“I do,” Chloe said quietly, looking warily at Lexie. “I always liked the Egyptian fashion and beauty idea. It’s different than what the other groups are doing, and I even started doing my own research on it.” She opened her notebook to reveal pages and pages of detailed notes. “The Egyptians thought makeup had magical power. We can write about religious and spiritual ways it was used. Plus did you know Cleopatra used to bathe in donkey’s milk to keep her skin soft?”
“What an ass!” Clayton joked.
“You know, we could totally do a PowerPoint about fashion,” Lexie said, acting as if this were the first time she heard the idea.
“Emma has sketches we can use.” Chloe leaned over and pulled the slate-blue brocade sketchbook off the top of Emma’s pile of books. She flipped through the pages, stopping at early sketches for flouncy baby-doll dress in pastel swirls. “Oh, pretty!”
“Wrong sketchbook!” Emma cried, startling Chloe as she snatched it away. Emma had sewn and featured that baby-doll dress in Allegra Biscotti’s holiday pop-up shop! She couldn’t risk Chloe or Lexie or anyone discovering Allegra’s designs in her sketchbook. “Sorry, they’re in here.” She opened her other sketchbook, this one with a turquoise cover. She hugged it close as she turned the pages, making sure not to show the designs she was using for the Goin’ Green fashion show.
Everyone liked her drawings, even Lexie. Emma agreed to do final ink versions for a visual timeline of Egyptian fashion. Chloe would handle a presentation of make-up and grooming. Marco offered to crush flowers to mix perfumes like the ones the Egyptians wore. Clayton took on researching the fashion of men, slaves, and gods. Lexie volunteered to create a new outline of all the material. Kayla said she’d work right alongside Lexie.
Emma couldn’t believe it. These sketches had saved her not once but twice! Both times her inspiration had been right in front of her.
Ms. Ling approved their new idea and they moved into overdrive, working for the first time as a group.
“Maybe this ship will stay afloat,” Emma told Marco.
“Ahoy.” Marco smirked then returned to chewing his pencil and taking notes.
“I got a sewing machine for Christmas,” Chloe announced after a while. “I can try to make one of Emma’s sketches. A super simple one.”
“Are you good at sewing?” Kayla asked.
“I’m learning,” Chloe admitted.
“If it’s going to be gross, forget it!” Lexie said.
“It won’t be gross. I—” Emma began to offer to do the sewing then stopped. She had six dresses to sew for the fashion show. She didn’t have time for one more. Also, if she did too good a job, the class would take notice and there was a chance that someone could discover her double life. “I sew, too. Chloe can call me for help or tips or whatever,” Emma offered. “She should go for it.”
“Thanks.” Chloe gave her a grateful smile.
“Just remember that it’s a history project, not a fashion show,” Lexie warned, narrowing her dark eyes at Emma and Chloe.
“We’re not confused,” Emma assured her. “Believe me, I know the difference.”
Oh, how she wanted to rub Lexie’s nose it in it! If only she could tell her that she was truly working on both—that she was about to film a real fashion show to be shown at the biggest fashion benefit in New York City.
Emma bit her tongue. Sometimes keeping the Allegra secret was impossibly frustrating.
* * *
Holly blew a bubble with her kiwi-strawberry gum and examined herself in the full-length mirror propped in the corner of Emma’s studio.
“Strike a pose. Raise your arms,” Emma commanded.
Immediately after school and throughout the weekend, she’d tackled all the sewing with Marjorie’s help, creating the high-necked gown in red, the one-shouldered gold gown, the green column, the gold tunic with the keyhole neckline (which turned out to be trickier than she’d anticipated). Plus the mini toga, and the boat-neck dress with side slits. The sewing went quickly—there was so much draping and tying thanks to the Egyptian influence that it was more about cutting and wrapping with fairly simple sewing. Monday afternoon she convinced Holly to call in sick to volleyball practice. As much as she loved her Girls, Emma needed a living, breathing model to show her how the clothes moved.
For the last hour, Holly had slipped on each outfit. Emma fixed hems and finished off seams. She adjusted zippers and closures, making sure the fabric didn’t bunch up or pull in any areas. She needed the fit to be perfect before she added the beads.
She gazed at the rows upon rows of egg cartons spilling over with beads in every size, shape, and color of the rainbow. Sparkly, smooth, faceted, flat, round, clear, pearly, creamy….
“All I have to do now is sew on a red crystal collar,” she said pointing to the first, simple gown, “and a spray of topaz crystals—” for what she still thought of as Francesca’s gown, “plus a collar in all these different shades of green glass beads, a smattering of red corona crystals, trimmed in delicate millefiori.”
The impossibility of all of this handwork was beginning to sink in. “And five more cuffs for three pairs total,” she added, holding up the one cuff that had taken her two hours to complete. “It will only take me…all year.” She looked at Holly and Marjorie with fear and desperation. “I used to not be able to say it, but I’m saying it now. I need serious help.”
“Count me out,” Marjorie said. “My eyes are too old and my hands are too stiff for that teeny, tiny hand sewing.”
“Don’t look at me!” Holly cried. “I hate crafty stuff.”
Emma sighed. Charlie and her Mom had no interest in beading. Francesca had tried earlier and sent all the beads scattering. Dad was too busy, and she’d sooner dial up Kate Middleton at the palace and ask her to bead before she’d dare ask Paige.
She was on her own.
“You are not going to believe who I saw downstairs,” Charlie said, as he entered the studio. “Jackson!”
Emma nearly spilled all her beads. “He was here? At Laceland.”
“Weird, huh?” Charlie shrugged. “He was just hanging about the lobby. I told him I was coming up to see you. I even asked if he wanted to come with me. Impressive of me, right?”
“And?” Emma tried to make sense of what Jackson was doing downstairs.
“He said no. Mumbled something about me being back and took off. Strange dude.” Charlie rolled his eyes.
“I need to call him.” Emma pulled out her phone.
“Wait up. Big news. We’re a go!” Charlie announced. “Paige said that we’re filming with Sven on Friday.”
“That’s not going to work.” Emma put down her phone and explained all the time she needed for the beading.
“The benefit is next week. Sven is hopping a plane to Los Angeles that night. It’s Friday or never,” Charlie said. “Maybe lose the beads?”
“No way!” Emma cried. The beads were the sparkle, the pizzazz, the bling. “They’re part of the ‘wow.’”
Charlie pointed to the clock. “You need the ‘wow’ now.”
“How wow now? Sounds like Dr. Seuss.” Holly blew another fruity bubble and shifted to avoid being stuck by the straight pins in the dress. “Em, can I go to the bathroom and get back into my jeans?”
“Of course.” Emma smoothed the fabric panel. When her hands were busy, she thought more clearly. “There has to be a way to do this. You’re good at solving problems, Charlie. How can I sew or glue on thousands of tiny beads really fast?”
“Sewing machine?”
“A sewing machine won’t work. They have to be put on the old-fashioned way. I can’t do that by myself,” Emma said, frustrated. “If there were three or four of me….”
“How about cloning?” Charlie offered.
“Yeah, right, or if I was part of triplets. Sewing sisters.”
“Sisters!” Charlie cried. “Do you remember in front of the movie theater?”
“Yes! That woman Adja! She h
ad sisters, and they all beaded. Charlie, you’re a genius!” Emma jumped up.
“I have mentioned that before.” Charlie gave a smug smile.
“Adja’s been beading in her village in Senegal since she was born. She’s expert at this.” Emma explained to Marjorie about Adja and the incredible jewelry she sold.
“Why do you think she’ll help?” Marjorie asked. “You don’t know her, and she doesn’t know you.”
Emma admitted the idea was a bit out there.
A lot out there.
“We need to find her.” Charlie began typing information into different Internet search engines. “We don’t have her phone number. We don’t know her last name. Nothing’s coming up.”
“She’s not going to pop up magically on a screen,” Emma said. “Close the computer, Charlie. Back to the movie theater!”
“Street vendors move around. She could be anywhere in this huge city,” Marjorie warned. “It’s cold outside. You’re better off staying put and coming up with another plan.”
“I’m already on Plan B, and I like Plan B. I’m not going to Plan C, whatever that is. Not yet.” Emma paced her small workspace. Her Girls wore the three longer dresses that Holly had tried on earlier. The shorter ones hung on a garment rack. She still needed to do some finishing work, but they looked really good. Emma knew, though, that they’d look so much better with the beads.
She needed to find Adja.
She stopped in front of her eight-foot-high inspiration wall. It was plastered with photos from fashion magazines, fabric swatches, snapshots of street fashion, and sketches she’d drawn. She unpinned a small, black-and-white photo of the old-time actress Audrey Hepburn. Audrey wore the elegant little black dress and long black gloves she’d made famous, and underneath the photo was her quote: “I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day, and I believe in miracles.”
Emma loved that quote.
“Audrey’s coming?” Charlie asked.
“She’s going to be my good-luck charm,” Emma said.
“Is she lucky enough to find one woman in a city of eight million?” Charlie asked.
Emma stared at Audrey’s sly smile and her glistening pearl necklace. Audrey looked confident, and that made Emma confident, too. “I believe she is. I believe Audrey will make miracles happen.” She tucked the photo into the pocket of her parka and grabbed Charlie’s hand. “Come on! I bet Adja’s waiting for us at the movie theater.”
* * *
“She’s not here,” Charlie said.
Emma stood in the exact spot where they’d met Adja. As darkness began to fall, she scanned the block of old brownstones, restaurants, and modern high rises. Except for two old ladies buying tickets, the movie theater was quiet at five o’clock on a weekday in January. Cars and taxis inched toward the Queensboro Bridge. Delivery guys holding plastic bags bulging with take-out containers took to their bikes for early dinner deliveries. A man wearing huge earmuffs walked a fat beagle in an argyle sweater. Three girls with plaid Catholic-school skirts peeking out from their parkas texted as they made their way down the street. No vendor tables were set up anywhere on the block.
“The vendors must’ve been a weekend thing, when the movies were busy,” Charlie said.
Emma groaned. She’d felt so strongly that she’d find Adja here again. “Maybe she’ll come back tonight?” she asked, hopefully.
“I cannot stay here for the night.” Francesca stamped her knee-high leather boots to keep warm. Emma’s dad had insisted that she and Charlie bring a grown-up with them in their search. Emma wasn’t sure Francesca truly qualified, but she was willing to pay for the taxi. “We should go back.” Francesca raised her arm to hail a taxi.
“Not yet!” Emma refused to give up so fast. “Maybe a doorman or a restaurant owner knows Adja.”
They wandered up and down the street, asking everywhere about the beaded jewelry vendor. No one remembered her. No one remembered any of the vendors. All they remembered was what was being sold on the tables—fake brand-name handbags, screen-printed T-shirts, carved-stone rings, posters of NYC tourist sites. Adja was lost in a nameless, faceless blur of foreign street vendors.
“What now? She could be selling her jewelry anywhere in the city,” Emma finally said.
“Forget New York! She could’ve gone back to Africa,” Charlie pointed out. “She said it wasn’t working out too well for her here.”
“You’re not cheering me up, Charlie,” Emma complained, as they climbed into a taxi. “So much for Audrey Hepburn bringing me luck.”
“My grandpapa, he says always, ‘You make your own luck in this world,’” Francesca replied.
“I don’t know about making luck,” Emma replied, as they pulled up to the front door of her building. Francesca would ride crosstown with Charlie to his apartment. “I do know that, even though you all tell me I have no choice, I won’t get rid of the beads. And if that means that I have to work like crazy to sew every little bead on with my own fingers, then that’s what I’ll do—or at least, exhaust myself trying!”
“Bead-iful speech,” Charlie quipped.
“You’ll see, Calhoun,” Emma promised, as she stepped out and the taxi pulled away.
By nine o’clock that night, she was on a roll and not even tired. She’d finished the timeline research for the Western Civ project, raced through her other homework, and was now carefully hot-gluing beads onto a leather strip for a second cuff.
One at a time, Emma sang to herself. One at a time.
All the beading she needed to do was overwhelming, if she thought about it. So, she decided, she wouldn’t think about it. She’d tackle it one bead at a time and see how much she could get through.
She’d brought home the green glass beads and converted her desk into a workspace. Slowly, row-by-row, she positioned each bead using her mom’s eyebrow tweezers, securing the bead before the dot of glue dried. Emma hoped she could sneak the tweezers back into her mom’s bathroom before she was found out.
One at a time.
Holly called. Emma put her on speaker, so she could stay in bead-mode.
“You’re not going to believe who I just talked to about you,” Holly whispered.
“Where are you? Why are you talking like that?”
“At Brownie Points, in the bathroom. Clayton invited me so I—”
“That’s so cool! That means he likes you,” Emma said.
“Maybe. I don’t know. There was a basketball game at St. James and Downtown Day won, so everyone came for dessert to celebrate.”
“Everyone meaning Ivana and her hive?” Emma concentrated on lining up tiny glass beads.
“Well, yeah,”—Holly hesitated and Emma felt bad. She knew Holly still wasn’t comfortable being friends with her and Ivana, knowing that the two of them were never, ever going to be friends—“Jackson is here, too. We spoke.”
“About me?” Emma stopped beading.
“You’d be proud, Em. Lexie was cozying up to him—that girl has no shame—and I pushed my way between them.”
“You rule, Holls.”
“I asked him why he was at Laceland today. He said he came to see you then changed his mind when he realized what was what.”
“What’s that mean?”
“No idea. You may not like it, but he said he’s over you.”
“Oh.” Emma’s stomach dropped, as if on a roller coaster loop. A boy was dumping her, before they ever truly went out. How sad was that?
“He said that you weren’t into him and now he’s finally got the message. He made it sound like it was your fault. I told him he was wrong, totally wrong, but Em, you’ve got to come over here now. It’s only a few blocks from your place.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, now! If you don’t, Lexie will swoop in for good. She’s already circling her prey. Just tell your parents you need to go to the corner store for something.�
��
Emma peeled a piece of dried glue from her thumb and stared at the beads covering only a quarter of the leather strip. The pattern was her modern take on hieroglyphics, ancient Egyptian writing.
“Em, come on!” Holly cried. “You won’t get caught. Say it’s a meeting for your group project—your mom will buy that. I told Jackson I was calling you. If you don’t come, it will be the ultimate blow off.”
Emma imagined Jackson sitting there, waiting for her, his longish hair falling into his blue eyes. Jackson who drew comics. Jackson who stared at her like she was someone special. If she went, they’d share the Brownie Supreme—two spoons.
If she went, her designs would have no beads. She’d be giving up on making The Allegra Biscotti collection gasp-worthy.
It wasn’t really a choice. She liked Jackson, but she loved fashion. As much as it pained her, she couldn’t have a famous fashion line and a boyfriend.
Not now, at least.
“Listen, Holls. I’m not coming,” Emma told her best friend. “Maybe Jackson’s better off with Lexie. She’ll go to basketball games and whatever.”
“Are you sure? I can put him off a bit. Hint to him about what you’re really doing—”
“No!” Emma wished she could explain to Jackson why she was acting this way. But she couldn’t. Allegra was a secret.
Emma turned back to the beads. One at a time. This cuff was the crowning touch on her modern Egyptian eco-bead-dazzled collection. This cuff would make the fashion world talk about Allegra Biscotti.
One at a time. That’s all she had time for right now.
CHAPTER 15
THE SEARCH
Emma pulled the comforter over her head and snuggled deeper into her pillow. Her father’s hand shook her shoulder. Still in a sleep fog, she heard his heavy footsteps cross her small bedroom and the window shade snap open. Bright light caused her to blink rapidly.
Something’s wrong, she realized instantly. The sun was never up when her alarm rang. When she slept through the alarm, Mom pounded on her door to get her to school. What was Dad doing here? Why was it daylight?
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