“So now we lie here and work on our tans, while the rest of our class has to look for stupid pond insects and listen to more stupid Walden,” says Ashley.
The tension in the air breaks and we all laugh.
“Lucky us,” says Cassidy.
“What’s the deal with the farm anyway, Jess? Is your family really going to sell?” asks Jen.
Jess nods unhappily. “Right after school gets out, unless there’s a miracle.”
I explain to them about the secret fund to try and save Half Moon Farm.
“Wait a minute—you mean to tell us you four thought you were going to save the farm with your babysitting money?” Becca scoffs.
“And dog-walking,” Jess replies defensively.
“And tutoring kids like your klutz of a brother at the rink,” adds Cassidy.
“Hey, you bought one of my dresses for Spring Fling,” I point out.
“I know, but come on, you guys, can’t you think any bigger than that?” says Becca.
“Bigger how?” Emma wonders.
“Well, if my mother were here, she’d say shoot for the top,” Becca explains. “I know you all think my mother is crazy and weird, and okay, sometimes she is, but she’s also really, really good at thinking big. Remember that library renovation a couple of years ago?”
Emma nods slowly. “Yeah, I remember my mom saying something about her helping with the fundraising for that.”
“Helping with it?” Becca snorts. “It was my mom’s baby from start to finish.”
“It was not!” Emma retorts. “The library staff did most of the work.”
“Hey, guys, truce, remember?” says Ashley.
“So we get it, your mom is good at thinking big,” says Cassidy. “So you think we should brainstorm something big.”
Becca nods.
“Maybe we could write to some famous movie stars and ask them for donations,” says Jen. “They’ve got lots of money.”
We all groan.
“At least she’s thinking in the right direction,” Becca notes. “She’s shooting for the top, like my mother says.”
“Well then, how about asking some country stars to give a concert?” says Ashley. “You know, like singers and rock stars are always doing to raise money for global warming and starving kids in Africa and stuff. Didn’t they do one called ‘Farm Aid’?”
“Nashville might not be so flattered that you named your chickens after them,” I tell Jess.
“She did what?” A smirk hovers on Becca’s lips.
“It was my mother’s idea,” Jess explains. “She’s a big country music fan.”
“Maybe I should call you Chicken Girl instead of Goat Girl,” says Becca.
Cassidy pokes her in the ribs.
“I’m kidding! Can’t any of you take a joke?” Becca rolls back over on the sand and we’re all quiet again. After a while, she sits up. “You know, what Ashley said about Farm Aid and movie stars is giving me an idea. What if you guys put on a fashion show? As a fundraiser, I mean. Emma, you and I could write about it for that article Ms. Nielson is making us do for the Woodsman, and Megan, you could call Flashlite and see if maybe they want to write about it when they interview you.”
I sit up too. So does everyone else.
“Wow,” I say.
“That is a seriously great idea,” agrees Ashley, and Emma and Jen both nod enthusiastically too.
“Score, Chadwick!” says Cassidy.
“Do you really think it could work?” Jess looks around at all of us, her expression hopeful.
“Of course it could work,” snaps Becca, sounding a lot like her mother. Softening her tone, she continues, “I mean, why not? It could be really big. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘CONCORD TEENS SAVE HISTORIC FARM WITH FASHION SHOW!’ ”
“I could handle the publicity,” says Emma, getting excited. “My dad gets press releases from publishers all the time about the books he reviews, and I’m sure I could use one as a guideline. We could probably get some newspapers to cover the show, and maybe even a few TV and radio stations.” She glances quickly at me. “I mean, it worked for your mom and everything, with the, uh, tree house, even if her plan didn’t quite take off.”
“That’s because it was a lamebrain idea, just like most of the ideas she comes up with,” I reply.
“Handcuffs Wong,” says Cassidy quietly.
Ashley snickers. So does Jen. Emma and Jess are both trying hard not to. Becca and I exchange a glance. My lips start to twitch. So do hers. She smiles, and I smile back, and her smile gets bigger and bigger until it’s so wide her braces flash in the sun. Suddenly we’re all howling with laughter. We laugh so hard we wake up Mr. Hawthorne, who gets up and moves to a tree a little farther away.
Becca leans over and gives me a hug. “I’m really, really sorry I hurt your feelings, Megs,” she says. “I shouldn’t have made fun of your mother like that.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, and this time I mean it.
“Your mom’s heart was in the right place,” Jess says to console me. “It really meant a lot to us that she was willing to do that to help try and save the farm.”
“I just wish it had worked,” I reply.
“Well, the fashion show is going to,” promises Cassidy. “But we’d better get busy. We don’t have much time to pull this off.”
CASSIDY
“It is ever so much easier to be good if your clothes are fashionable.”
—Anne of Green Gables
“Will the meeting of the Half Moon Farm Fashion Fundraiser please come to order,” says Emma, knocking on the windowsill to get our attention.
She’s perched on the circular window seat in my turret room, notebook open and pen in hand. Emma can be kind of prissy sometimes. But at least one of us is organized. I’m lounging on the floor alongside Jess and Murphy, my dog, while Megan and the Fab Three are up on the window seat with Emma. It’s the first time Becca and Jen and Ashley have ever been up here, and they’re squealing like piglets about the view, and how cool the old windows are, with their diamond-shaped crisscross pattern, and about how much they wish they had turrets too.
It’s an awesome room, that’s for sure. I didn’t like this old Victorian much when we first moved here from California two years ago. Mostly because I was homesick for Laguna Beach, where we used to live when Dad was alive. Now I can’t imagine living anyplace else. For one thing, my mom is really good at making things homey. Plus, how many houses are there in this world with actual turrets? It’s too bad they went out of style. Every house should have a turret.
My mom looked surprised to see the Fab Three on our doorstep after school, but we told her we were working together on a project for the school newspaper. Which is technically true, since Ms. Nielson is making me and Emma and Becca work on that article about Megan.
We told Ms. Nielson about our idea for the fundraiser and swore her to secrecy, since we don’t want to tell our parents about it yet. Especially not Mrs. Chadwick. Despite all of our apology notes and favors, Becca’s mother hasn’t entirely forgiven us. My mother says it’s a mama-bear thing. I guess she still sees us as a threat to her cub. At any rate, when Becca first told her about being forced to work together with Emma, Mrs. Chadwick was not happy about it one bit. She marched right down to the school and demanded to talk to Ms. Nielson. Emma heard her parents discussing it afterward—I guess Mrs. Chadwick called Mrs. Hawthorne and gave her an earful—and Emma’s dad said he was glad somebody in town finally stood up to the old battleax. Ms. Nielson wouldn’t give an inch. She said if Becca didn’t want to work with Emma that was fine, but she would have to resign from the newspaper. Becca didn’t want to do that, of course, so Mrs. Chadwick had no choice but to back down.
Ms. Nielson told us she was okay with us keeping the fundraiser a secret for now. She’s pretty cool, for an English teacher.
“But you have to promise me you’ll give your parents plenty of advance notice,” she’d said. “Especially since you’re planning t
o put it on at Half Moon Farm.”
We all promised. We explained that mostly we just wanted to see if the whole idea was even possible first. We didn’t want to get everyone all excited and then find out that people thought it was a stupid idea and that Flashlite and the newspapers weren’t interested in covering it. Amazingly, though, it looks like they are. The people at Flashlite were wild about the idea when Megan called and told them about it, and we’ve already gotten nibbles from the Boston Post and a couple of the local TV stations.
The truce is working pretty well so far too. Not perfectly, but I can tell Megan’s relieved that we’re all sort of getting along. It probably wasn’t much fun being stuck in the middle of everything. She seems a whole lot happier since our field trip.
“So,” says Emma, once everybody is settled. “Can we have an update on publicity?”
“I got the Concord Journal and the Lexington Minuteman to agree to run ads for the show for free,” I report.
Jen holds up a big piece of paper. “I finished the poster. I thought we could make copies and hang them up around town.”
“Wow,” says Jess.
“No kidding,” Emma agrees.
Megan was right—Jen really is a good artist. The background is a dark purple sky sprinkled with stars, and she drew this big moon that looks like a spotlight shining down on the barn. There’s a silhouette of a model standing in the doorway, striking a pose, and a hand-lettered banner above her reads COME TO A FASHION FUNDRAISER AND HELP SAVE HISTORIC HALF MOON FARM!
“And I’ve got the press release almost finished,” Emma says. “Stewart said he’d help proofread it before I send it out.” She turns a little pink when she says this last part. Weird. But before I can think any more about it, Megan pulls out a stack of pictures.
“The designers at Flashlite have almost finished the runway lineup,” she says. “Take a look and see what you think.” She passes the photos around and everybody oohs and aahs. Well, everybody but me. They just look like clothes to me.
“Since there are twelve outfits, you’ll each get to model twice,” Megan continues.
I frown. “Wait a minute—who said anything about modeling?”
“Who else did you think was going to do it?” says Emma. “Murphy?”
Hearing his name, my dog cracks open an eye and wags his tail.
“No way,” I tell them. “Not even for Half Moon Farm. Sorry, Jess.”
Megan sighs, and starts scratching something out in her sketchbook. “How about if I promise you’ll only have to wear pants, not dresses?” she asks.
“How about if you do it instead?”
“The designer never goes out on the catwalk,” Megan explains. “Except at the end, to take a bow. Besides, there’ll be way too much for me to do backstage.”
“Did you talk to the boys yet?” Ashley asks her.
She nods. “Well, Zach anyway. We saw him today after lunch. He’s going to talk to Ethan and Third, but we figured we’d start with him since he and Jess are friends.”
Becca’s mouth pinches up a little at this, but she doesn’t say anything. She still thinks Zach is her personal property.
“He wasn’t too wild about the idea, but we twisted his arm,” Jess says, tugging on the end of her braid. “He finally said okay, since it’s for a good cause. He’s going to talk to Ethan and Third. He said he didn’t think they’d want to be escorts, but he could probably talk them into being ushers.”
“And he knows it’s a secret, right?” asks Emma.
Jess and Megan both nod.
For some reason Megan thinks all of the models need to be escorted on and off the stage by guys in tuxedos. I think this is a ridiculous idea, but hey, it’s her show.
“Just as long as I don’t have to be up there with Tater,” says Becca.
“Maybe he’s not so wild about being up there with you, Metalmouth,” I tell her. Ethan is my friend, and somebody’s got to defend him.
“C’mon, you guys, you promised!” says Megan.
“Sorry,” I reply gruffly.
“So if Ethan and Third don’t go for the idea, who else could we ask?” Megan continues, tapping her sketchbook with her pencil.
“There’s always Kevin,” Jess suggests.
Nobody seems very excited at this idea.
“Kevin Mullins is a twerp,” says Becca flatly. “We’d get laughed off the stage.”
“I guess I kind of agree,” I add. “It would be like walking onstage with Dylan and Ryan.”
“How about I ask my brother?” says Emma.
She winks at Jess and I frown, wondering what that’s all about. Does Jess like Darcy? I just don’t get this whole crush thing. My mother says don’t worry, one of these days love will hit me over the head like a baseball bat, but that doesn’t sound like much fun. I’ve been hit in the head with a baseball bat before—accidentally, of course, during practice—and it hurts like heck. I’m happy to keep things just the way they are. I like just being friends with everybody. None of this boyfriend/girlfriend stuff for me.
“Perfect,” says Megan. “Now, how about seating?”
“Emma and I did a little rough measuring in the barn,” says Jess, “and we think we can probably fit a hundred people in there.”
“And if we charge ten dollars a seat—” Emma begins.
“Hold it right there,” says Becca. “Ten bucks? Are you kidding me? What happened to thinking big? Shoot for the top, remember? You should charge a hundred dollars.”
The turret falls silent.
“A hundred dollars a seat?” whispers Emma. “For our little fashion show?”
“Sure,” Becca replies. “I told you, my mother does these fundraiser things all the time around town. I’ve heard her talking about it to my dad and her friends—the more you charge, she says, the more exclusive it makes the event seem, and the more people will be falling all over themselves to get in.”
“A hundred seats at a hundred dollars apiece would be $10,000!” Jess calculates.
I give a low whistle. “Whoa!”
“And then on top of that, whatever we auction the outfits for,” says Ashley, getting excited. “We could raise a ton of money.”
“But what if nobody comes?” asks Megan, looking anxiously at her pile of photographs. “What if nobody bids on any of my designs?”
“Of course people are going to bid on them,” says Becca. “They’re awesome.”
One thing you have to say about Becca Chadwick—she’s got confidence.
“Becca’s right,” I announce. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in sports—when you decide to go for it, you have to give it all you’ve got. All those in favor of charging a hundred bucks per seat, raise your hand.”
Becca’s hand shoots up along with mine. She looks over at Jen and Ashley and narrows her eyes. They’re so used to doing whatever she says, they raise theirs, too.
“That seems like too much to me,” says Jess.
“Me too,” says Megan, shaking her head.
Emma bites her nails, undecided. I grab Murphy’s paw and hold it up.
“Majority rules!” I announce.
Emma takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says, jotting it down in her notebook. “A hundred dollars it is.”
Megan opens the gym bag on the window seat beside her. “Flashlite sent back some of my samples,” she says. “The finished products they’re working on will be a little different, of course, but this will still give you the idea.” The Fab Three start squealing again as she pulls out a pile of clothes.
“Can we try them on?” begs Becca.
“Sure,” says Megan.
“You can change in my room,” I tell Becca, and she and Ashley and Jen rush out of the turret.
“Do you really think this is going to work?” asks Megan, sounding worried. “I mean, a hundred dollars a seat is a heck of a lot of money.”
“Absolutely,” I tell her, with more confidence than I feel. “It’s like hockey. You just h
ave to skate out there with everything you’ve got. No point holding back. If you’re going to fall, fall big, Coach Danner always says.”
“I wasn’t really planning on falling,” mutters Megan, still looking worried.
Becca and Jen and Ashley reappear and twirl around the turret. From the grin on Becca’s face I can tell she likes her outfit. She’s not even bothering to try and hide her braces. I guess it’s nice—it’s a pair of black jeans, with a long-sleeved, black-and-white swirly-patterned shirt thing on top. There’s a band of black ribbon around the neckline and under what my mother always refers to as “the bustline.” And there’s a ruffle of black-and-white fabric in a different print around the bottom hem of the shirt.
“Cute babydoll!” Jess nods approvingly.
“Huh?” I say.
“That style with the Empire waist is called a ‘babydoll,’” Megan explains.
I’m still mystified. Umpire waist? Who’d want to look like an umpire? Or a doll, let alone a baby one? This fashion stuff is beyond me.
“I love this one, Megan!” says Jen, stroking the bright orange and yellow stripes on her sundress. There’s not much to it—just a tube of fabric that flares out at the bottom at her knees, like an upside-down ice cream cone, and two strappy things that go around her neck and tie in back. “This halter style is really popular right now.”
Halter as in horse? I wonder, frowning. I look over at Jess, tempted to ask her. If it has to do with animals, she’s the expert. But I don’t want to say anything stupid—not in front of Becca Chadwick.
Ashley is wearing a dress too, but hers is obviously designed for winter. The bottom part of it is solid red wool or some sort of warm-looking fabric, and the top is a white satiny material with little red heart-shaped polka dots all over it.
“Wow!” says Jess. “Nice dress. For Valentine’s Day?”
Megan nods.
“And that cherry red looks really pretty with your hair, Ashley,” adds Emma.
Ashley does have nice hair. Even I’ve noticed that. Her family adopted her from Guatemala when she was a baby, and her hair is really glossy dark brown. It goes just right with her skin, which looks tan all year round. I would kill for skin like that. My mother is always slathering me with sunscreen, which I hate, but which is actually probably a good idea since I burn like crazy. My mother says all redheads do, and that my dad was the same way.
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