simple. When she thought about the person she most aspired to be like, only one name popped into her mind.
Coco Chanel: the ultimate classic.
“What’s next?” she asked, giving Charlie the phone.
“Okay, let’s see. ‘How would you describe your design sensibilities?’”
Emma frowned. “Can we come back to that one?”
“No! Come on, Em. You’re on a roll! This should be the easiest one for you.”
But Emma just shook her head.
“Fine. Be that way.” Charlie jumped back into the driver’s seat. “How about this?” he asked, showing her what he had just typed.
The fantastical fashion fantasies of a young woman who can’t wait 4 her big moment in the spotlight when she’s all dressed up w/EVERYWHERE 2 go!
Emma paused. Her skin was tingling, like a thousand tiny stars were dancing all over her body. “Charlie! That’s amazing and so…so true! But won’t Paige know it’s me? I mean, me, Emma?”
“Negatory,” he said, pressing send with confidence. “Next: ‘At what age did you start designing?’”
“Awesome! We don’t even have to make up an answer to that one.” Emma took the phone from his hand and started tapping away.
I spoke the language of fashion even b4 I knew how 2 talk. I’ve been adding a new word to my style vocabulary every day since. I hope 2 never stop.
The doors behind them suddenly burst open. A bunch of soccer players sporting their team uniforms appeared, juggling duffel bags and soccer balls.
Jackson Creedon was one of them.
As he passed, Emma couldn’t help but notice how strong Jackson’s legs looked in his soccer shorts—which were unfortunately made out of an awful shiny red-and-white polyester— and his black-and-white striped soccer cleats. He paused at the bottom of the steps to tie his shoe. Emma blushed and looked down at her hands, so he wouldn’t catch her staring at him again.
“Heads up!” someone called out.
Before Emma knew what was happening, a stray soccer ball landed in her lap—right on top of her open, sweaty palms. Even though she could feel the team’s eyes on her, she stared at the ball, frozen in place and blushing madly. Is Jackson looking at me, too? Emma wondered.
Part of her was desperate to look up and find out, but the other part was terrified of meeting his eyes in front of all of his sporty friends…in front of Charlie. How is it that I can suddenly be so freaked out—or is it excited?—when Jackson is within ten feet of me, Emma wondered, but I don’t feel a thing when Charlie is practically sitting on top of me or hanging out in my bedroom?
A boy who Emma hadn’t even noticed was suddenly standing right next to her. He gingerly tapped the ball out of her lap with his toe, sending it flying. Jackson and his teammates raced for the ball, starting an impromptu volley as they scampered down the sidewalk, passing the ball back and forth between them, and dodging around pedestrians. The boys were probably headed toward the school fields on the next block. It must be a game day.
“What’s up with him?” Charlie asked, nodding in Jackson’s general direction.
“Nothing,” Emma croaked. She coughed and spoke again in hope of making her answer sound more convincing. “Nothing.”
“Really? Then why were you acting as if someone Tasered you the minute he came outside?” Charlie asked.
“No big reason.” Emma shrugged. “I just didn’t expect the ball to wind up in my lap, that’s all. What if it had hit me in the head? I could’ve gotten a concussion or something.”
“Doubtful, but whatever,” Charlie said, reaching for his bag. “Hey, when you get home, you should write all this stuff down in case Allegra gets asked to do another interview.”
Emma laughed as she took her bag from him. “Come on, get real. Paige is so not going to buy this stuff. She has met zillions of fashion designers. She’s never going to believe ‘I am a citizen of ze world!’”
“Does Allegra have an accent now? We didn’t discuss that part. We should probably work on getting our stories straight,” Charlie joked as he started down the steps.
“Charlie, I’m being serious!”
“Well, why shouldn’t Paige believe it? I think Allegra’s answers were really good. And Em, for the most part, they were all true. Paige loves Allegra’s clothes, or she wouldn’t keep trying to find out more about her. Right? Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?”