“Just out of curiosity, what did you name the exhibit?” I asked Gil.
“Name?” he repeated.
“You know . . . how artists name a painting so people can understand what they’re expressing,” I said. “Like van Gogh’s Starry Night.”
Gil raised an eyebrow. “You never cease to amaze me. I wouldn’t see you as an art buff.”
I blushed. “Well, I don’t know the names of all the great works, but art and fashion design are kind of the same. You start with an idea, jot some things down on paper, and bring it to life.”
“Like writing books,” said a voice next to me. “Seriously, how can you not appreciate them more?”
I rolled my eyes and turned to face Tim. “What are you doing here?”
“I appreciate art in all its forms,” he said, gazing down his nose at me. “What are you doing here?”
“Gil entered the exhibit, and I’m here to support him,” I said. “To stay by his side no matter what.”
A couple approached Gil’s exhibit, and I pushed him toward them. “Go!”
“Hey!” He dug in his heels. “What are you doing?”
“Stand by your exhibit and talk about it,” I told him.
Gil tugged on the bottom of his shirt to straighten it and approached the couple, rubbing his hands together.
“He looks like he’s trying to start a fire,” said Tim. “Are you sure he’s going to be okay on his own?”
“He’ll be fine,” I said.
Except he wasn’t. As soon as he started explaining his photos, the couple wandered away.
“Rude,” I said with a frown.
A man in a pinstripe suit strolled by and stopped to look at the photos. Gil tried his speech again, but as soon as he’d said one word, the man looked him up and down and kept on strolling.
“Hey!” I said.
Tim shushed me. “People don’t have to like the photographs.”
“But they don’t have to be rude to the photographer,” I said.
Poor Gil was shifting from one foot to another, shoulders hunched, staring at the carpet.
“Hey, look, a camera crew,” said Tim. “And they’re coming this way!”
“Yeah, they’ve been by here already,” I said, glancing over. But this time a woman with a microphone was with them. “Oh, this is perfect! She can interview Gil.”
I waved to get his attention and pointed out the reporter. Then I pulled myself to my full height. Gil nodded and did the same, standing next to his exhibit with his hands behind his back.
The reporter strolled sideways while she held the microphone and talked at the camera.
“They’re almost here!” I whispered, clutching Tim’s wrist.
“For someone who gets stage fright, you’re alarmingly excited,” he said.
“That’s because . . . Wait—” The camera once again stopped right before it reached Gil. The reporter started walking back from where she came, still talking.
Gil’s mouth opened and closed, but he seemed at a loss for words.
I sure wasn’t.
“Hey,” I said, hurrying after the news crew. “Why are you ignoring my friend?”
They didn’t hear me.
“Hey!” I said again. “HEY!”
The cameraman and reporter jumped and turned around in alarm. So did everyone else in the room.
“You missed a great exhibit on the end,” I said, pointing at Gil’s. “Why don’t you want it on the news?” I looked at the cameraman.
Tim cleared his throat. “Uh . . . V?”
“Is it because a kid submitted it and you don’t think it’s worthy?” I continued.
“V . . . ,” said Tim.
“Let me tell you something”—I pointed my finger at the reporter—“my friend’s work is amazing and meaningful. It’s about where life begins and where it ends. It’s special to him, but you act like it doesn’t matter.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You seem very passionate about this.”
That’s when I noticed she was holding the microphone out to me. And that the camera’s light was blinking.
I was on TV.
I froze for just a second, but then I saw Gil out of the corner of my eye, watching me with a hopeful expression.
I nodded and took a deep breath, keeping my eyes on the woman. “Just because we’re younger, people treat us like we don’t know anything, like we’ve never experienced life,” I said. “But we’ve felt emotions, and we’ve seen beauty, and we know what we like. Take my friend Katie Kestler . . .” I stopped. “Well, my former friend Katie Kestler. I kind of ruined things by—”
Tim prodded me in the back.
I looked at him. “Right. Not the point.” I faced the reporter. “Anyway, Katie is a brilliant fashion designer, and she’s smart and professional, but because she’s only twelve, nobody takes her seriously. And nobody takes Gil seriously.” I pointed to him, and the camera panned over.
Gil’s eyes widened, and he waved nervously.
“Could you please just film maybe five seconds of his photo entry?” I asked the cameraman.
“No, he may not,” said a woman’s voice. “And I shall tell you why.”
Everyone, including the cameraman, turned toward the old woman with the pinched face who I’d seen earlier.
“I have specifically requested that exhibit not be filmed because it will belong to me.” She gestured to Gil. “If, of course, you are willing to sell it.”
Gil squeaked. I translated. “You want to buy his work?” I asked.
The old woman laughed airily. “Don’t sound so surprised. Weren’t you just praising its merits?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “But . . .” There wasn’t anything to argue. I grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
The camera swiveled back to the reporter, who smiled broadly and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the people have spoken and been heard. A photographer was noticed for being a talent, not a teen. This is Allison Delaney reporting live from the civic center for Channel Five News.”
The light on the camera stopped blinking, and the cameraman lowered it to his side. The reporter turned and extended her hand to me.
“Thank you for turning a boring news segment into something delightful,” she said.
I shook her hand, and then she waved to Gil. “Best of luck to you.”
“Thank you!” he said.
As soon as she walked away, Gil hurried over and high-fived me and Tim.
“Holy cow, can you believe it?” he asked, laughing. “I never in a million years would’ve guessed today would turn out this way.”
“Yeah, I don’t think Stefan did either,” said Tim, nodding toward the opposite side of the room.
Our lead photographer stood scowling with his arms crossed next to a photo of himself with his arms crossed.
“I think they call that a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Tim added.
The three of us snickered.
“Vanessa.” Gil held his arms open to me. “Thank you for talking me into doing this. And for convincing me to wear a different shirt.”
I laughed and leaned into his bear hug. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you were brave enough to try the exhibit and the shirt.”
“I hate to ask,” said Gil, stepping back, “but would you be okay if I disappeared for a bit? My parents are talking to the woman who wants to buy my work.”
Tim nudged my arm. “My dad and I can give you a ride home if you need one.”
“Thanks.” I nodded and smiled at Gil. “You’re off the hook!”
He grinned his dimply grin. “I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you how it went.” He waved to me and Tim and then trotted off.
“He couldn’t see this coming in a million years,” I told Tim, “yet he writes our horoscopes section.”
Tim snorted. “I told you those things are bogus. So, are you going to tell Brooke and Heather about your moment in the spotlight?”
“Actually,” I said with a grin, “I think I�
��m going to let them watch it for themselves.”
CHAPTER
15
Trip or Treat
It was incredibly hard to keep everything a secret, but luckily, or unluckily, I had Katie to preoccupy my mind. Only a grand gesture would convince her to be my friend again. What could I do?
When I got to Heather’s soon-to-be-haunted house for Musketeer Movies, I asked her the same thing, but only after promising not to walk past the front sitting room. The TV had been rolled in on a cart, and there were already drinks and boxes of Chinese food waiting for us.
“The props and decorations for the party are spread all over the rest of the house,” she explained. “I want it to be a surprise.”
“Got it,” I said with a wink. “Now about Katie . . .”
“A grand gesture . . .” Heather plopped down on a couch. “Do you have any connections in the fashion industry that can get her career going?”
I raised an eyebrow. “If I did, you don’t think I’d use them myself?”
She nodded. “Fair point. Does she have a dying family member?”
I made a face. “Geez, I hope not! Why?”
“Well, a grand gesture could be to support her during a time of crisis.” She held up a finger. “But don’t create a time of crisis.”
“Please. I’m not Brooke,” I told her.
“Good to know there’s only one of me,” said Brooke from the doorway.
“Hi!” Heather greeted her. “Don’t go any farther than this room.”
She glanced at the curtained-off entrance to the dining room. “Dragons?”
Heather shrugged. “You never know.”
“What are we talking about?” asked Brooke, settling down to pour herself a soda.
“Huge gestures that V can do to convince Katie to be her friend,” said Heather.
Brooke nodded and slurped up the fizz at the top of her cup. “Just make sure that whatever you do doesn’t affect the advice column.”
I made a face. “You sound like Mary Patrick.”
“It is almost Halloween,” she said. “How do you know I’m not her in disguise?” Brooke wiggled her eyebrows.
“Since we’re all here,” I said, pulling out my phone. “I wanted to show you guys something that I saw on the news last night.”
Brooke and Heather stared in confusion but moved in on either side of me as I pulled up Channel Five’s video links.
“The news?” asked Brooke. “You’re not eighty.”
I grinned and turned up the volume. “Just watch.”
An image of the civic center appeared on the screen.
“Oh, the photo exhibit that Gil entered!” said Heather. “Is he on here?”
Brooke shushed her, and the three of us sat in silence as Allison Delaney from Channel Five News appeared in front of a row of exhibits.
My heart pounded as she walked and the camera followed, stopping just to the left of Gil. The camera turned away, and then . . .
“AAAAAAAH!” Brooke and Heather screamed the minute I appeared on-screen.
Totally worth the wait.
I paused the video and held up my arms. “Ta-da!”
“V! You’re on TV!” cried Heather, pointing repeatedly at the screen.
“How did you . . .” Brooke gaped at me. “You’re terrified of cameras! What were you doing there?”
“Watch.” I unpaused the playback, and the recorded version of me asked, “Why don’t you want it on the news?”
In the background, recorded Tim said, “Uh . . . V?”
Brooke and Heather squealed. “Tim!”
I put a finger to my lips, and we all listened to my impassioned speech. When I glanced at Brooke and Heather, they were leaning forward, hanging on every word. As soon as the reporter signed off, Brooke hug-tackled me.
“I’m so proud of you!” she shrieked. “You got over your stage fright.”
Heather, who’d managed to calm down a bit, waited for Brooke to back away before giving me a hug of her own.
“I’m proud of you too,” she said with a squeeze. “And as for a grand gesture to Katie? I’m pretty sure that was it.” She nodded to my phone.
My jaw dropped. “I didn’t even think about that! It was, wasn’t it?”
Brooke hooted. “Oh yeah. If Katie can’t forgive you after you promoted her on the five o’clock news . . .”
“V was on the five o’clock news!” cheered Heather.
The excitement was overwhelming. “Woo-hoo!” I leaped off the couch and punched the air.
“And she jumped off furniture and didn’t hurt herself!” added Brooke.
“And since I’m full of surprises today . . .” I reached into my bag and pulled out a receipt, handing it to Heather.
“What’s that?” asked Brooke, craning her neck to see.
“A favor for Heather, since she did such a huge favor for me during the advice-off.”
Heather stared at the receipt. “A week of Irish folk dance lessons . . .” She gave me a confused look.
“I joined your class, lassie!” I said with a wink.
Heather gasped and hugged me again. “Yay!”
Brooke still looked lost. “What class?”
I made a face. “Oops. I forgot that was supposed to be a secret!” I shrugged at Heather. “Sorry.”
She waved away my apology. “It’s fine. Are you really coming with me?”
“Of course! It’s the least I can do,” I said.
Brooke stamped her foot. “What is happening?!”
Heather blushed and told Brooke her surprise for the Halloween party.
“I know it’s silly,” she said. “But I’m really trying to immerse myself in the culture.”
“I think it’s great,” Brooke assured her. “Have you learned any moves yet?”
“A couple,” Heather admitted. Then she stood and stepped back a few paces to demonstrate.
“That looks so cool,” I said as she shifted from foot to foot.
Brooke stood next to Heather and watched her movements, trying to imitate her.
I burst out laughing. “You look like you stepped in something that you’re flinging across the room.”
Brooke beckoned me over. “Let’s see you try.”
I joined in on Heather’s other side and gave it my best shot. From the snorts of laughter all three of us made, I definitely wasn’t any better.
The following afternoon, I went with Heather to her step-dancing class as promised and also enjoyed being a minor celebrity on the internet . . . in a good way. The news footage of me and Gil was quickly making its way around my classmates’ social media. By Monday morning, the link address was even taped up in Locker 411 with an accompanying note: A star is born!
So I was deeply confused when Katie refused to meet my eye every time I passed her in the hall. And I made it a point to pass her a lot.
“How can she still be mad at me?” I asked my friends at lunch.
“At this point, I’d say her loss.” Tim waved a dismissive hand. “You put in more than enough effort.”
Brooke and Heather agreed, and to keep my mind off it, I went with Heather to another step dancing practice that afternoon. While we were waiting for her mom to pick us up, Heather asked, “I know it’s last minute, but can you help me work on my costume?”
I looked up from the boot I was lacing. “I thought Katie was doing that.”
Heather shrugged. “She told me something came up. And we were almost done!”
I shook my head. “There’s something wrong with that girl. But sure, I’ll help.”
Heather’s costume and the dance lessons were a good distraction for both of us, since we weren’t getting to work on the advice column. Every day that week, I was tempted to ask Mary Patrick if I could read what Katie had turned in, but something told me that snooping wouldn’t be the best way to get back on Katie’s good side. Even though Tim said I should just move on, I still kind of hoped we’d be friends again.
Finally, finally, it was Saturday, and time for the Schwartzes’ Halloween party!
Mom dropped me off in front of their house, which was nestled in a sea of fog. Gravestones were scattered all over the front yard, and an owl with glowing yellow eyes watched us from a tree.
“Oh my,” she said. “The Schwartzes went all out.”
I opened the car door. “Yeah, they always—”
“BRAIIINS!” A bloodied zombie popped out from behind the tree, and I leaped back into the car with a shriek.
The zombie doubled over laughing. I realized it was Heather’s oldest brother, Max.
“Are you going to be okay in there, honey?” Mom asked me with an amused look.
“If I can make it to the front door,” I said, clutching my heart.
Max knocked on the car window. “Come on out. I won’t eat you. . . .” With a fiendish grin he added, “Yet.”
I glanced back at Mom, as if it might be the last time I ever saw her. “If I die, bury me in Prada.”
She blew me a kiss, and I climbed out of the car.
Max pointed toward the garage. “Stop by the funeral parlor first and get your photo taken in the coffin. The later it gets, the more crowded it gets. You might say”—he paused—“people are dying to get in there.”
Despite myself, I snort-laughed at his joke. “That was terrible.”
“There’s plenty more where that came from.” He winked at me and disappeared behind the tree to terrify the next partygoer.
“Vanessa Jackson!” Heather’s dad, dressed like a vampire, greeted me as I approached the garage. “Lovely to see you, dear. And what a pretty costume!”
He helped a guy dressed like a ninja into the coffin.
“Hi, Mr. Schwartz. Thanks! This place looks awesome.” I gestured at the decorations.
“We’ve had many years to perfect it,” he told me with a wink.
A guy in pirate garb stood over the coffin and took a picture of the “dead” ninja.
A door inside the garage opened, and a blast of music came out, along with Heather, wearing her Irish folk dancing costume.
“Daddy, Mom wants to know where you put—” She stopped when she saw me, and waved. “Hi, V! You look so cute!”
Vanessa's Fashion Face-Off Page 13
