Emma pulled her own cell from her bag. Weird…it was off. She pressed the power button, suddenly remembering that her mother had made her stop texting Charlie and shut it down to finally get serious about homework last night.
Coming back to life, the phone vibrated in her hand. Two new voice-mail messages and four missed calls from a number she didn’t recognize. Someone had actually been looking for her in the night, and her phone had been off! What was going on? Who was it?
Emma touched her mother’s arm to get her attention. “I just remembered. I need to go to the library before homeroom to look up something for world history.”
Her mother nodded and waved. Emma walked quickly down the block, her black canvas messenger bag—detailed with Klimt-like swirls she’d drawn on with metallic gel pens—swinging against her hip. She dialed into her voice mail.
“Hello, Ms. Biscotti. My name is Paige Young—” Emma’s heart skipped a beat. Oh. My. God. It was her.
Emma glanced back, but her mother was out of sight. Ducking into the doorway of a closed restaurant, she started the message again.
“Hello, Ms. Biscotti. My name is Paige Young, and I’m the senior fashion editor at Madison magazine. I just wanted to share with you what I hope you’ll think is ah-mazing news. I recently posted a very positive piece about you and your to-die-for designs on my fashion blog, StylePaige.com, which I hope you caught. After seeing the item, my editor-in-chief at the magazine went ahead and picked up the posting for Madison’s online edition. I hope you’re thrilled! Thanks so much. Ciao.”
Emma leaned back against the door of the restaurant, took a deep breath, and replayed the message. And then she played it one more time just to make sure she had heard it right. Madison magazine published the post about Allegra Biscotti on its website! Amazing was right! Then she remembered she had a second message. Hopefully, it wasn’t Paige calling back to say that they’d changed their minds.
“Hi, Ms. Biscotti. It’s Paige Young again. I’m sorry for the cell-phone stalking, but I wanted to make sure that the kids at Laceland gave you my message about purchasing your gasp-worthy, beautiful raspberry halter dress. I just about died when I saw it in your studio a few days ago. I have to have it and would love to get it before anyone else does! I hope it’s not already spoken for. It would be perfect for my honeymoon…Anyway, when you get a chance, would you mind giving me a call so we can discuss further? Thanks so much! Ciao!”
Emma clutched the phone to her stomach and closed her eyes. Madison magazine’s website. Paige Young wanting her dress. It’s really happening, she told herself. I’m not imagining this. I have the messages to prove it!
Even so, she carefully saved both voice mails so she could replay them later for Charlie and Holly—and for herself— just to make sure she’d heard what Paige said correctly. It was a good thing Charlie had her change her personal greeting back to the generic one. Paige clearly believed that this was Allegra Biscotti’s cell-phone number. From now on, Emma vowed to be extra careful not to answer her phone if a call came in from either of those numbers.
Filled with a surge of energy, she sprinted the rest of the way to school. She had to see the item about Allegra Biscotti on Madison’s website with her own eyes. Racing up the steps two at a time, her brain began to process Paige’s call. How was she going to find a way for Allegra to call back Paige? And what about the dress Paige wanted?
Emma hoped Charlie would know what to do.
Sitting still during her morning classes was almost impossible, much less paying attention to anything her teachers said. Her silver sneaker tapped the linoleum floor impatiently. Waiting. Waiting. After what seemed like years, geometry class finally finished. She rushed to the library for study hall. She needed to get in front of a computer.
Emma knew she had to score a carrel that wasn’t in full view of the librarian, cranky Ms. Williams. She pushed through the double swinging doors and instantly saw that all the good seats were taken. The one day I want to sneak a look at an outside site, and I can’t, Emma thought in frustration.
Then she spotted Holly waving to her. Holly sat in the best carrel of all—the one farthest away from the librarian’s desk and turned at just the right angle so Ms. Williams couldn’t see the screen. Excellent! Emma hurried toward Holly, knowing the desk next to hers would work, too. And that’s when Emma saw her.
Kayla. Sitting at the desk next to Holly’s.
Holly didn’t save me a seat, Emma realized. She was so surprised that she actually stopped moving. Just stood there and stared. It didn’t make sense. They usually sat together, and whoever got there first would hold the spot next to her for the other.
Holly shrugged, gave a lame half-smile, and put up her hands as if to say, “Sorry.”
Emma wandered like a lost child to an empty desk across the room.
Madison, she thought as she slid into the chair and shook the mouse to bring the sleeping computer screen to life. Forget Holly. Think Allegra.
With the librarian’s eagle eyes on her, Emma had no options. She pulled up the Western civ online study guide and tried to make her eyes focus on the words. Boring. If she couldn’t get through the study guide, how was she going to make it through a whole class of this stuff next semester?
There was definitely no getting out of that test. Her mother wasn’t about to let that happen. If Emma failed the whole thing completely, her mother would know she hadn’t studied at all. That was the problem with being more than somewhat intelligent.
Emma watched Ms. Williams—who wore a frilly white blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a thin, fitted daffodil-colored cardigan sweater with tiny pearl buttons—for signs of movement. Emma always had trouble making the connection between the witchy librarian and her sweet-schoolgirl-from-the-1950s outfits. Which was the real Ms. Williams?
Ms. Williams stayed firmly planted in her seat. Is she going to sit at her desk forever just to torture me or what? Emma thought desperately. Please get up! Please, please, please get up!
As if motivated by the silent plea, Ms. Williams finally stood with a stack of books and DVDs and walked toward the rolling shelves. This was Emma’s chance. She quickly typed the Web address for Madison magazine, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she waited for the page to load. That seemed to take forever, but then there it was, with almost the same headline as on StylePaige: “Smokin’ Hot New Design Talent Discovered by Our Own Paige Young: Exclusive First Peek at Allegra Biscotti!”
Even though Emma had known the post was going to be there, seeing it felt totally different. There it was, at the top of the page with the photos that Paige had taken. The paragraph was pretty much what Paige had written for her blog, but now it was on an official magazine website that was seen by hundreds of thousands of people, possibly as far away as Europe and Japan. Plus, on the same page as the item about Allegra Biscotti was news about many mega-famous designers—Marc Jacobs, Michael Kors, and Donna Karan. Allegra Biscotti, who hadn’t even existed a few days ago, was suddenly sharing page space with some of the most successful designers in the world!
Emma clapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from whooping out loud in the hushed library. She quickly minimized the page, as if everyone in the room would know that “Allegra Biscotti” was really Emma Rose. She looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to her. As usual, they weren’t.
Emma clicked on the browser to reopen it. She leaned back in her chair and turned slightly. She wanted to get Holly’s attention so she could show her the screen. But how? She couldn’t say her name out loud. Ms. Williams would be all over her in two seconds flat. Not only did the librarian have eagle eyes, she also had elephant ears.
So Emma tried staring at Holly’s back, hoping she’d feel Emma’s eyes on her and turn around. But Holly was too busy IMing with Kayla to notice anything.
“Killer dress,” a girl Emma only sort of knew whispered as she walked by, nodding at the screen on Emma’s computer.
; “I did that! Those are mine!” Emma screamed, though only in her mind. But right now, the only person she cared about telling was her best friend, even if she hadn’t saved her a seat. If Holly would just look over at her…but Ms. Williams was now walking back toward her desk at the front of the room.
Emma reluctantly returned to the study guide. But even as she tried to absorb the answers to the sample test questions, all she could see were Allegra Biscotti’s name and her designs gracing the pages—admittedly the digital pages—of Madison magazine.
“Can you do any impersonations? You know, someone with a heavy Italian accent?” Charlie asked later that afternoon as he dodged a rolling rack of clothes being pushed down the narrow sidewalk on Seventh Avenue. Emma was ready to explode by the time Charlie found her at her locker after school, and the two chatted nonstop for the entire walk to the 1/9 train and the ride uptown.
Every time Emma came up from the subway on 34th Street, a jolt of excitement shot though her. Emma loved the Garment District. It didn’t matter that it was always so loud and dirty and crowded. It was the epicenter of the fashion business. It thrilled Emma to walk up Fashion Avenue, which was what Seventh Avenue had been renamed because so many famous clothing and accessories designers’ studios were located there.
Not that she ever really saw any celebrity designers. But just knowing they were up there somewhere in the buildings that lined the avenue was enough for her. She didn’t mind almost being mowed down by deliverymen hurriedly pushing metal hand trucks piled high with boxes destined for the offices of those very designers. It was all just part of the action.
Charlie and Emma turned right on 37th Street toward Laceland, carefully navigating around the black garbage bags and tied stacks of flattened cardboard boxes lining the curb.
Emma frowned. “You’re not helping! I have to figure out a way to call Paige Young back. She left two messages last night, and it’s already three-thirty. I don’t want Allegra to seem rude.”
Charlie threw all of his weight into pulling open the massive front door of the office building as Emma walked through. “Hey, Allegra Biscotti is a very busy woman. Personally, I think it’s a good thing that she didn’t call Paige back right away. You don’t want her to seem desperate or anything, do you?”
“I guess not.” Emma stopped talking as other people stepped into the elevator with them. Once they were safely on the Laceland floor, she continued. “But I think Allegra needs to respond today.”
“Agreed. Paige left her cell-phone number, right?”
Emma nodded. “Yeah.”
“So, why doesn’t she—you, whoever—just send Paige a text?” Charlie suggested.
Emma pursed her lips and thought for a second. “Is that, like, professional?”
“What are you two plotting now?” Marjorie asked from behind the file cabinet as Emma and Charlie entered the reception area of Laceland. Emma felt a twinge of nervousness in her stomach. She hadn’t seen Marjorie there. Had she heard what they were talking about? She wasn’t sure how her dad would feel about her pretending to be an Italian fashion designer to his client. Her guess—not thrilled.
Marjorie slid the file drawer shut with her hip and stepped back around to her desk. “Figuring out how to stuff the ballot box to get Charlie elected to student council, perhaps?”
Emma let out her breath, relieved. Marjorie clearly had no idea what they were talking about. “Something like that,” Emma answered as Charlie stifled a snort.
“Can you continue your strategy session while you cover the phones? It’s time for my caffeine fix. I’m dying.”
Without waiting for Emma’s response, Marjorie pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer and reached for her nubby, turquoise tweed swing coat on the coatrack.
“Have fun, kids. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Charlie settled himself in the vinyl guest chair to the side of the reception desk. “As I was about to say, a text message is professional. Everybody does it now. Even old people.”
“My grandma doesn’t,” Emma countered.
Charlie shot her a look. “I didn’t mean that old. But like adults and stuff.”
“Okay, fine. So what should we write in the text? Am I letting her buy the dress? How would that whole thing work? Does Allegra take checks or what? I have a bank account, but I can’t deposit a check made out to Allegra, can I?”
Charlie leaned back and propped his feet up on Marjorie’s desk. “Good point. That could get complicated.”
“Could we…I dunno…could we give it to her? I know her size, and I’m almost finished with it anyway,” Emma suggested. “Or is that just weird, like she’ll think Allegra is trying to bribe her or something?”
“No! I mean, yes! I mean no, it’s not weird, and yes, you could give it to her. I think designers give things to fashion editors and celebrities all the time. It’s called ‘gifting.’ My mom is friends with some actresses who have been on TV and in movies, and I’ve heard them talking about how they get tons of stuff for free. Sometimes designers just send things, and sometimes celebrities go to these gift lounges and they can pick anything they want. Designers want stars to be photographed in their clothes.”
“Stars maybe, but fashion editors? Really?” Emma asked.
“Yeah…I mean, I think so.” Charlie leaned forward and stared for a second at some far-off spot. Emma could see his scheming mind at work, churning through all the angles, all the possibilities. “If you give something to an editor it’s not like she has to write about it in the magazine,” Charlie continued. “Besides, Paige has already plugged your clothes. So you could just think of giving her the dress like a thank-you-slash-engagement present. Why do you think fashion editors are dressed so well all the time? It’s called perks.”
The office phone rang, and Emma put up her finger to silence Charlie. She put on her best Marjorie voice. “Good afternoon! Laceland Distributors. Emma speaking. May I help you?” Emma crossed her eyes at Charlie while she listened to the voice on the other end of the line.
“I believe that Isaac is out on a delivery. May I take a message?”
Emma carefully wrote down the information on the old-school pink “While You Were Out” notepad that Marjorie insisted on using. Laceland was still very low-tech in many ways.
“See?” Charlie said, pointing both of his index fingers at her. “You do an almost perfect Marjorie imitation. Your voice isn’t as gravelly as hers, but it’s close. If you really wanted to, you could fake Allegra’s voice.”
Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “No impersonations. I’m trying to be a designer, not a stand-up comedian,” she said.
She loved that Charlie was so unlike the other boys in school. He was quirky and funny and just comfortable to be with—more like a brother who was the same age than a boy-boy. Ever since Emma had met Charlie in the fourth grade, she’d never felt weird or nervous around him the way she did with guys like Jackson. He had always been just Charlie, and they were just friends, and their friendship was just something that never had to be analyzed or discussed or made into something more. It was easy…even if Charlie himself wasn’t always so easy.
“All right, so we’ll gift the dress to Paige,” she agreed. “But how should we get it to her so she doesn’t know it’s coming from Emma instead of Allegra?”
“We can deliver it ourselves,” he suggested. “There’s probably a messenger center at the magazine. We’ll just drop it off. She won’t even know who brought it.”
Emma thought over the whole thing for a minute. It sounded like it could work. But then again, Charlie could make even the most impossible thing sound like it could work. The only other option was not to do it. And that meant going back to just being Emma, sewing dresses in a corner of her father’s lace warehouse.
“All right, let’s do it.” She glanced over at the wall clock and pulled her cell phone out of her bag. “Roll your chair over here. Let’s write this text message before it gets too late.”
/> After ten minutes and many more false starts, Emma and Charlie were finally satisfied with their message:
Ms. Young, Thx 4 ur msgs. I did c the blog postings & am v. appreciative. As 4 the dress, pls look 4 a special delivery 2 ur office 2morrow. Best, AB
“Perfect!” Charlie said.
Emma’s finger hovered over the green button on her phone, but she just couldn’t pull the trigger. Suddenly her palms were sweaty. She put down the phone to rub her hands on her jeans.
“Em? Are you gonna send it or what?” Charlie asked.
“It’s just…well, this is a big deal. It’s the first thing Allegra has ever said, her very first conversation!”
Charlie smiled. “Kind of like a baby’s first word?”
“I know I’m being lame, but suddenly Allegra is becoming a real person. She designs clothes and gets messages from an important fashion editor and has pictures of her dresses on the Web…plus, I’m a little freaked out,” she admitted.
“Paige Young is going to be so stoked that she’s gonna be the first person ever to wear an original Allegra Biscotti design. She won’t think twice about the stupid text message. Seriously. Okay?”
“Okay.” Emma pressed send.
Charlie stood. “The second Marjorie gets back and unchains you from the desk, you should finish the dress.”
The dress. Charlie’s right, Emma realized. It’s all about the dress.
In her cozy studio, surrounded by her tins full of buttons and ribbons and a rainbow of scraps from the beautiful things she’d made with her very own hands, the anxiety building up inside her disappeared. Now she was just excited.
She could already picture Paige wearing the raspberry halter dress—her dress. Maybe Paige would tie the sash on the side, or right in the center—or knot it in the back to make it her very own. Maybe she’d even get photographed in it at some fancy fashion-industry party. How cool would that be?
The Allegra Biscotti Collection Page 5