Emma, Smile and Say Cupcake!

by Coco Simon

  “Aren’t you a pro?” she asked.

  “I . . . What?” I wasn’t sure what to say.

  Patricia leaned in and said, “This is her first photo shoot. She does in-store modeling for us, no makeup. Why don’t you just talk to Emma as you work, and tell her what you’re doing before you do it. That way she won’t be nervous and she’ll also have the chance to learn something.”

  Serena let out an aggravated sigh that sounded like she had something stuck in the back of her throat. “Fine,” she said, sounding like me when I was being bratty on the phone with my mom earlier. I could feel a blush rising up my neck and into my cheeks.

  “Emma,” said Patricia. I glanced at her and found her smiling encouragingly once again. “Don’t worry! You’re going to do great! Just relax.” She winked at me, and I felt better. “It’s just makeup,” she said, then she made a funny face at Serena’s back, and I giggled.

  “Right now I’m priming your eyelids,” said Serena. “Close. It’s a sponge with . . . uh . . . primer on it.”

  “And that’s for . . . ,” prompted Patricia.

  “That’s to make sure all my hard work doesn’t slide off under the lights,” said Serena.

  I could feel the sponge dabbing at my eyelids, and now that I knew what it was, it was actually kind of relaxing. There was a pause, and I opened my eyes again, but Serena quickly said, “Stay closed. Let it dry.”

  Next I felt a brush along my eyebrows. I raised them, and she said, “Hold still. I’m just darkening your brows a little. Brows are the first things to go in the lights. They just disappear.”

  I have pretty dark eyebrows, despite my blond hair, so it was hard to imagine them disappearing at all (my mom won’t let me tweeze them because, she says, they never grow back right).

  Serena blew on my eyelids and it surprised me, but I did not open my eyes this time! I was learning!

  “Okay, now I’m going to do a little base color,” she said. I felt a fluffy brush pouffing all over my eyelid. It felt nice. I could get into this, I thought. Once I knew not to be scared, it felt like I was being pampered.

  “Now something darker in the crease,” Serena continued, and there was more pouffing, but with what felt like a smaller brush.

  “Open,” she commanded. I did, and found her staring very hard at me, looking critically back and forth between my eyes. “A little more for the left,” she said. “Close.” And I closed, then there was pouffing, then, “Open.”

  Okay, maybe I couldn’t get used to it. I was starting to feel a little bored.

  “Liner,” she said. “Or, actually, let me use a wet liner.” She selected a long black tube from the box and unscrewed the cap, revealing a long wand with a tiny pointed paintbrush on the end. “You are going to need to hold very, very, very still. Because if you blink, and I mess up, we have to wipe all the eye makeup off and start over. Do you understand?” I nodded, nervous again.

  Serena approached my eye with the wand, and I began to blink really fast. She stopped and looked at me carefully. “Can you hold still?” she asked, like she was trying really hard to be patient.

  “Yes,” I said. But as she started to approach my eye, I began to blink rapidly again.

  “Okay.” She put her hand down. “What am I supposed to do here?” she asked Patricia.

  Patricia bit her lip, then she said, “Emma, honey, Serena is going to line your upper lid, from the inner corner to the outer corner, with some wet liner. It will not end up in your eye, but it might be a little cold and may be a tiny bit ticklish. You can stand it, though. Serena, why don’t you stretch the lid out first, then approach it with your other hand. Emma, maybe just close your eyes.”

  I felt better now, knowing what to expect, and I closed my eyes and let Serena pull my eyelid one way, then the other way, out to the side. The liner was wet and tickly, but it wasn’t too bad.

  “Don’t open. Not till I say so,” ordered Serena.

  She busied herself with her kit, and then after a minute or so (a long time to sit with your eyes closed in a room with other people, by the way), she said, “Open.” And I did. I glanced in the mirror, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. I looked like an adult! Or practically one. Like an old teenager.

  “Wow!” I said, gaping at my reflection.

  “I know,” said Serena proudly.

  “Hmm,” said Patricia. “I think Mona is hoping for something a little more . . . wholesome. The dress she’s thinking of is certainly more . . . innocent looking, maybe.”

  Serena looked at her, then back at me. “Just wait till you see it on the computer, okay? No changes till then.” She rolled her eyes and muttered to herself; it sounded like, “Amateurs.” Or maybe I just thought that was what she said because I had a guilty conscience about being inexperienced.

  She withdrew a kind of scary-looking clamp from the kit and said, “Now we’ll curl your eyelashes.”

  “Umm . . . okaaay . . . ,” I said. Curly eyelashes? Who knew such a thing was desirable?

  Serena had me close my eyes again, and then she clamped my lashes, each eye in turn, and she counted to thirty while she had them clamped.

  When I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror again, my eyelashes didn’t look curly, exactly, but their angle was definitely different. It made me look more awake or something, too. “Cool!” I said, turning my head from side to side to try to see my lashes at different angles.

  “I think I’ll skip the mascara,” said Serena to herself. She selected a bottle of skin-colored liquid and began to dab some around my face. “Just evening out your skin tone now,” she said.

  “Is it uneven?” I asked, my voice muffled as the sponge passed over my lips. Yuck!

  “Everyone’s is,” said Serena, looking at me. “Shows up more in pictures. That’s why we need to correct it first. Now some powder.” There was lots of pouffing with the biggest brush yet. It felt great. “And some blush . . . ”

  Serena took another brush and dabbed from a pink pot and onto my cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead.

  “Hey! Blush is for your cheeks! I know that much!” I said.

  Serena narrowed her eyes at me. “Not exclusively,” she said.

  Oh.

  “It brightens up everything,” offered Patricia, who’d been quietly watching.

  “Some nude lip liner . . . ,” said Serena, outlining at my mouth with a kind of dry stick. That did not feel good.

  I glanced in the mirror. Wow, did I look older!

  Serena put her fingers under my chin and turned me back to face her again. She looked at me critically, leaning back, then leaning in. Squinting again.

  “Oh, what the heck,” she said, and she selected a dark tube of lipstick and dabbed it on my lips with a makeup brush. “There.”

  I looked in the mirror and couldn’t believe it! I actually looked like a model! “Wow!” I said. If I hadn’t known, I would have put my age at eighteen, at least. It was an incredible transformation.

  Serena smiled like she was proud of herself. “I know. It’s really an art.”

  I looked at Patricia. She didn’t seem thrilled. Her mouth was set in a kind of a line. “Let’s see how Mona likes it,” she said. “Come, Emma. Before we get the dress on, okay?”

  “You might as well do the dress and give them the full effect. . . . ,” said Serena. “It’s kind of out of context like this, with the . . . jeans and whatnot.” She gestured at my outfit in a dismissive way.

  But Patricia ignored her. “Come,” she said again.

  We left the dressing room and went out into the main salon. Joachim and his team had finished setting up, and Mona and my dad were chatting in the seating area where I’d left him.

  “Mona?” said Patricia, pushing me a little ahead of her into the room.

  Mona and my dad turned and looked at me blankly. It was like they had no idea who I was for a minute. Then their faces changed.

  My father came to his senses first. “No way!” he shouted as he jumped t
o his feet.

  Mona stood quickly. “All wrong,” she said emphatically.

  And I burst into tears.

  CHAPTER 4

  Emma Taylor’s a Hottie

  Well, that was mortifying.

  I had figured all along that my dad would embarrass me. I just didn’t expect it would be in the form of a tirade against Serena, Joachim, and the entire entertainment industry of America. The only good thing was that Mona was also mad, so it didn’t look like my dad was a lone crazy person. She was yelling too.

  It didn’t take long for Serena to take off everything she had put on, even though I thought she wiped a little harder than she needed to. It wasn’t my fault Mona had freaked out and my dad had wanted to pull me out right then and there. They said I looked waaaay too old and inappropriate and all sorts of other things I didn’t really understand, but when they realized I was crying, they were quick to tell me it was totally not my fault, and everything began to settle down. That made me feel better.

  Serena gave me some Visine for my eyes, and the redness went away pretty fast. After that, Mona stood by my side while Serena put a tiny bit of foundation on my skin, a trace of blush on my cheeks, and a hint of pink on my lips, and that was it. Serena kept muttering about the computer and the lights, like before, but Mona was firm. “I’ll take my chances,” said Mona.

  While I got on my dress, I could hear Mona through the door as she lectured Joachim and his team.

  “I want this done quickly; I want the utmost care taken that the model is not taxed or upset; I want it clean, wholesome, and pretty. And that’s it. If any of it goes off track or gets too fresh or rude, you’re fired and no one gets paid. Does everyone understand?” she said.

  There was murmuring I couldn’t hear, but I could tell that Mona had the last word.

  After that, things did go quickly, and well. Patricia gave me a bouquet of white flowers to hold, and after a while they swapped it for a white basket tied with ribbons and filled with white rose petals I had to scatter. They had me barefoot, with a crown of daisies—all sorts of looks. I didn’t realize there were so many props available at The Special Day for junior bridesmaids!

  I know I was pretty stiff at first. Joachim kept trying to tell me jokes to get me to relax. My dad got in on the act and started goofing around, and after a while we were all laughing, and it went by pretty fast. There was a lighting guy name Frank, and when the lights got too hot, he’d give me a little break in front of the fan, which was nice. And Stella, on the computer, let me see the shots she thought were the best. Right as I started to feel like I was dragging, Joachim said, “We’ve got it.”

  Patricia had me change and wash my face. I put my hair back in a ponytail, and I looked like my regular old self when it was time to leave. My dad made me go around and shake everyone’s hand and thank him or her before we left. He thanked Mona, too, and they shared a laugh about the near disaster with my makeup. I felt funny listening to them, because I had thought I looked good in the makeup—like a real model, even if I did look much older. But the way they reacted was like I had looked ugly. I didn’t really get it, but it made my face burn when I thought about it.

  We were the first to leave. I could see Patricia had at least an hour to go of breaking down the equipment and then the cleanup, and I felt bad for her. I asked my dad if we could stay to help, but he said no. Mona overheard and said, “The talent never cleans up, darling! Run! You’ve worked hard all day!” She gave me an envelope with my pay, and I gave her and Patricia hugs good-bye; then my dad and I left.

  It was dark when we drove out of the mall, and I couldn’t believe I’d spent the whole day at work! Back home, my mom wanted to know every detail, but I felt like so much had happened, I didn’t know where to begin. I told her a little, begged off, and then went upstairs to flop onto my bed. I’d meant to read or play my flute, but my eyes must’ve drifted shut. The next thing I knew, my mom was gently squeezing my shoulder, telling me it was dinnertime.

  The following week flew by, and the next thing I knew, it was late Friday afternoon, and I was at Katie’s, getting ready to deliver double-fudge cupcakes to a birthday party, followed by a trip to the movies with all the Cupcakers. As much as I had enjoyed working the weekend before, it was fun to just be a kid this weekend. I’d be back at The Special Day in the morning, but only for a few minutes, to drop off Mona’s order. There weren’t any trunk shows this weekend, and I was actually kind of glad about it.

  Katie and I were in the kitchen packing the cupcakes into their carriers, Mia and Alexis had gone home to change, and suddenly Mrs. Brown came into the kitchen. She was holding the local paper that comes out Fridays and kind of waving it around in the air.

  “Emma, honey! Look! It’s you!” she cried, her reading glasses slipping low on the bridge of her nose.

  She spread out the back page of the first section onto the kitchen table, and there I was! A full-page ad of me, with my back to the camera, looking over my shoulder, and the flower bouquet in my hands and a closed-lipped smile on my face. The top of the ad read, JUNIOR BRIDESMAIDS BY JADEN SACKS, and the bottom had, THE SPECIAL DAY, CHAMBER STREET MALL.

  “Oh! There I am! You’re right!” I giggled. I was embarrassed to see myself there like that; I’d kind of forgotten that anyone could see the ad once it came out. I didn’t know what to say. Plus, it was, like, a whole page. I mean, my face was huge!

  Katie stood there staring at the photo, her mouth hanging open in shock. She looked up at me. “Emma! You’re a model! For real!” she said, breathlessly.

  I shrugged, still grinning like an idiot.

  Mrs. Brown gushed, “You look absolutely beautiful, honey. Simply gorgeous. I love it. I have to call your mom and tell her.”

  “But . . . I didn’t realize . . . I mean, I know you said you’d be in the paper, but I kind of forgot. And here you are!” sputtered Katie, incredulous.

  I laughed. “I didn’t know when it would run, either. I just . . . I kind of forgot too!” I said. The truth was, I wasn’t sure what to think about the whole photo shoot episode. Some of it was fun, some of it was funny, some of it was frustrating, and a lot of it was mortifying and upsetting, but Mona had given me one hundred and fifty dollars on top of my usual trunk-show payment! I hadn’t really talked about any of it with Katie and the others, because I didn’t know what to say. Now, I flipped over the paper to hide the photo. “Okay! Moving right along!” I said with a little laugh. (That’s what my mom says to me sometimes when she wants to change the subject.) Katie was still looking at me oddly, like she wasn’t sure who I was.

  “Earth to Katie! Let’s finish up these cupcakes so we can get to the theater. Alexis will not be psyched if we’re late.”

  Katie kind of came to, shaking her head as if to clear it. “So that’s all? You just turn it over and move on?”

  I punched Katie lightly on the arm and resumed my cupcake packing. “What do you want me to do? Drool all over the photo? Hug it? Cry? Come on, Katie!”

  She laughed a little and then began helping me again with the cupcakes. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I’m not sure what I’d do if I was you!”

  At the movies, Mia and Alexis raced over when they saw us. “Emmaaaaa! We saw your photo! It’s amaaaazing!” Mia said dramatically. She kept looking at me the way Katie had before, like she was searching for something in my face. Like she didn’t really know me.

  Only Alexis was totally normal. “I hope you got paid a lot for it,” she said. “It’s a totally huge ad, and the paper’s circulation is about forty-five thousand. I googled it. So figure—”

  “Stop!” I swatted her. “Look, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I did it. It’s over. It was kind of interesting, kind of hard. I did make some good money. And that’s it. I’m just me. Just plain Emma.” I smiled and shrugged at them. “Same old, same old.”

  “Emma!” cried someone behind me. We all turned to look. It was Olivia Allen. Ugh!

  Oliv
ia is a girl in our class, and none of us like her. She’s new, and she kind of used Mia when she first moved here; then she dropped her like a hot potato for the superpopular girls in the Best Friends Club. They’re basically our enemies, which means we were not psyched to see Olivia and two of her henchmen, Bella and Maggie, here tonight.

  “Emma!” She got closer. “OMG! We saw your photo! In the paper! We didn’t know you were modeling!” she shrieked.

  Well, it’s not like we’re friends, so how would you know anything I’m up to? I wanted to ask. But instead I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so,” I said, looking around uneasily, to make sure no one else had heard. “Just a little.”

  Olivia came over and then looped her arm through mine and kind of pulled me away from my friends and toward hers. “Tell me everything. Do you have an agent? How many go-sees are you doing each week? What’s your portfolio like? Online or hard copies?”

  I was overwhelmed. Why was she suddenly being so chummy? Was it just because of my ad? And how did she know so much about modeling?

  “Actually,” I said, removing my arm from hers. “I do trunk shows at The Special Day bridal salon, and they just asked if I’d do this one ad for them. So I said yes. That’s all it was.” I looked at the Cupcakers, who were all watching me solemnly as I spoke with the enemy.

  “Oh!” Olivia looked disappointed. Bella and Maggie looked bored. “Well, if you ever want to talk shop, just let me know,” said Olivia. “I’ve had lots of experience in that world.” She rolled her eyes, like it tired her out just thinking about all the experience she’d had. I knew that was my cue to ask her what she knew and how she knew it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to start a bragathon with her.

  “Okay,” I said. “I will. Um. Thanks. Enjoy the movie!” And I turned my back on Olivia and then grabbed my friends, walking us to the concession stand.

  “What was that all about?” I muttered as soon as we were out of earshot. “Is Olivia Allen a model?”