Confidentially Yours #6

by Jo Whittemore

“I might get these shirts done by next week after all!” I cheered to myself.

  But I couldn’t show off seven variations of the exact same shirt. Even I knew that was ridiculous. I needed a few more designs to mix it up.

  I picked up the phone and called Heather.

  “Hey, V! What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Oh, not much.” I laid back on my floor. “Have the advice requests started pouring in yet?”

  Heather snorted. “No. I don’t think that’ll happen until we finally figure out who the Advice Column Killer is. How’s Project Lazenby’s going?”

  “Project Lazenby’s. I like that!” I said. “And I was wondering if I could borrow a few more of your shirts from there.”

  “My shirts? Of course,” said Heather. “Are you still having trouble getting a feel for the fashion?”

  “Actually, I think I’ve gone as Lazenby’s as I can get,” I said. “I hope they think so, too.”

  “That’s great!” said Heather. “I can’t wait to see how your style meets theirs.”

  I felt just the slightest twinge of discomfort but fought it back. I wanted to show off my style, too, but there would be plenty of time to make that happen once the Lazenby’s buyer fell in love with KV Fashions.

  “But I’m only half of KV Fashions,” I mumbled.

  “What?” asked Heather.

  “Nothing. Uh . . . I’ve got to go. See you at school tomorrow?”

  “Sure. I’ll bring the clothes,” she said. “Bye!”

  As soon as I hung up with Heather, I called Katie.

  “Hem basting!” she said when she picked up.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’m trying to figure out the secret code you and Gil use,” she said. “I took a wild guess that hem basting means hello. Does it?”

  I smiled. “Sure. If you want it to. Listen, I’m calling because we need to meet before school.”

  “To get the models’ measurements. I know.”

  I shook my head. “Even before then. Just you and I need to talk. And compare progress notes and lookbooks.”

  “Good idea!” she said. “I’ve been dying to see what you’re working on. Maybe we can meet fifteen minutes earlier?”

  “Perfect! See you then!” I told her, and hung up.

  I’d been so focused on making sure I impressed the buyer that I hadn’t even thought about what Katie was bringing to the runway. And since I was the Lazenby’s expert, it was going to be up to me to get her fashions in check.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Model Behavior

  But before I could find Katie and chat the next morning, Brooke found me.

  “Is it possible to feel like a winner and a loser at the same time?” she asked.

  I thought for a moment. “Yes. I felt that way this morning when I found a quarter in the hallway but discovered it had been glued to the floor.”

  Brooke laughed.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Guess how many people have come forward either claiming to be the Advice Column Killer or to have proof of the Advice Column Killer?”

  “You know what? I’m feeling good today,” I said with a cheery smile. “I’ll say ten.”

  “That’s pretty close, actually,” she said. “It was eight.”

  “Great!” I started to wave a triumphant fist, but Brooke stopped me.

  “Guess how many of those leads were actually correct?”

  I made a face. “Is this where the feeling like a loser comes in?”

  Brooke made a zero with her fingers. “One kid claimed to be the Advice Column Killer, but he’s been out sick all week. Another kid brought in a friend and claimed his friend was the Advice Column Killer. It turned out they were going to split whatever the reward happened to be. And on and on.”

  I shook my head. “This is crazy.”

  “No, it’s a catastrophe.” She sighed and threw her hands into the air. “If nobody wants advice, what’s the point of having an advice column?”

  “People want advice. They’re just afraid to ask right now,” I pointed out. “We could still help them and not post about it in the paper.”

  “Well, what fun is that?” asked Brooke.

  I rolled my eyes. “Glad to see you’re in this for the right reasons.”

  I headed toward the student lounge, and Brooke followed me. “You know I care about helping other people,” she said, “but you’ve gotta admit that working for the paper won’t be as fun if we don’t get to see the results.”

  “Our results will be the smiles of those we’ve helped,” I told her.

  Brooke made a face. “You’re starting to sound like Heather.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” asked Heather from where she was sitting with Tim.

  “What are you guys doing here so early?” I asked.

  “I had choir,” said Heather.

  “I’m trying to drum up VIP business,” said Tim. “But apparently, people in choir do not want to part with their money.”

  Heather elbowed him. “That’s because I warned them about what you did with all my change.” She looked at Brooke. “So what’s wrong with sounding like me, exactly?”

  “Nothing.” Brooke flopped down beside them and laid her head on Heather’s shoulder. “Except I can only take so much feel-good, fairy-tale princess mush.”

  “Aww.” Heather smiled. “You think I’m a fairy-tale princess?”

  “You did want to kiss a pretty big frog named Stefan,” said Tim. Then he pointed to me. “On a completely different subject, Berkeley told me you asked him to tone down his playlist.”

  I nodded. “I loved his sample, but the Lazenby’s buyer won’t. We need music that matches the clothes.”

  Tim frowned. “I don’t know. He played me some of his new stuff, and the clothes that would match, I’m pretty sure you’d buy at a garage sale.”

  I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “While we’re at it, what did you think of the swag bags Katie and I put together?” Tim produced his planning notebook.

  “Oh, the leg warmers are a great idea!” I said.

  “Aw, you’re doing leg warmers?” Heather asked, pressing a hand to her chest. “Cute!”

  “They’re going to be printed with a logo Katie and I created.” I took Tim’s notebook and pen and drew the logo for my friends. “See the K and the V?”

  “Clever!” Brooke said.

  “Love!” Heather said.

  “What did you think of the actual gift bags?” Tim asked.

  “Way to be in the moment,” Brooke told him.

  I smiled, remembering the tiny purple bags. “They were kind of small. Can we go a little bigger?”

  He scrawled a note. “Done.”

  I thought of the color scheme at Lazenby’s. “And can we switch to a different color? Like baby blue?”

  Tim’s lip curled. “Seriously?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s probably not my place to say it, but KV Fashions doesn’t seem like a baby blue empire.”

  “Baby blue empire. What an awesome name for a show about billionaire babies,” mused Brooke. “Wearing little bibs with ties printed on them.”

  “Aw!” Heather said again.

  Tim took back his pen and notebook. “Can we focus? V, I don’t think baby blue is a good idea. Purple is much more your style.”

  “How about we compromise and go lavender?” I suggested.

  He started writing. “Fine. Dark lavender.”

  I stopped him. “Okay, that’s just purple. I mean lavender. A light purple used on Easter eggs and senior citizen formal wear.”

  Brooke wrinkled her nose. “Way to sell it, V.”

  Tim grumbled but crossed out the word dark. “At least people will recognize where they are when they see the K and V cookies.”

  I leaned closer. “The what? We have our own cookies?”

  Brooke tapped me on the shoulder. “I actuall
y helped with that.” She smiled in self-satisfaction. “My mom’s college roommate owns a bakery, and she offered to give us a few dozen iced cookies shaped like Ks and Vs.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t help grinning almost as wide as Brooke. “That’s so cool!” I ducked my head a little. “Do you think you could possibly talk her into some L cookies, too? You know, to impress the Lazenby’s buyer.”

  “Oh geez,” said Tim.

  Brooke nodded. “Sure. I can ask.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Katie stroll in, and got to my feet.

  “I’ll see you guys in a bit. I’ve got to take care of some other fashion show stuff.”

  “Berkeley’s over there if you’re looking for him.” Tim pointed to a group gathered around a Foosball table.

  “Yeah, but I really need to talk to Katie first,” I said, pointing toward a magazine rack.

  Brooke tugged on my arm. “And we need to talk about the advice column. What are we going to do?”

  I shrugged. “Until we can figure out who the Advice Column Killer is, make an announcement in the next issue of the paper that we won’t be printing questions, but people can still ask and we’ll respond privately.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” said Heather. “That way we can still help! And isn’t that the whole point?”

  Brooke stared at her. “Is your fairy-tale castle made of cotton candy or chocolate?”

  Heather popped her with a throw pillow, and I hurried away before an all-out pillow fight could ensue. Already, Brooke was standing and pulling up her seat cushion.

  “Katie!” I called. It was almost like déjà vu. She was surrounded by girls, but these were ones I recognized as the girls who’d tried out for the fashion show and hadn’t made it.

  Whoops. I guess we should’ve expected a little fallout.

  The girl who seemed to be holding most of Katie’s attention was Trippy Longstockings.

  When Katie saw me, her expression seemed almost relieved, and the maniacal way she waved at me confirmed it.

  “Vanny! Over here! I’ve been waiting for you!” To rescue me, the panicked look in her eyes added.

  “Hey! What’s going on?” I asked the group, as if destroying someone’s modeling dreams was something I did every day.

  “I was just telling Katie,” said Trippy, whose real name was Grace. “Everyone’s seen the clippings that are going up all over school.”

  Luckily, I was prepared for this. “Don’t worry, the advice column is still going to help people. We just won’t be printing the questions and answers where anyone can make fun of them.”

  “Actually, I was talking about the students being suggested on the clippings,” said Grace. “For that question from Beauty Thief, the lipstick shoplifter, I saw quite a few names of girls you have in your fashion show. Is that really the kind of message you want to send? Shoplifting is glamorous?”

  Okay, I hadn’t been prepared for that.

  “We don’t know if any of them actually did it, though,” I said.

  “Maybe all of them did it,” said one of the other girls.

  I shrugged. “Maybe so, but I’m not going to believe any of that until there’s actual proof.”

  “Beauty Thief said she stole a tube of Power Purple,” said Grace. “Who’s the only girl at this school who wears purple lipstick?” She tapped a snowflake-decorated fingernail against her chin.

  “Linda Lee!” someone else piped up.

  “Linda Lee,” agreed Grace. “One of your runway models.”

  “Could be a coincidence,” I said, but it didn’t seem likely. I knew the shade of lipstick Beauty Thief had mentioned, and it was the exact color Linda wore.

  “I told the girls I’d talk to Linda,” said Katie, “but then they said—”

  “What about Erin Moore?” interrupted one of the girls.

  Katie gestured to her. “That.”

  I shook my head. “What about Erin?”

  “Her name is at the top of the list for the true identity of No Flair, Don’t Care.”

  I remembered that piece. It had actually been a question I’d answered on the website from a girl who didn’t see the point of fashion. After I’d pushed my eyeballs back into their sockets, I’d given her a few ideas on how to ease into a love of clothes.

  “If she hated fashion, why would she want to be in the fashion show?” I countered.

  “Maybe to ruin it,” said Grace. “Maybe to make fun of the clothes and models when she’s on the runway.” Grace shrugged. “Look, I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I just think your models should be passionate about fashion.”

  “And not be thieves,” said one of the other girls.

  Katie and I exchanged a look.

  “Well, thanks for the concern,” I said. “But I’m not going to kick these girls out of the fashion show without proof.”

  “Me neither,” said Katie.

  Grace clucked her tongue. “Okay, but don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

  I smiled at her and hooked my arm through Katie’s. “Can we talk business somewhere private?”

  “Absolutely,” said Katie, practically pulling my arm out of its socket as she scurried away without even a backward glance at the group of girls. “Holy cow, that was awkward times a thousand! What did you want to talk about?”

  “I’ve made some design changes since I visited the Lazenby’s store, and I think maybe you should, too.”

  Katie raised an eyebrow. “I am having a seriously weird morning. Why would I want to change my fashions?”

  “So they’re more in line with what Lazenby’s wants.” I produced my cell phone and showed her one of the shirts I’d been working on. “Like this.”

  “Ugh. That’s hideous!” Katie made a face like she’d sniffed sour milk. “How much did you pay for it?”

  I lowered my phone and frowned. “I made it.”

  Katie’s eyes widened, and she pressed her lips together. “You know, it’s growing on me the longer I look at it.” She reached for my phone, but I held it at arm’s length.

  “Look, I know it’s horrible. You don’t have to lie to me,” I said, and Katie blushed. “But this is the kind of stuff Lazenby’s carries. You really think they’d be happy with one of mine?” I scrolled through the photos and found one of my own finished pieces, an off-the-shoulder black number trimmed with blue velvet.

  Katie gasped. “That is gorgeous! Yes!”

  “No!” I replied. “They’d never carry something like this in their stores. Trust me, I checked. And that’s why I’m making new designs just for them. And you should, too.”

  Katie fidgeted with the zipper of her sweater. “But I want the buyer to see my current stuff.”

  “And she can,” I assured Katie. “After we’ve won her over with what she wants to see, you can show her the other amazing things you have to offer.”

  Katie gave me a dubious look. “There’re less than two weeks until the fashion show. I won’t have time to come up with seven new designs and sew them before then!”

  “Sure you will. I’ll help.” Suddenly, I had a flash of brilliance. “And so will Brooke and Heather!”

  We had our weekly movie night coming up. I was sure the girls wouldn’t mind doing something a little different for a change.

  “I don’t know, Vanny.” Katie frowned. “I think we’ve got a pretty good chance with what we’ve already designed.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “Katie, trust me. I write an advice column about this stuff. I scouted the store. I talked to someone who works there. We need to nail the Lazenby’s look or we don’t stand a chance with them.”

  She looked less uncertain, so I decided to sweeten the deal.

  “We can have a sewing sleepover,” I singsonged.

  It sounded like something old people would do, but Katie’s frown shifted into a smile. “A sleepover? Fun!”

  I nodded. “We can even have Heather and Brooke try on the tops we make and hold a pre–fashi
on show fashion show!”

  Katie bounced up and down. “Count me in! I’ll bring my portable sewing machine! And popcorn!”

  “Heather will love you for that,” I said with a grin. “So work on your designs right now, and on Saturday, we’ll have the sleepover and get all the sewing done. Then next week we can do fittings and a practice run.”

  “Don’t forget the meeting with the Lazenby’s rep,” said Katie. Then she smiled. “That sounds so professional to say.”

  I smiled too. “Then it’s settled. New fashions that cater to Lazenby’s style and a sewing sleepover!”

  “Yay!” said Katie as the bell rang to start homeroom. “I’ll catch you later!”

  “Watch out for wannabe models,” I warned her, only half joking.

  When I got to homeroom, I told Brooke about my run-in with Grace and the other girls and then about the sewing sleepover. Brooke frowned through both stories.

  “Okay, first, I seriously doubt Grace is thinking of anyone but herself, and second, I don’t know how to sew. But if you’re okay with me stapling the fabric together, I’m all over that.”

  “I can teach you,” I said. “And you’re probably right about Grace. But she might be right about Linda and Erin, too.”

  “So what if she is?” asked Brooke with a shrug. “The Lazenby’s buyer isn’t interested in the models; she’s interested in the clothes. You could probably dress up some mannequins on wheels and roll them across the stage.”

  I wrinkled my forehead. “You don’t understand the point of a fashion show. The models are there to display the clothes at their best. They add depth, reality, and an extra layer of beauty.”

  Brooke raised an eyebrow. “And you want me to make the clothes?”

  I laughed. “Like I said, I can teach you. And worst-case scenario, you can thread needles the whole time.”

  She smirked. “Maybe you can give sewing advice to the whole school since we won’t have any new material to put in the paper.”

  “You joke,” I said, “but that’s not a bad idea. We could at least do it until the mess with the Advice Column Killer dies away.”

  “I think we should be more worried about how Mary Patrick’s going to act when she realizes we don’t have any new requests.”

  But when we walked into the Journalism room that afternoon, Mary Patrick didn’t so much as glance at us.