“Think she’ll believe it’s really from Allegra?” Charlie asked.
“I hope so. Maybe I’ll ask Francesca to give her a call later, just to follow up.”
Charlie made a sour face. “You sure that’s a good idea? The girl is gorgeous but a total loose cannon. Or however you say ‘loose cannon’ in Italiano.”
“I have another idea. I think Allegra should have a blog. It will help explain where she is and why she is too busy to see anyone.” Emma’s idea was partly inspired by StylePaige, which Emma had read faithfully since long before she’d known Paige.
“I’m all over that!” Charlie pulled his laptop out of his bag and immediately started it up. Once logged into the newly live Allegra Biscotti site, he began typing furiously. Then he tilted the laptop toward her. The brand-new blog’s headline read: Ciao from Allegra!
“What do you think?” Charlie looked proud.
“Works for me.”
“Now what?” Charlie poised his fingers over the keyboard. “I figure if we create a diary of Allegra’s European trip, maybe Rylan and her mom will be so impressed with all the important stuff she’s doing over there that they won’t complain too much when she doesn’t show up for the next meeting either.” Emma closed her eyes. If she were a worldly fashion designer jaunting across Europe, what would she blog about?
Ciao, bellas! Allegra here. Just met with a fabulous leather craftsman outside Florence. A true artisan. He makes the most sumptuous braided belts that I am hoping to include in an upcoming collection...
After Emma finished putting the finishing touches on the blog, she returned to the muslin mash-up of Rylan’s dress. “I am in so much trouble with this,” she moaned. “It will never fit her.”
“No, you’re not.” Charlie grinned like a girl on her first trip to Tiffany’s. “I came up with a plan to solve the measurement thing.”
“You did? What?” Emma squealed.
“It’s a little different. A little weird.” He lowered his voice. “Maybe even a little illicit.”
That was another favorite Charlie word: illicit. He used it as often as he could, usually to describe stuff that wasn’t illicit at all.
“Spit it out,” Emma insisted.
“Okay. But promise you won’t say anything. And remember that desperate times call for desperate measures.”
DESPERATE MEASURES
I can’t believe I’m seriously about to do this,” Emma . moaned as she peeked around the corner of the school’s narrow hallway the next afternoon. The arched entryway to the high-school half of the girls’ locker room was visible about halfway down. “I’m so not the breaking-and-entering type.”
“It’s not breaking and entering. You have the combo,” Charlie reminded her.
She glanced over at him. “Yeah. I still don’t want to know how you got that.”
“Probably just as well.” Charlie smirked.
Emma kept quiet as several high-school football players hurried past. One of them, a no-neck guy with a ruddy face, shot the younger kids a curious look. Emma dropped to one knee and fiddled with the laces of her retro canvas sneakers, hoping she looked natural. Seconds later, the athletes had disappeared out the exit at the far end of the hall.
“What am I going to say if someone catches me on the high-school side of the gym?” Emma asked as she stood.
“People cut through there all the time.” Charlie shrugged.
“I guess. But I don’t.” Still, Emma knew he was right. Downtown Day had begun as a much smaller school covering grades six to twelve. It had grown over the years, adding floors and wings to the original brick building. By the time the trustees had decided to split the grades into high school and middle school some years ago, there had been no more space for additions. That was why the two schools shared certain facilities, including the gyms and locker rooms. The latter had been split with only a half-wall separating them.
Due to the layout, entering the middle-school side of the locker room involved a long walk around the perimeter of the gym. Students weren’t supposed to take the shortcut through the high-school side, but many still did if they thought none of the faculty was watching.
“I don’t know why I listen to your crazy plans, anyway,” Emma remarked.
“Because I’m a genius mastermind,” Charlie reminded her. “Anyway, who else are you going to listen to? Of course, you could tell Rylan that Allegra had the brilliant idea to make her a caftan instead of a regular dress. My mom practically lives in those things, and I don’t think they require any measurements at all. Just a big blob of fabric. Preferably one with a hideous floral print that went out of style before anyone we know was born.”
“Okay, okay!” Emma giggled and poked him in the arm to shut him up. Then she peered around the corner again. A couple of high-school girls were just coming out of the locker room, so she drew her head back quickly.
“What’s the deal with Francesca, anyway?” Charlie continued. “Is she going to be hanging around Laceland all the time, or what?” “I don’t know. Why?”
Charlie lifted one shoulder. “As much as I hate to admit it, she’s just kind of...in the way,” he said. “I mean, how many times did she knock stuff over yesterday?”
Emma shot him a surprised look. “I thought you were two peas in a pod,” she said. “You both cause trouble wherever you go.”
“Funny,” Charlie said.
“She was fabulous on the phone with Rylan yesterday,” Emma reminded him. Francesca had phoned Rylan, checking to be sure she’d received “Allegra’s” text, calling the blog to her attention, and then listening to Rylan complain and murmuring sympathetically at the appropriate spots, often in Italian.
As Emma had expected, almost all of Rylan’s comments on the dress design involved hating her mother’s comments. Rylan wanted to veto them all and put the dress back the way it had been in the first place. Emma felt flattered. She’d known that dress would be perfect for Rylan. But she also knew that Signora Sinclare was not going to just disappear—or agree with her daughter.
Charlie grunted. “Okay, we need to focus on what we’re doing here.”
“What I am doing here,” Emma corrected him. She closed her eyes to try to calm herself, but all she could see was the proud grin on Charlie’s face the day before when he’d announced that he’d found out Rylan’s gym-locker number and combination.
“You what?” Emma had said. “Why?”
“It’s all part of my plan.” Charlie had rubbed his hands together. “See, I remembered that Rylan is on the high school’s tennis team.” He’d paused to grimace. “Actually I didn’t so much remember as get reminded. I overheard these guys drooling over how hot the entire girls’ team looked at their match over the weekend wearing their hot new uniforms. A couple of them mentioned Rylan specifically. I’ll spare you the details.”
“Thanks.” Emma had recalled noticing those uniforms, even though she rarely paid much attention to sports. Cute, scarlet-red tennis dresses, each with the team member’s name embroidered in white on the collar. She’d been impressed by the tailoring, which was way above the level of most sports outfits she’d ever seen.
“So my plan was born,” Charlie had continued. “I realized maybe you don’t need to actually measure Rylan herself. You just need the measurements off that tennis dress.”
Emma’s eyes had widened as she’d realized he was right. “Those dresses are fitted in the same basic places as the dress I’m supposed to be making for Rylan,” she’d mused. “If I can get those measurements, I should be able to get my dress close enough to get by at the first fitting...”
“Yo, Secret Agent Rose,” Charlie said, breaking Emma out of her fog. He stuck his head around the corner. “Looks like the coast is clear. Ready to go?”
“Not really,” Emma said. But she took a deep breath to swallow down her nerves and peeked around the corner again herself. “Come on, let’s stand closer to the doorway for a minute and listen. We should be able to
hear whether there’s anyone still inside.”
“You go.” Charlie gave her a little shove. “I don’t want to get a rep as someone who stands outside girls’ locker rooms.”
“Coward,” Emma muttered. She flipped open her bag and yanked out the tape measure she’d stuck in there that morning, along with a small pad of paper and a pencil. Stuffing it all into the back pockets of faded jeans that she had covered with a patchwork of plaid fabrics, she handed Charlie her bag.
“Good luck,” he said, slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you outside at the red bench, okay?”
“Okay.”
Emma sidled around the corner. The dank hallway was still empty. She paused for a moment in front of the arched entryway, holding her breath and listening. The old metal lockers in there made a terrible clang whenever they opened or closed, and the low-ceilinged locker room with its chipped tile floors was super-echoey. If someone was in there, it should be easy to hear.
But all she heard was silence. Taking a deep breath, Emma shot one last glance up and down the hallway and then darted inside.
She was in! The lights were off, but enough daylight filtered through the high, narrow frosted windows to let her see well enough. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the piece of paper where Charlie had scribbled the locker number and combination.
Number forty-two. She looked around and saw that the nearest locker was number six. Great. She was going to have to go in farther.
She crept through the narrow aisles until she finally found the right locker. Then, after another cautious glance around, she started working the combination. Thirty-seven left, fourteen right...Her fingers trembled so badly that she had to start again and again. But finally she heard the lock click.
CLANG! The sound of the locker door swinging open seemed to make as much noise as the subway clattering into the 34th Street station. Emma froze.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Emma started to feel a little light-headed and realized she’d forgotten to breathe. She blew out the breath she’d been holding and sucked in clammier, sweat-scented air. Yuck. The sooner she got out of here, the better.
The tennis dress hung neatly on a hook at the back of the locker. Emma grabbed it and laid it flat on the wooden bench, and then pulled out her tape measure and notebook. Rylan’s name, embroidered in snow-white thread, seemed to glow accusingly at her.
It took her only a few seconds to get the measurements she needed. As she’d suspected, they were off more than a bit from the ones Francesca had written down at the meeting. Emma still had no idea how that had happened. As far as she knew, there was no language barrier for numbers. But she wasn’t going to worry about it anymore. The important thing was to get done and get out of here.
Tucking the notebook with the new measurements safely back into her pocket, Emma picked up the dress. Despite her nervousness, she couldn’t help admiring the way it draped. She held it up against her own body, double-checking the placement of the seams one last time. She definitely didn’t want to have to do this again.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Emma spun around so fast she could literally feel her heart sink to her belly. “Ivana!” she gasped.
Ivana stood at the end of the aisle, hands on hips. “Oh, man, too weird,” she exclaimed, taking a step closer. “I was wondering where you were going. Is that Rylan’s tennis dress? Why are you clutching it like some crazed stalker?”
Emma gulped. She was so busted. For a second, she was ready to confess everything.
What would Allegra do? Or better yet, what would Charlie do?
That was easy. He’d come up with a cover story on the fly.
Doing her best to channel him, Emma cleared her throat. “Oh, Ivana,” she said, trying to sound bored. “You startled me.” She quickly turned to hang the tennis dress back in Rylan’s locker, giving herself an extra few seconds to think.
When she slammed it shut and turned around, Ivana remained staring at her, arms crossed. “Well?” she demanded.
“Rylan gave me permission to go into her locker to check the dress.” Emma grabbed the tape measure, which she’d left on the bench. “See, Allegra wanted me to measure the armscye to make sure that we won’t need to edge-stitch the darts in the interfacing.”
Okay, so that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But it sounded impressive to toss around all those technical terms, and Emma was counting on that being enough. As far as she knew, Ivana didn’t know squat about sewing.
Ivana narrowed her eyes. “Really,” she drawled. “That sounds kind of weird to me. Maybe I’d better tell Rylan what I just saw.”
“Go ahead,” Emma blurted out, suddenly sick of cowing before Mighty Ivana and her Overwhelming Ego. “Rylan won’t care. How do you think I got her locker number if she didn’t give it to me? Besides that, what makes you think she’d even listen...to you?”
Ivana’s mouth dropped open.
“Fine!” Ivana snapped. “Whatever. I’m going over to Holly’s later. Maybe I’ll just check it out with Holly’s sister—just in case.”
Emma couldn’t help blanching. If Ivana did that, Emma would be truly busted.
Ivana smirked. She obviously saw she’d struck a nerve.
“Feel free,” Emma said as calmly as she could.
“Fine,” Ivana said again. “I will.” Then she flounced off in triumph toward the middle-school side of the locker room, turning only to add, “Oh, and I’ll tell Holls you said hi.”
FITS AND STARTS
Well?” Charlie said, flopping back against the locker next to Emma’s the next afternoon. “Anything?”
“Not yet.” Emma spun her lock and yanked open her locker, tossing her biology textbook inside. “And it’s driving me crazy. I’ve been waiting for the other Manolo to drop all day.”
The final bell had just rung. So far, nobody had said anything to Emma about stalking Rylan. But that hadn’t stopped Emma from feeling tense all day.
“So maybe it’s going to be okay. Maybe Ivana chickened out and didn’t talk to Jennifer,” Charlie said.
“Doubtful. She’s been smirking at me every chance she gets.” Emma shook her head. “Maybe it’s Jennifer who hasn’t told Rylan yet.”
“Or maybe Jennifer forgot about it three seconds after Ivana told her,” Charlie countered. “She’s kind of a space cadet. No offense to Holly. She obviously got the brains in that family.”
Emma didn’t dare to be that hopeful just yet. “I wouldn’t know. Holly’s still avoiding me,” she said. “If I could just get her alone, I could make things right.”
“Where’s she now?”
“No idea,” Emma admitted. “Probably with Ivana. Anyway, I need to finish the muslin for Rylan’s fitting today. You coming?”
“I can’t,” Charlie said.
“So meet me at Paige’s office later?” Emma closed her locker.
“Nope,” Charlie said. “I can’t go. I need to see my grandmother. I have no choice. You don’t mess with my grandmother.”
“Wait.” Emma whirled to face him “What are talking about? Grandmother? Now?” She gulped. She’d never done anything Allegra without Charlie by her side. “You can’t send me in there alone.”
“You’re not alone. You’ve got Paige...and Francesca,” Charlie said. “Look, it’ll be fine. You know what to do.”
“You think so? Really?”
StylePaige
Sweet Heart Appeal
Dear Style Gazers,
Over here at Madison, we’re counting the days (14!) until the pop-up shop goes live. And we can’t wait to share the love!
I’ve been getting updates from the designers and let me tell you…their delicious new pieces are oh-so-sweet—you are going to Eat Them Up!
C. Leveille is working on a daring double-denim, mad-for-plaid collection.
Allegra Biscotti reports that she is putting final touches on her Return to Childhood collection while in Europe. So jealous. Craving a Europ
ean vacay—aren’t you?
Mario Guo is all about leather-rocker reimagined. I’m itchin’ for a wardrobe remix!
Dear readers, I think I’m in love.
Fashionably yours,
Paige Young
“They’re here,” ponytail-girl called through the intercom on Paige’s desk.
Paige punched a button. “Send them in,” she ordered.
Emma and Francesca stood stiffly in front of the window opposite the closed office door. I feel like we’re waiting for the firing squad, Emma thought. She wondered if Paige had ever felt that way, too. She doubted it. Paige always seemed to be in charge and have everything under control.
The door swung open, admitting Rylan and her mother. Today Mrs. Sinclare was outfitted in a winter-white Yves St. Laurent suit, though she’d ruined its simple elegance with way too much fussy gold jewelry.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Mrs. Sinclare said, her small eyes darting around the room. “Where’s Allegra?”
“Oh, dear,” Paige said, looking truly shocked. “Didn’t my assistant manage to reach you? We found out this morning that Ms. Biscotti’s flight was delayed. I’m afraid she won’t be able to join us today.”
“Again?” Mrs. Sinclare said sharply. “Are you serious? This is outrageous!”
Emma hardly heard what Paige said next. She was too intent on watching Rylan. Had Ivana managed to get word of the tennis-dress incident to her yet?
But Rylan’s gaze barely skimmed her as she looked around the room. She wandered over to pick up the copy of Madison’s latest issue lying on one of the small end tables.
Emma relaxed slightly. Okay, so maybe she hadn’t heard. Yet.
She turned back in to Mrs. Sinclare, who was still grumbling about Allegra’s absence. Francesca stepped forward.
“Allegra, she asked me to pass on her most humble personal apologies for this unfortunate event, signora,” she said in her lilting accent. “She was so looking forward to meeting you!”
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