by Coco Simon
“I think she might have been in an ad when she was younger,” said Mia.
We walked past a couple of girls from the grade below us at school. I smiled, and one of them whispered to the other, “That’s her!”
“Hi, Emma!” they cried in unison, then they turned away, blushing and giggling.
“I guess a lot of people read the Gazette!” said Katie, impressed.
“Maybe we should run an ad for the Cupcake Club!” said Alexis.
I laughed. Two girls—except this time from the grade above us—said hi to me while we were buying our popcorn, and then a bunch more girls said hi to me when we got into the theater.
“I’m telling you, Emma. You’re the new Romaine Ford,” said Alexis.
“I feel like we’re out with a celebrity!” Katie squealed.
I swatted her. “Stop!” But it was kind of true. I did feel . . . special. It was fun being recognized and spoken to. Even the attention from Olivia was kind of pleasant. This must be what it feels like to be famous, I thought as the lights dimmed and the preshow silence-your-cell-phone announcements started.
Suddenly, a boy’s voice rang out of the dark. “Emma Taylor’s a hottie!” and a bunch of people laughed.
My face instantly grew hot as I squirmed in my seat. I felt people looking at me, but I kept my eyes on the screen, like I hadn’t heard.
Alexis, who was sitting next to me, reached for my hand and squeezed it. She seemed to be saying, Don’t worry and Isn’t this exciting? all at once. I squeezed back, saying, Yes, No, and Thanks.
CHAPTER 5
Bambini di Roma
On Saturday afternoon I came home from orchestra practice and found my mom in the kitchen paying the bills.
“Hi, Emma!” she said brightly. “How was it?”
I got an apple and told her all about practice and our pieces and the new assistant conductor. She grilled me about what I still had for homework (everything), and I had to tell her my plan for getting it all done.
Finally, she put her palms flat on the table and took a deep breath. Looking down at the table, she said, “Sweetheart, Mona called with an opportunity for you. She said the head of publicity at Miller’s called her for your contact info. They’d seen the beautiful ad in the Gazette yesterday, and they want to ask you to do some modeling for them, in-store and maybe in print.” She looked up at me. “She wanted to know if she should give them our number.”
I took a bite of my apple and then chewed. I thought about the photo session and mean Serena, and my dad embarrassing me. But then I thought about the money and all the nice feedback at the movies. Miller’s department store was big and really chic. They had cool ads, and not just in the Gazette, but in big local magazines, and sometimes billboards, too.
“Yes,” I replied, not meeting her eye.
“Emma,” said my mom.
I looked up.
“Do you really want to do this?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said again.
She sighed. “What do you like about it?” she asked.
“Um, the money. The . . . attention,” I added, feeling shy saying it.
“Don’t we give you enough attention? Are you feeling neglected, sweetheart? Oh, I knew it! I just knew—”
“Mom! Stop! It’s not about you guys. It’s about me! It’s fun being recognized. It’s fun being fussed over. It’s fun being all girlie for a day, okay? And they pay me for all that! What’s not to like?” Besides mean makeup artists and unpredictable popular girls and people shouting at the movies, even if they are saying nice things—for now. But I didn’t say any of that.
Mom nodded, thinking. “Well, I can see the appeal when you put it that way. Your dad and I will need to discuss it, and we’ll have to set some guidelines. Like, local work only. That will probably be one. And only on weekends. And one of us will always go with you. Hmm . . . I think I’d better go online and do a little research on how to be the mother of a model!”
She reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry if I sounded negative. It is exciting, sweetheart,” she whispered.
I smiled. “I know,” I said.
“And we’re proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
Just then my brother Matt walked in, bursting the bubble.
“Dude. Everyone’s talking about your picture,” he said, opening the cabinet and taking out a glass with a clatter. He poured himself a tall drink of milk.
“Oh yeah?” I asked casually, then added, “I hope they’re saying nice things?” I wasn’t exactly fishing for compliments, but I wouldn’t have minded if he wanted to pass any along.
“Yeah. Josh Samuels thinks you’re totally hot. He’s carrying the page from the paper around in his knapsack. And Brewer Jones said you looked hot too.”
“Oh.” Josh and Brewer aren’t exactly the coolest guys in the world. And they’re not particularly cute either. They’re just normal.
“What about Joe Fraser?” I asked. “Has he said anything?”
Matt chugged his milk. After he finished, he wiped his milk mustache with the back of his hand and then let out a huge burp.
“Matthew!” scolded my mother.
Matt grinned. “Nope. Joey hasn’t said a word. Want me to tell him you were asking what he thought of it?”
“Matt, if you dare . . . !” I leaped out of my seat and lunged at him.
“Children!” said my mother sternly. “That’s enough.”
Matt cackled and dodged out of the way. “I’ll tell him you’re framing a copy of the ad for him for his birthday, and you’re signing it ‘Love and kisses, Emmy’!” Matt dropped his glass in the sink and scooted out the door.
“Mom!” I protested.
“Emma.” She sighed wearily. “This is something I cannot control. You remember me mentioning that just this sort of thing might happen. Makes you think twice, doesn’t it?” She looked at me knowingly.
“Oh, whatever,” I said. I folded my arms across my chest and looked away.
“I know, but it’s hard to have your cake and eat it too,” said my mom with raised eyebrows.
I hate know-it-alls.
That night my mom and my dad and I had a meeting. We listed the pros (good money, nice feedback, work experience) and the cons (hard work, overexposure, lots of strong personalities to deal with) of modeling and talked about the guidelines my mom had mentioned earlier.
My parents really were reluctant to let me expand beyond The Special Day. But I reasoned that the extra money would be handy, and I promised I would put at least half of it in my college fund. I pointed out that work experience is always important and that I’d be learning to get along with all types of personalities. Plus, they’d be there on the shoots with me! Finally, I think I just wore them down with my begging because they looked at each other, and my dad shrugged.
“Fine, we give in!” he said. “Right, Wendy?”
“Yes. But as your managers,” she continued, grinning, “we reserve the right to turn down jobs and to take you out of any jobs we feel are not appropriate. Understood?”
“Yes! Oh, Mom, thanks! And Dad! Thanks, you guys, you won’t regret it!” I hugged them both and then ran upstairs to let my friends know that I was officially a model.
My first job for Miller’s was two Saturdays later, after lunch. They had in a new line of children’s wear from Europe, and they hired four models to walk all around the store wearing it and carrying a little sign saying, BAMBINI DI ROMA, 4TH FLOOR. The other kids were younger than me, so they were allowed to walk together, but the publicity person wanted me out there on my own. I hated to say it, but it was kind of lonely and boring. Plus, the clothes were majorly babyish if you ask me.
My first look was a red smocked dress with a white Peter Pan collar. I don’t know how kids in Rome dress, but if they’re still made to wear this stuff after they turned ten, I would think there’d be a mutiny. They put my hair back with a thick, black, velvet headband, which I also didn’t
like, but at least I didn’t have to wear any makeup. The people working with me were nice but very professional. They barely remembered my name, and they certainly didn’t chat with me the way Patricia always does. It was okay, though. No one was mean or anything. It was just work. They were professionals, and they just assumed I was too. Which I was!
They gave me my sign to carry, and I left my mom upstairs and then took the elevator down to the ground floor to walk around. I knew how to do this: Make eye contact, smile, hold up the sign a little, and twirl. It wasn’t hard.
Only it was hard.
No one really looked at me.
I smiled harder and twirled more often, but I began to feel like I was invisible. My mom was still upstairs in the lounge, doing some needlepoint and waiting for me. I felt I could leave and no one would notice. At one point I crossed paths with the other models, in their little threesome. They were being shepherded by the publicity lady, and people were fawning all over them, like, “Oh, aren’t they cute?” and “Isn’t this outfit darling?” It made me cranky just watching, but I am, after all, a professional now, so I smiled and waved and twirled myself right on to another floor.
I realized my mistake only a second too late.
“Emma!” a voice squealed.
I was in the teen department.
I spun around, face-to-face with none other than Olivia Allen.
“Hey!” I said, trying to drum up some enthusiasm.
“Hey yourself!” cried Olivia, kind of swatting my arm (a little hard, if you ask me). “You said you only model for that bridal place!” She narrowed her eyes, but smiling like she was being friendly.
“Yeah, well . . . Miller’s made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” I said, joking.
“Really,” said Olivia, more as a statement than a question. Oops. I guess she believed me. Whatever.
Bella, Maggie, and Callie joined her side. Do these girls ever do anything alone? I wondered. “Hi,” I said weakly. They were dressed to the nines in all sorts of chic ensembles. (Why are they clothes shopping if they look this good already?) I was suddenly aware of my childish outfit, so I started edging away before anyone could say anything.
“Okay, so . . . ,” I mumbled.
“Wow, isn’t runway work just draining?” asked Olivia, all concerned. She looked at her friends, and they all nodded sympathetically, like they did it all the time and were exhausted just thinking about it.
“Well, I don’t know that this is really runway work,” I said. But Olivia wasn’t actually interested in what I had to say. Although she posed her statements as questions, all she really wanted to do was share her own experiences. She continued.
“Well, your feet will be just killing you at the end of the day.” Olivia glanced down at the ruffled white ankle socks and black patent leather Mary Janes the publicity people wedged me into. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “When you do TV work, there are lots of breaks in the trailer, and they have all kinds of snacks laid out at the craft services table. Yummy bagels and cookies and all sorts of treats. And they’ll bring you anything you want if they don’t have it there, you know. You just ask, and your wish is their command.”
“Wow,” said Bella appreciatively.
Olivia continued to nod dreamily.
I wanted to burst her bubble by asking her exactly what kind of work she’d done to earn being treated like Angelina Jolie on set, but I didn’t think it would be appropriate for a store employee to be rude to a customer. Also, I didn’t want to prolong the conversation and end up getting caught chatting on the job.
“Well, I need to go. It’s time for my next look,” I said, glancing at my wrist where my watch usually lives. (They made me take it off upstairs because it didn’t go with the outfit. Probably because the six-year-olds who’d usually be wearing this outfit can’t tell time!)
“Of course. You’re working. We shouldn’t interrupt at all. I, of all people, understand,” said Olivia solemnly.
“Right. Thanks, um . . . bye,” I said.
But of course as I tried to edge away inconspicuously, two grannies accosted me and trapped me there for five full minutes, feeling the material of my dress and asking all about Bambini di Roma. I tried not to look at Olivia and her group, but they hadn’t budged. The other three stood rapt while Olivia apparently imparted all her knowledge about the wide world of modeling.
As I finally left for good, Olivia called out, “Bye, Emma! Have fun! Talk soon!”
I was confused. Olivia was being totally nice, so why didn’t I trust her?
The afternoon went slowly as I worked my way through eight Bambini di Roma outfits. My mom smiled supportively whenever I came back for an outfit change. She fed me some snacks and brushed my hair and gave me a hug each time. I wished I could stay with her. Or better yet, drag her to the teen department to shop with me. But we didn’t have time. By the time I finished at five o’clock, we needed to get home, so she could cook dinner, and then we had to run over to see my oldest brother Sam’s basketball game.
At the end, the publicity lady handed me an envelope with a check for two hundred and fifty dollars! I couldn’t believe it. I smiled and shook her hand, like my dad had told me to, and said goodbye.
The lady paused, and then in a low voice she said to me and my mom, “I don’t usually do this, but you are such a dear to work with and just so lovely looking. My very good friend is a big modeling agent in the city, and she asks me to keep an eye out only for exceptional talent to refer to her.” She reached in to her desk drawer and pulled out a shiny gold business card that she handed to my mom. “Why don’t you give her a call if you aren’t already working with an agent. She’s tough, but she’s the best in the business. I’ll tell her to look out for your call. Thanks again, Emma. It was so nice meeting you, and we will certainly be in touch with more work for you very soon.”
“Thank you. It was a nice opportunity. And thanks for the card,” I said.
In the elevator I leaned against my mom and read the card.
Alana Swenson
Representation
(913) 555-3798
“Huh. We’ll have to google her,” I said, clueless.
CHAPTER 6
The Big Time
Tyler Jones, Randi MacNeil, Josanna, and Mallory Cordite! All of them!” I cried incredulously. I was reading from the Internet to my mom as she made dinner. I’d searched Alana Swenson as soon as we got home, only to find out she was basically the biggest modeling agent in New York, representing every major model I’d ever heard of. “Wow!”
“That is amazing,” agreed my mom, then added, smiling, “I’ve even heard of some of them.”
I sat, also smiling, and shaking my head in disbelief. The Swenson Group’s home page was just a phone number. I guess that’s all she needed.
The phone rang, and I saw on the caller ID that it was Alexis.
“Hey! How did it go?” she asked.
“Good! Actually, bad. It was really boring, but I did a good job, I guess.”
“Of course you did!” said Alexis. “What else is up?”
“Well, they gave me a business card for an agent. I’m trying to convince my mom to call her,” I said, glaring meaningfully at my mother.
“Not till I speak with your father!” she singsonged for the tenth time.
I made a sound of aggravation. “What are you up to?” I asked Alexis.
“Not much. Homework. Just calling to make sure you’re coming over to bake tomorrow. We’ve got that baby shower in the afternoon for Mrs. Kramer’s daughter.”
“Right! I almost forgot. Yes, I will totally be there,” I said, smacking my forehead. I mentally reviewed the mounds of homework I had upstairs. “What time?”
“Eleven, okay?” she asked.
“Yup. Sure. No prob. See you then.”
We hung up, and I groaned.
“What?” asked my mom.
“Work, work, work,” I said.
My mom said nothing. Right. Be
careful what you wish for.
“I can’t go to Sam’s game,” I said.
“Oh, honey! That’s too bad. It’s the semifinals!”
I shrugged. “Homework. I need to get it done tonight, so I can go bake tomorrow. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me. It’s Sam who will miss you.”
“I’m sure!” I snorted. “Not a game goes by where Sam doesn’t seek me out in the crowd.”
“Well, I’ll miss you, then,” my mom said, knowing that to contradict me on this was pointless since I was right. Though we do try to make it to everyone’s games when we can, with the amount of sports that go on in this family, there are a lot of missed games too. It’s okay. Sam really wouldn’t mind.
As I closed my laptop to go upstairs, the phone rang. My mom peeked at the caller ID and said, “It’s for you, sweetheart.”
SPECIAL DAY, THE, it said.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Darling, I have the most divine news!” It was Mona.
I smiled. “What?”
“Jaden Sacks has given us her line to carry—permanently. It’s just incredibly exciting! We’re all pinching ourselves!”
“Congratulations, Mona! That’s great news!” I said. I was really happy for her. She’d worked so hard for this.
“I know. I’m thrilled. Anyway, we’re going to have a launch party and runway show here at the store, one month from today, and I wanted to make sure my top model wasn’t booked. I think Ms. Sacks herself will be coming! Oh, it’s just too exciting to think about!”
“Sure! I can be there, no problem. I’ll double-check with my mom, but I’m sure it’s okay.” I noticed my mother looking at me. “Thanks for asking me!”
“Also, darling, it will be quite a crowd, and there probably will be some press, so let’s go ahead and amp up the cupcake order. Maybe do something over the top, okay?”
“Great! We’d love to!” I couldn’t wait to tell Alexis. A big cupcake order, and press!
“Okay, darling. Now that I’m in your book, I feel much better. Have a fabulous night. Kiss, kiss. Talk soon.”