The Allegra Biscotti Collection

by Olivia Bennett

  Back on the second floor, Emma flew through the accessories department for a fistful of skinny, metallic, studded belts. She hung them over the crook of her elbow along with her other items. She darted into the shoe department, and knowing she wouldn’t have time to wait for Holly’s size, just grabbed two sample pairs of strappy sandals—in gold and silver—from the sale rack. Holly’s toes could poke over the size-six sole.

  Now I need a cute jacket for Holly to wear on top, Emma calculated as she headed back to the teen clothing area. Focusing her search on a long rack against the side wall, she nabbed a fierce black-denim jacket trimmed with tons of zippers; a cropped, swingy jacquard jacket with three-quarter-length sleeves; and a fuzzy, light-gray, mohair sleeveless cardigan sweater. One of these should do the trick, she thought.

  At the last moment, she whisked a whisper-thin, long-sleeve cream T-shirt and a flirty white ruffled tank off a nearby table—just in case. She burst through the entrance of the dressing room, somewhat out of breath.

  Kayla and Shannon sat on a couch, flipping through the store catalog.

  “You totally just made it,” Kayla remarked. “You had like thirty seconds left.”

  Holly hurried over. “Wow! Look at all this stuff. Come on, I have a dressing room. Ivana and Lexie are already here styling.”

  Emma hung the different pieces around the dressing room as Holly stripped out of her winter white cords and roll-necked sweater and down to her underwear and bra.

  “Do you think we’ll win?” Holly asked.

  “I could dress you in a shopping bag, and you’d look fabulous,” Emma told her. It was true. Suddenly, Emma wished she had thought to let Holly try on the raspberry dress before she’d gifted it to Paige. Holly had the perfect body for it.

  “I doubt it,” Holly said, slipping into the gold skirt Emma had pulled off the hanger for her.

  “Em, this totally reminds me of playing dress-up in my mom’s closet. Remember?” Holly zipped herself in. The skirt fell perfectly, just as Emma knew it would.

  Emma laughed. “Of course, I remember. A girl never forgets her first Chanel.”

  Holly’s mom, who was a successful real-estate agent and a board member of many charities, had the most gorgeous clothes Emma had ever seen in one closet. A collection of black cocktail dresses in every imaginable fabric and style, elegant full-length gowns—a shimmery blue satin one that swept up and over one shoulder, a red chiffon one with cascading ruffles down the front and a short train in the back. For work, beautifully tailored suits lined in gemstone silk.

  Best of all—and their favorite to try on—a classic Chanel skirt suit. It was made of pink-and-white-checked boucle wool with white fringed threads around all the edges and those fabulous signature double-C buttons.

  The girls would lose themselves for hours in that closet. Then they’d strut over to Mrs. Richardson’s vanity, where they’d top off their outfits with colorful jewels. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings. I bet some of those pieces were real, Emma now realized.

  “That was so nice of your mom to let us play in her jewelry box,” Emma reminded Holly, as she stepped into the pink sequined skirt.

  They examined Holly’s reflection in the three-way mirror. Both skirts looked totally great, but Emma knew she could only choose one.

  “Which skirt do you like best?” Emma asked.

  “This pink one,” Holly said, tilting her head to the side. “It’s so much cuter, and gold just isn’t my thing—no offense.”

  Emma smiled at Holly in the mirror. “Then we’ll go with pink.”

  Emma scanned the rest of her items to decide which pieces would work best with the pink skirt. First, she handed Holly the cream-colored, tissue-thin, long-sleeved shirt, and then she had her layer on a navy graphic T-shirt with a grinning character that looked like a cross between a rabbit, a mouse, and a small monkey. “The pink is going to look amazing with the navy.”

  “What’s been going on with Jackson lately? Anything new?” Holly asked as she wriggled the tops over her head, one and then the other.

  “Not really…well, sort of, I guess.” Emma quickly told her about the soccer-ball incident, as she adjusted the layered shirts on Holly’s body, scrunching up the sleeves of the long-sleeved tee.

  “So did you guys talk?” Holly asked, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

  “No…” Emma could see Holly frown slightly in the mirror, probably disappointed that there wasn’t more to the story. “But, um, I have these sketches. I mean, after I saw the team in those tacky polyester uniforms, I kind of reimagined them, made them sleeker.”

  Holly whirled around. “Do you have them with you? Let me see!”

  Emma pulled her sketchbook out of her bag and flipped to the page.

  Holly gasped and pointed to the face of the male figure wearing Emma’s design. “Is that Jackson? ”

  Oh, no! Before Emma could grab the book away, Holly turned to the next page. It was covered with a half-dozen close-up sketches of Jackson’s face. Emma suddenly felt like someone had just laid a steaming hot washcloth over her own face.

  “These are really good, Em,” Holly said sincerely. “These sketches look exactly like him. You’re such a good artist. I’m so jealous. I can barely read my own handwriting, much less draw beautiful things.”

  “You think so?” Emma asked. “Well, actually, there’s something else going on that’s really cool—” Emma began. But just at that moment, there was a loud knock on the dressing-room door. Emma grabbed back her sketchbook and shoved it deep in her bag.

  “Come on, you guys!” Kayla called. “Fashion show is starting.”

  “Shoot! We’re not done dressing you! Here, put this on,” Emma instructed, handing Holly the gray mohair sweater. Then Emma grabbed three of the skinny belts—two she wrapped around Holly’s waist, and the other she wound around her wrist multiple times as a makeshift cuff bracelet.

  “Hmmm. Not perfect but good. Now all you have to do is make it down the ‘runway’ in these silver shoes. I’ll see you out there. Good luck!”

  Emma gave Holly a quick hug and then flung open the dressing-room door to join the other girls on the couch.

  First up was Lexie, who shimmied down the hallway of the dressing room. She stopped in front of the girls and twirled, her long, dark hair fanning out in a circle, as she watched herself in the mirror. Emma could tell that Ivana had gone right to the high-priced designer section of the store and just picked the prettiest cocktail dress she saw—probably one that was already on a mannequin.

  There was no denying that the strapless plum-colored satin dress looked gorgeous on Lexie. It had a flirty bustle in the back and a subtle sprinkling of crystals on the bodice, which pushed up Lexie’s boobs. Definitely flattering, but it wasn’t exactly imaginative. Lexie just looked like she was a well-dressed guest at some stuffy uptown hotel wedding.

  Picking out a pretty dress and a rhinestone-encrusted evening purse wasn’t exactly what Emma thought they were supposed to do. Where was the creativity in that?

  Shannon and Kayla practically drooled over Ivana’s outfit.

  “Ivana, you have amazing taste!” Kayla gushed.Shannon popped up from the couch to check out the price tag hanging from the back of Lexie’s dress. “And expensive taste! I love it!”Holly sashayed down the carpeted hall in her too-tight heels and then did the model-posing-at-the-end-of-the-catwalk thing—hand on right hip, hand on left hip—and then spun and walked back a few steps to end in a pretty pose. The pink sequins on her skirt glinted and sparkled. Emma knew that Holly was probably just goofing, but she definitely had what it took to be a real runway model.Emma peeked at the judging panel. They stared blankly at Holly’s outfit.“I don’t think those colors match,” Kayla finally said with a frown.

  “Colors don’t always have to match as long as they go together,” Emma explained. “See how the navy and pink work together? And the gray of the sweater plays off the silver studs on the belts and in the shoes?”


  Kayla only shrugged.

  “It seems weird to wear a big fuzzy sweater over a sequined skirt,” Shannon said.

  “I don’t think so,” Holly said. “Emma was just trying to mix different textures—right, Em? I think it’s really fun.”

  Emma sank back into the couch. Holly could see what Emma was going for—or at least she was pretending to—so why didn’t the other girls get it? Didn’t they get that wearing clothes could be an art? How you could totally personalize clothes, even with things that weren’t one of a kind, and could keep mixing things up endlessly to make them your own? That was the fun part!

  “I know I’m not really supposed to talk or anything because I’m not one of the judges,” Ivana said, so obviously about to break her own rule, “but Holls, let me just ask you. If you were invited to the hottest party of the year, would you pick Emma’s outfit over the one I chose?”

  “Um…I…uh,” Holly stalled. “Well, it depends what kind of party it was, you know? This outfit might not be right for all occasions, but it could work for some things. Your outfit could kind of go anywhere.”

  Holly’s eyes darted nervously to Emma’s. Emma thought that Holly looked like a contestant on American Idol who had completely forgotten the lyrics. Emma actually felt bad for Holly, because Ivana had put her in a seriously lose-lose position. But she couldn’t help but feel worse for herself since her best friend had just dissed her outfit to suck up to Ivana.

  “You know, Emma really is a great designer with, like, totally natural talent,” Holly said. “She can design anything. She just drew new soccer uniforms for the school team. Came up with the idea out of nowhere. You should see her sketches of Jackson wearing them. They’re so hot!”

  Emma’s stomach dropped into her silver high-top sneakers. Did Holly really just say that?

  “Hey, Lex! It looks like you got some competition over there,” Ivana said, nodding in Emma’s direction.

  “Competition?” Lexie snorted. “You think?”

  Kayla and Shannon giggled.

  Emma had had enough. She raced back to the dressing room. All she wanted to do was get out of there.

  “Em, wait!” Holly cried, bursting into the dressing room. “You didn’t say your sketches were a secret. I just wanted everyone to see how awesome your stuff is. Don’t make such a big deal about it, okay?”

  “Sure…I get it,” Emma said as evenly as she could, avoiding Holly’s eyes by putting the unused clothes back on their hangers. “No worries. I’m fine.”

  Emma suddenly felt frustrated—with Holly and herself. How can Holly hang out with these girls? They’re not even nice to each other—and they’re supposedly best friends—so why would I expect them to be nice to me? Emma wondered. She decided right there and then that she wasn’t going to tell Holly about Allegra. What had just happened made it obvious that Holly was not keeping secrets from Ivana and the ’Bees these days.

  The last thing I’m going to do, Emma silently vowed, is let Ivana ruin Allegra for me. Ivana can have her style-showdown victory and her lunch table and her loyal followers and even Holly’s friendship—but she can’t have this.

  No way, Emma thought. Allegra is mine.

  Chapter 8

  Three New Pieces

  Charlie calling her name from down the hallway just barely penetrated the fog Emma had been in for the thirty-six hours since the Bloomingdale’s Incident. While Holly was acting as if nothing had happened, texting and chatting with Emma like usual, Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that something—kind of big, actually—had happened. Every time she thought of Holly telling the group about her sketches of Jackson, Emma felt her stomach ballroom dance again. The fast stuff like sambas and tangos.

  Now Emma stopped in her purple lace-up army boots— the ones she always wore when she needed a pick-me-up—so Charlie could catch up to her.

  “Big news. And I mean, huge,” he said.

  “Like what? Like a new album by one of your freaky-weird European techno-bands was leaked online?”

  Charlie considered that for a moment. “Well, yes, that’d be pretty awesome—but no. This is something you’re actually going to care about.”

  He checked to the left and the right to make sure no one was listening and then leaned in close to Emma’s ear. “Allegra’s interview with Paige—your interview—was just published on the Madison website.”

  Emma’s stomach upped the beat into cha-cha mode.

  “Really? It was? How do you know?”

  “Because I’ve been checking the website like twelve times a day. Haven’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but not in the last hour. But, you’re serious? You’re not just saying this to cheer me up, are you?”

  “Why would I do that? I’m not that insane. Go take a look. Now,” he said.

  “But how? I don’t have study hall today.”

  “Simple. Just tell Mr. Singh you need a library pass. He’ll give it to you. It’s not like you’ll miss much in his class. He takes so long to explain everything—”

  Before Charlie could finish, Emma was already on her way down the hall. By some miracle, the library was practically empty. Emma grabbed the carrel facing away from Ms. Williams and brought up the Madison website. There on the home page was a teaser to the interview: “4 Fabulous Questions: A Madison Mini-Interview with Up-and-Coming Designer Allegra Biscotti.”

  She clicked open the page for the mini-interview. Along the side were the photos of her dresses that Paige took, and in the middle was the same headline as on the home page. Beneath the headline were the questions Paige had texted, each followed by Emma and Charlie’s answers word for word, though taken out of text-speak and put into complete words and sentences.

  Emma marveled at how Allegra Biscotti sounded smart, fashion-savvy, and worldly. When she had read over her responses last night, she worried that they sounded childish and silly. But even though what was on the site was practically the same as the original answers, they seemed different here. They made Allegra Biscotti real.

  Emma floated back to class. Mr. Singh still seemed to be droning on about the same thing he had been when she’d left the room fifteen minutes earlier, giving Emma plenty of time to daydream: an Allegra Biscotti boutique in the West Village with a small, sunlit studio in the back to start…a show at New York Fashion Week…eventually a showroom on Fashion Avenue, her clothes in department stores across the country…

  Then Paige Young storming Allegra’s office, followed by a team of nervous editorial assistants and demanding to know the real identity of Allegra Biscotti…a photo of a disgraced Emma published on the front page of Fashion News Daily … her beautiful clothes being thrown out of apartment building windows by angry customers in protest…

  Emma’s mind spun around and around like a tornado forming in her head. Have Charlie and I gone too far? How much longer can we keep this going? What is Paige Young going to say—or worse, do—when she finds out that Allegra Biscotti doesn’t exist, or really, that I’m Allegra Biscotti?

  I should stop this, she decided.

  Dear Paige, Emma began drafting in her head, I never meant to mislead you but—

  The bell rang, snapping Emma out of her daze. Now, now, now—was all Emma could think—I have to take care of this now. She gathered her books in her arms and raced to her locker. She yanked her phone out of her bag, ready to type out the apology she had composed during class.

  But it was too late.

  A text from Paige was already waiting for her. Uh-oh. She beat me to it. Game over. Emma clicked open the text.

  Ms. B: Requesting exclusive photo shoot of pieces from AB collection 2 b featured in upcoming print edition of Madison, Designers 2 Watch section. Interested?

  Emma needed several seconds to process the fact that Paige was not accusing her of pretending to be Allegra Biscotti. Instead, this was the exact opposite.

  She wants what?…but I don’t…I can’t…now what?… how could I not…but I shouldn’t�
��but I want to so badly… Her brain tornado whirled, the conflicting thoughts tossed about by a force that felt out of her control.

  The only clear thought she had was: find Charlie immediately.

  “Breathe in…breathe out,” Charlie coached a hyperventilating Emma a few minutes later. He pushed her toward a chair near the administrative offices and sat down beside her. “It’s all good. Really good.”

  But Emma wasn’t convinced. This wasn’t some little white lie. This wasn’t pretending to like Holly’s unfortunate new haircut or telling her mom she would clean her room tonight. This was pretending to be someone else on the pages of the country’s biggest fashion magazine. And she didn’t need psychic powers to know that if Paige found out she was being tricked, it wouldn’t end well.

  “Hi, guys.” Emma’s mom appeared in front of them, the door to the admin offices closing behind her. Her smile quickly faded into concern. “Emma, is everything all right? You don’t look so good. A little white, actually.” Joan put the back of her hand against Emma’s clammy forehead. “Are you here to see the nurse?”

  “No!” Emma blurted, more forcefully than obviously necessary. “I mean, I’m not here for the nurse. I…um…” Emma fumbled, pleading with her eyes for Charlie to do what he did best. Talk his way out.

  “Emma’s just in shock because, uh, she just got an A on a pop quiz in bio,” Charlie offered.

  “Really? Way to go, Em!” her mother said. “Now, if you just focus your energies like that on the Western civ exam, you’ll ace that too.”

  That’s what he came up with? Why doesn’t he dig a hole and bury me now?

  Emma smiled weakly at her mother.

  “Well, got to run to class,” her mother said. “Which is probably what you two should be doing now, too. Right?”

  Charlie scrambled to his feet and dragged Emma up with him. “On our way!”

  Emma’s mom waved good-bye before heading off in the other direction. Emma watched her mom leave and had the sudden feeling she was in a What Not to Wear episode, featuring Joan Rose. She was about to protest her mom’s scuffed clogs when she noticed that Charlie’s usual smirk had suddenly turned serious.