“You can’t fess up now,” he lectured Emma, pulling her behind the stairwell. “This is your big break—the biggest! It’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime things.”
“But, what about—”
“You can’t freak out. I have a plan—well, sort of. Listen, you design, and I’ll run everything else. It’s going to be awesome. You can do this, Em. And you should.”
Emma thought back to all the happy designing daydreams she’d had during class. “I should, shouldn’t I?” she echoed, the conviction growing in her voice. Having Allegra’s clothes photographed for the magazine would get her that much closer to all her dreams and maybe even more. “I mean, it’d be silly to turn down this opportunity, right? Who knows when—or if —it will happen again.”
Emma pulled out her cell, and together they composed a very different message than she would’ve just ten minutes earlier.
Ms. Young: Wld b honored 2 provide my designs 4 the photo shoot. Pls let me know what u need 2 make the shoot happen. All best, AB
Emma felt herself drifting that afternoon, mentally afloat, as she sketched madly in the margins of her world history notebook. Sheer, flowing tunics. A braided vine-like belt. Ms. Lyons’s words on Athens and ancient Greece flicked in and out, background noise serving only to add to design inspiration. A toga dress with gladiator sandals.
Suddenly, she noticed Jackson Creedon looking at her across the classroom with a strange expression on his face. She bolted to attention. Why is Jackson looking at me? He never looks at me! Then it hit her. She had been staring at him for the last five—God, was it ten?—minutes without even knowing it.
Her eyes grew wide. This was beyond mortifying. She quickly lurched back in her chair, pulling her textbook up to mask her face, which felt as if she’d baked it in the oven. Her hot pink hoodie knocked the strap from her messenger bag, and, as if in slow motion, the bag slid off the back of her chair. She lunged to catch it.
Too late! Fashion magazines flagged with dozens of Post-It Notes spilled out around her chair. A dozen random antique-coin buttons clanked and skittered in all directions across the linoleum floor. But worst of all, her sketchbook landed spine down, open to the page of Jackson in her redesigned soccer uniform.
The teacher stopped talking. Emma could feel everyone’s eyes on her. She had to get that sketchbook before Jackson—or anyone else—saw her drawings!
Emma hurled herself to the floor. She dove for her sketchbook and slapped it shut, shoving it deep inside the bag. Crawling on hands and knees, she grabbed at buttons right and left. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something shiny near Jackson’s sneaker. A button. One of her buttons was sitting inches away from his foot! There’s no way I’m going over there, she vowed as she scrambled around scooping up the other buttons.
Finally she had all but one of them clutched in her fists. She spun around to clamber back to her desk. Just then, a closed hand thrust toward her and slowly opened to reveal the renegade button. It was Jackson’s hand. He carefully placed the shiny silver button in her open palm. It was still warm from his touch.
“Thanks,” Emma said. As she stood up, she sneaked a peek at his face. Maybe it was the post-traumatic stress of the whole embarrassing incident distorting her vision, but maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t imagining that Jackson was smiling at her.
She tucked the Jackson button into a small zipped pocket of her messenger bag for safekeeping. If she was ever going to use it, it would be on something super-special.
Emma jogged up the subway stairs and inhaled deeply when she reached the street. The sun was shining; the sky was azure blue; the air was crisp; the boy she liked had smiled at her and she had a button to prove it…and the stoplight was red, meaning that she could cross 34th Street. What a great day, she thought, practically skipping across the crosswalk and dancing around people who didn’t seem to notice or appreciate the amazing-ness of the afternoon. She leaped onto the curb and strolled up Fashion Avenue, humming and smiling.
Then her cell buzzed with a new text.
Ms. Biscotti: I need 3 brand-new pieces 4 Spring season @ Madison offices by Mon 11/2 4 the photo shoot. Pls confirm that’s doable 4 u. Thx. Ciao, Paige Young
Emma stopped, confused. Three new pieces…for the spring season?
Minutes later, she sprinted back to her studio, barely waving to Marjorie. She threw down her school bag and lunged for the garment rack where her finished—or in some cases, temporarily abandoned—designs hung.
Let’s see. There must be something here I could use that would be right for spring, Emma thought. She was much more adventurous with her original fashion designs than with the outfits she wore to school. It was easier to design for fantasy people whose lives were definitely far more exciting, dynamic, and glamorous than hers.
The two dresses she just finished were on the front of the rack. Too bad Paige had seen them already and now owned one that looked a lot like the pineapple-colored dress because they would’ve been perfect.
She loved the off-white cotton-linen corset dress she’d made during the summer, but somehow it didn’t feel special enough for Madison. The dusty rose and white geometric-print silk jersey dress would’ve been great, but she messed up the ruching big time. It was all bunched up and uneven in the back. There was no fixing that.
She could try finishing the fire-engine red coat that she constructed with her grandmother last spring, but hand-sewing all that embroidery on the collar and oversized cuffs could take two weeks alone. The only other thing she had was a Chanel-like sheath dress, but she’d made it in black wool tweed. Hardly springy.
The truth suddenly became crystal clear.
I’m going to have to make three new pieces…from scratch.
After dinner that night, Emma sat on her bed, surveying the chaos she had created. She’d ransacked her room looking for design ideas in every old sketchbook. Thousands of sketches, and nothing seemed cutting edge enough. She flipped through her work again. Party dresses with flirty hems and playful beadwork. Leather pants that fit like a second skin. Short skirts with hundreds of pleats. Long, flowy tunics with funky necklines.
Do I even know how to make half of this stuff? she wondered. Sketching is one thing. Constructing a few cute dresses is still basically one thing. But three perfectly finished pieces that work together like they’re part of a collection? How am I going to pull that off—alone and in two weeks?
Emma’s bedroom door swung open. William.
“What happened to your hand? Forget how to knock?” Emma said. Honestly, she didn’t know whether she was annoyed that he had interrupted her…or the teeniest bit relieved to have the unexpected distraction.
“Why should I bother knocking? It’s not like you’d let me in anyway,” William replied with a shrug.
“True but so not the point,” Emma warned. She was just about to kick him out when she had an idea. “Hey, since you’re here, maybe you could make yourself useful.”
William’s face lit up. “Really? I mean, sure, whatever.”
“Come in and sit.” She cleared off a tiny spot for him to perch at the end of her bed. Emma held up sketches of two different dresses to show William: one a fuchsia strapless tiered-ruffle mini, and the other a long-sleeved subtle A-line black one with leopard-print collar, cuffs, and pockets. “Which one do you like better: this one or this one?”
He scrunched up his face and then pointed to the strapless mini.
“Hmm. Okay, good.” She put down those sketchbooks and picked up two more, flipping to a drawing of an updated opera coat with three-quarter-length sleeves and big rhinestone buttons and shimmery trim, and another of a short-cropped gold jacket with bracelet-length sleeves and graffiti-like multicolored embroidery on the back. “This one or that one?”
“That one!” he said more enthusiastically this time, tapping the sketch of the cropped jacket with his fingers.
“All right…” Emma shuffled sketchbooks again and held up two more. “How
about this”—swingy, wide-legged raw silk trousers in a cobalt blue—“or this?”—black satin skinny pants with zippers and studs and a baby-pink silk ribbon belt.
“This one!” He pointed at the wide-legged trousers, bouncing up and down on the bed.
Hey, this is actually good, Emma thought. He was helping narrow down some of her options.
“Now let’s go back to the beginning,” she said, reaching for the first sketches she showed him. “Why did you choose the strapless minidress over the leopard-print one?”
He blinked at her a few times.
“You don’t have to use any fancy fashion terms,” she explained. “Just tell me what you like about this dress in your own words. The color? The shape? A certain detail?”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to have a reason.” He shrugged and smirked. “I just kept going back and forth between what was in your left hand and what was in your right.”
“Out!” Emma screamed. She couldn’t believe he lured her into his little game. “Get out of here.”
Will danced a victory dance, a cross between a winning-touchdown celebration and the jig of the Lucky Charms guy. “Already gone.” He flashed a satisfied smile as he left the room.
Emma flopped back against her pillows, spreading her arms wide. She imagined herself in a charming design studio in Paris—black-and-white toile wallpaper and hot-pink velvet sofas—a place where fashionable ideas flowed. Not in a messy apartment with an annoying brother. But that wasn’t going to happen. At least not tonight.
I need ideas that are striking, she thought, things that will put Allegra Biscotti on the fashion map. Her designs had to live up to what Paige said in her blog about Allegra’s designs being “fresh,” “playful,” and “imaginative.”
It was weird. She’d never thought that she was designing the way Paige Young had said. She just designed what she wanted from things she saw that inspired her, made her curious, or—like when she played the Game—made her want to redo something her way. Sometimes she just fell in love with a fabric or a color—or a button made of dozens of tiny pink and red rhinestones. It was never a conscious thing. Her designs just sort of happened.
She hated feeling like this, so unsure, so nervous.
She raised her head. I never feel like that when I’m making things for myself, she realized. I need to concentrate on what I think, what I like, what makes me happy.
She was determined to come up with something—something that would be fun to create.
Chapter 9
Night Below The Surface
The usual amount of school-assembly chaos greeted Emma as she walked into the auditorium for last period. All the students, as well as the whole faculty and most of the staff, were packed into the room, and everyone seemed be taking full advantage of the minutes before the program started—something about a new eco-friendly initiative Downtown Day was launching—to socialize at top volume.
Two days had passed since Paige had asked Allegra for clothes for the photo shoot, and Emma still hadn’t come up with any fabulous fashion-forward ideas. Not even any semi-fabulous ones.
Emma scanned the crowd looking for Holly. Holly had texted her that morning, saying Emma should sit with her—not us. Emma wondered if that was her way of apologizing for the Bloomingdale’s Incident. She hoped so. She could use some friendship repair time, just her and Holly.
She spotted the back of Holly’s head about halfway down the aisle and hurried toward her. She stopped when she saw Ivana’s trademark red hair. Holly sat next to Ivana. And Lexie, Shannon, and Kayla. Unreal, Emma thought, trying to figure out what Holly was up to. There was no seat for her.
Why did Holly bother asking me to sit next to her if she was just going to sit with them? Emma wondered. She shifted on her feet, not knowing where to go. Somehow she was the only one standing in the aisle. Everyone else was already slumped in a seat.
Emma felt her confusion harden, tighten into anger.
“Holly,” she called through gritted teeth. “Holly!”
Holly finally turned and waved. As if nothing was wrong. Emma tried to call up the nerve to just walk away. To leave Holly. Instead, she stood, frozen in the aisle, completely awkward, as she waited for Holly to scurry across the row.
“Sorry, Em. The seat thing kind of just…happened,” Holly whispered, anxiously glancing over toward Ivana and the ’Bees to see if they were watching her.
She’s actually nervous to be seen talking to me? The sitting-together thing was her idea. And now there’s nowhere for me to sit at all. Emma wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. Mean-girl comebacks weren’t her thing. She could never achieve the right withering tone and stance. But she either had to let Holly have it or walk away or—
“Oops! I left my bag over there by mistake,” Holly said strangely loudly as she walked a few rows back. She reached across a couple of seats and plucked her bag off an empty chair. Then she motioned Emma. “Em, you should sit here.”
Emma so wanted to tell Holly where she should sit. Then Emma saw the seat Holly was pointing to. It was right next to Jackson.
“Two-minute warning, people!” Vice Principal Manning’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers. “Please start settling down. We’re going to start as soon as we get our video equipment running.”
Emma glanced around quickly. Every seat in this part of the auditorium was taken. Except that one. Jackson was too busy reading a book to notice that she and Holly were even standing there. What if Jackson is saving this seat for someone else…like Lexie? But no, Lexie was in her rightful place on the other side of Ivana.
Holly nudged her with her foot and nodded, then hurried back to her own spot.
Emma felt her feet carrying her toward Jackson before her brain could formulate a plan. She gingerly slid into the maroon fabric seat next to him. Had Holly been planning for Emma to sit next to Jackson all along? Was this Holly’s wacky way of making up? Emma considered the possibilities as the vice principal and some other staff members huddled around the tech table. They didn’t seem to be making much progress.
She finally let herself glance quickly to the left. That’s not the inside of a biology book, Emma thought. She craned her neck to get a better peek. Now she could see exactly what he was so interested in. A comic book hidden inside the textbook. A second later, Clayton Vanderbeck, one of the guys on the soccer team, reached across Emma from behind and snatched the comic out of Jackson’s hands.
“Hey, give it back, Vanderbeck!” Jackson demanded.
“No way, dude!” Clayton replied.
Emma noticed Lexie twisting around to see what was going on behind her. She watched as Lexie’s eyes shifted from Jackson to Emma sitting beside him and back to Jackson again. She whipped around to whisper something to Ivana. Then the two of them turned to look. Emma slid down in her seat to avoid two sets of icy stares. Will they please start the stupid assembly already?
“Come on, Clay,” Jackson said. “You can have it when I’m done.”
“No, you can have it when I’m done,” Clayton quipped, settling himself comfortably in his chair and opening the stolen book to the first page.
Jackson grumbled something under his breath. His leg bounced up and down as he patted his thigh with his hand. Emma didn’t dare look over, but she bet he was biting his lip. Without warning, Jackson lunged across Emma to grab his book back from Clayton.
The edge of his forest-green shirt brushed her cheek, and she got a faint whiff of something that smelled unfamiliar yet pleasant. It took her a second to realize that the scent came from Jackson. The part of Emma’s face where his shirt had touched suddenly tingled. Now she had another Real Jackson detail to add to her slowly growing inventory: Jackson smelled awesome!
“Sorry ’bout that,” Jackson said.
Shocked by the sound of his voice, Emma glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at her, so she wasn’t one hundred percent sure he was even speaking to her.
“No worries,” she croaked.
“Did you finish your world history paper yet?” he asked, his face buried in his comic book.
“Sort of,” she said. Then she panicked. That sounded like she was ending the conversation. That was the last thing she wanted. So she quickly added, “I’m probably about halfway through. I need to finish it tonight since it’s due tomorrow.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
Now what? Emma wondered. She focused her eyes on the comic book. “What are you reading, I mean, instead of studying for bio?”
Jackson finally looked at her with his sky-blue eyes, sending an electric current through Emma. He reached across with his left hand to rake his brown wavy hair away from his face, but it just flopped forward again, covering his right eye.
“It’s a graphic novel called Night below the Surface.” Despite the ruckus of the auditorium, his voice was soft and low, as if he were sharing a very special secret only with Emma. “It’s kind of a series. I’m pretty into it. This is the second one—it just came out.”
Emma could hardly believe she was having a real live conversation with Jackson. She had to keep it going as long as possible. Who knew when an opportunity like this would come up again?
“Sounds interesting. Can I see?”
“Sure.” He handed it to her. “You into graphic novels?”
“No—well, not yet.” Emma flipped through the pages. The illustrations were in black, white, and charcoal gray with touches of various shades of blue and yellow here and there… they were dark and dramatic but beautiful. “What’s it about?”
Jackson shifted around to lean forward on the armrest between them to get a better view of the pages. They weren’t touching, but they were close enough—the closest she had ever been to him—to make Emma’s heart start pounding wildly, maybe even loudly enough for him to hear. Luckily, the noise level in the auditorium was still pretty high.
The Allegra Biscotti Collection Page 9
