by Coco Simon
“I know, I know, none of this was what you expected!” she boomed. “That’s the point! Have a seat! You are lovely looking! Trina was right. I’m glad she sent you. This won’t take long.”
My mom and I sat in two additional gold swivel chairs in front of the desk, and Alana proceeded to hand us paperwork (agent contracts, agency rules, this week’s list of open calls, my website’s username and password) and briefly explain it all. There will be go-sees, where I am invited to try out for a job. I will be told what to wear and where to go. The client will let Alana know if I get the job. My money will be sent to Alana, who will take twenty percent and send me a check for the rest. Alana was talking very quickly, and my mother was nodding and writing everything down in her notebook.
“All right! Any questions?” Alana asked.
I didn’t have any. “It all sounds great!” I said, hoping to appear perky.
“It’s hard work,” Alana pointed out.
Right.
“What about school?” asked my mother.
Alana shrugged. “With looks like hers, this one will make more money than any education could give her.” Alana laughed—“Heh, heh, heh”—like she was drowning.
My mom’s jaw dropped, but then she recovered. “I meant, the go-sees are after school and on weekends, right?”
Alana’s phone buzzed. She put her hand to the receiver to answer. “Not always. Any other questions?”
My mother and I looked at each other. I shook my head.
“Uh . . . ,” said my mother.
“Alana Swenson,” said Alana, picking up her phone, she waved and mouthed Bye at us.
We stood up and found our escort back at the door to take us out.
“Thank you,” I said over my shoulder. Alana waved again.
Moments later we were out on the street, and my mother and I looked at each other and then burst out laughing.
“Was that for real?” I asked her.
“No, I think it was a scene from a movie!” she said.
“OMG.” We stood for a minute and caught our breath. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Alana had said about school. “Mom?” I began.
“No. I know what you’re thinking. Listen, sweetheart, you’re certainly beautiful, but no one is that beautiful. School comes first, and it always will. Look, you don’t even know if you like modeling yet. Let’s take things one step at a time.”
“Fine,” I said. And I have to admit, I was a little relieved.
It wasn’t until the train ride home that I realized I’d never had a chance to ask Alana if it was true about Olivia. Oh well. I’d find out sooner or later.
CHAPTER 8
Modeling Buddies
The next couple of days I rushed home from school to see if I’d received any assignments from Alana, but there was nothing. My mom said to be patient and that it was better to ease into things, but I just wanted to get started.
It wasn’t until Friday that I finally ran into Olivia in the cafeteria. She looked caught, like a deer in headlights, when I spied her.
“Hi, Olivia,” I said. I couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of her Alana story.
“Oh, hi, Emma, I’m just running out. . . . I’m late for a meeting with my lab partner. . . . ” She scrambled a little, trying to get away from me, but I wasn’t going to let her get off that easily.
“So what’s up with Alana Swenson? I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I haven’t seen you around.”
“Oh, you know.” Olivia shrugged. “She was supernice. She said to send in my photos and she’d take a look, so . . . ”
Olivia was acting like she was still waiting to hear back, but I knew how quickly Alana responded to things. Olivia must’ve been rejected. “So what did she say?” I pressed. I didn’t want to be mean, but I also was annoyed at Olivia for lying and trying to kind of steal my thunder.
“Well . . . they’re pretty busy right now, so, you know . . . ”
“It didn’t work out?” I asked flat out.
“No, she said to check back, though, maybe when I grow a little.”
Bingo! Rejected! Just as I suspected.
“Oh, okay. Well, keep me posted, anyway,” I said, “and good luck!”
I am not a mean person, but I hate liars, and it felt good to call Olivia out on her lie. That said, I did feel a little sorry for her. Being rejected stinks, and when it’s for something as personal as your looks, well, it has got to be hard.
“Yeah, I think I’m hitting some open calls this weekend, if you’re interested. I’ll have my mom call your mom, okay?” And she took off before I could say not to bother.
I sighed. Oh whatever.
When I got home after baking minis for Mona at Katie’s all afternoon, my mom was already back from work and all a-chatter about the great conversation she’d had on the phone with Mrs. Allen! Ugh! Apparently, Mrs. Allen was quite the expert on modeling and children’s careers (having had so much experience with adorable Olivia as a baby), and my mom was fired up with information and plans.
“So if you’re interested, I thought it would be good practice, and you could go in with them tomorrow and kind of do a dry run for something that doesn’t really count, you know?”
“Wait, you and Mrs. Allen are all buddy-buddy now, and you want me to go on an open call with Olivia?” I spluttered. I couldn’t believe it. From not wanting me to model to now shoving me out on any old call. “Mom!”
She looked at me as if really seeing me for the first time, and then she sat down heavily in a chair at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. “Oh, dear. I can’t believe it. Just listen to me! I’m turning into what I promised myself not to become—a stage mother!” She lifted her head and looked at me with a smile. “Sweetheart, do whatever you like. Mrs. Allen just got me all whipped up, but honestly, it’s none of my business. If you’d like to go, you should go. If not, don’t. It’s totally up to you.” She shook her head as if to clear it and then stood up to make a cup of coffee.
Now it was my turn to sit at the kitchen table. Would it be good practice? Should I do it? It might be better than going alone the first time. But spending a day with Olivia Allen? That sounded insane. And what would my friends say? I rested my chin on my hand and thought.
We didn’t have any cupcake plans for the next day. I could knock off a lot of my homework tonight. Plus, Mona didn’t need me tomorrow. I would be sleeping at Mia’s tomorrow night, but I’d be back in time for that. I could actually do it.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“What, sweetheart?” asked my mom, nibbling on a cookie.
“I’ll go.”
“Oh, Emmy, you don’t have to do it on my account. I was a blithering idiot when you came in here. Mrs. Allen talks so fast and got me so amped up. Really, you don’t have to go.”
“No, I think it’s a good idea. Look, they at least have some kind of experience, and it might be less scary than going on my own the first time. I’ll go.”
My mom eyed me warily. “You’re sure?”
I nodded. “Yup.”
And that’s how I ended up on the train to the city the next morning, with Olivia and her mom, after I’d made my weekly delivery of minis to Mona.
Mrs. Allen was friendly, but very hyper and wired. She had this big bag filled with snacks and activities and all sorts of grooming supplies. Once my mother had called her last night to say I’d “love to join them” (overstatement), she had e-mailed my mother the open call description, as well as instructions on what I should wear and how I should be styled. It was superorganized and generous, but there was something a little “compulsive” about it, to use my mom’s word.
Olivia was actually unusually nice, but kind of quiet. I think her own mom scared her a little, which was sad. She was much better one-on-one than when she was trying to impress her cronies. We chatted on the way in about famous models and their careers, and fashions we liked (I’m not all that into fashion, but thanks to Mia, I can fake it for
a while). I told them about the Cupcake Club, and Mrs. Allen looked very impressed.
“Why don’t you start a business like that?” she said to Olivia, but her voice had a little bit of an edge to it, and Olivia winced. I looked away and pretended I hadn’t noticed.
The open call was at a big loft downtown in kind of a desolate neighborhood. They were looking for models for Teen Look magazine, which was major. Inside, the loft was packed with girls our age, and we had to sign in at a desk and take numbers. We’d be seen in groups of three, and luckily, Olivia and I were in the same group. Just seeing all these kids was really intimidating. I knew there’d be no way they’d pick me from all this competition, but I knew it would be a good experience. We settled onto a bench to wait, and Olivia’s mom pulled out some magazines and handed them to us. I was impressed that she had thought to pack something to pass the time.
Olivia and I chatted a little bit, but then fell silent, just watching the crowd around us. It was better than a reality TV show. There were girls of all shapes, sizes, and colors, and a wide range of prettiness, if you ask me. And the mothers! I was so glad my mom wasn’t there to witness it, because I think she would have made me quit then and there.
The mothers were yanking their daughters’ hair with hairbrushes, painting on makeup, adjusting the girls’ clothing, roughly grasping and maneuvering them. It was like the mothers were taking out their nerves on the daughters. I didn’t know where to look.
The people running the tryout were calling in groups of girls, but it was still moving very slowly. Olivia and I sat for two hours before they even got close to our number. We mostly observed and made quiet comments to each other now and then. Olivia was pretty good company. Not too braggy without an audience, and nice enough. We didn’t click completely, so I doubted we’d ever really be friends, but she was perfectly pleasant.
From the minute we got there, Mrs. Allen was in her element, chatting with all the other moms in various degrees of annoyance about “the biz,” as she called it. Everyone had advice and inside information, and it was all delivered with so much urgency, it was making me nervous. She only seemed to notice us occasionally and handed out some dried apricots and seltzer water to keep up our energy, but other than that, it was like we weren’t even with her.
Finally, finally, our group was called, and Olivia’s mom snapped to attention; brushed Olivia’s hair one last time; grabbed her by the shoulders; squatted down to look at her, eye to eye; and said one word: “Sparkle.” Then she swatted Olivia on the bum, gave me kind of a closed-mouth smile, and in we went, with one other girl.
Inside the room was a long table filled with grown-ups. They asked for our names and ages and our representation. I could see they were impressed when I said, “Alana Swenson.” Two of them looked at each other and nodded, and a third raised his eyebrows really high and made a note on his clipboard. The other girl mentioned another agency. I felt bad for Olivia when she said, “Self-representation for now,” so I pretended not to hear.
Olivia went first. They had her stand in front of a white sheet and take some test photos. They called out the poses to her, and she did them naturally, like she’d been doing this all her life: “Three-quarter turn, profile, smile, serious . . . ” And then they said, “Thank you! We’ll be in touch!” and she was sent out the door. The whole thing took about two minutes.
The other girl went next, and they did the same. Then it was my turn.
“Emma,” said one of the women at the table. “How old are you? Where are you from? Do you play any sports? Can you sing?” and all kinds of questions like that. They took lots of photos of me, and it took almost three times as long as it had for the others. At the end they said, “We’ll call you with the details of the shoot on Monday.” And someone gave me a business card, and then I was out the door too.
Outside, Mrs. Allen was packing up, and Olivia was watching the door anxiously. I was pretty sure I’d been picked, but I didn’t know the lingo or anything, so I wasn’t sure what to tell the Allens.
But I guess because I’d been in there so long, Mrs. Allen already knew.
She gave me another tight-lipped smile and said, “All finished finally?” I wanted to say, “No, I have to go off to the shoot now,” but I didn’t, of course. The Allens had been nice to take me, and I felt bad by how it had worked out. Olivia hadn’t been picked, and I was pretty sure I had. I shoved the business card deep into the pocket of my white jeans and knew I wouldn’t look at it until I was home.
We had a quiet taxi ride to the station, but when we got to our seats on the train, Olivia’s mom had a slew of things to say to Olivia, like, “Were you relaxed? Did you smile? I mean, did you really smile, and sparkle, like I told you? Because they can tell when you don’t really want it. I mean, the camera doesn’t miss anything, Olivia.”
Olivia took it in silence for a few minutes, but then she burst out, “Jeez, Mom, I did my best! What else do you want from me?”
“I want you to try. That’s all. If you’d only apply yourself, and just stick to things . . . You just need a work ethic. Look at Emma, with her cupcake business, and now this . . . ”
Olivia looked out the window, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I couldn’t just sit there and listen. I felt terrible for Olivia.
After that, it was a quiet ride home. I mostly stared out the window of the train. No magazines or apricots were offered, to me or to Olivia, and I was bored and hungry. I couldn’t wait to get away from the Allens.
I’d never looked forward to seeing my mom so much in my life.
CHAPTER 9
Acting Natural
At school on Monday, I ran into Olivia first thing. She was with her crew, of course: Maggie, Callie, and Bella.
Olivia was all smiles. “Hey, I have a really good feeling about that open call on Saturday, you know?” she said loud enough for everyone to hear.
I stared at her for a minute. Is she kidding? They hadn’t given her one scrap of encouragement. But no, she was serious.
“Yeah. Right. Well, we’ll see, I guess!” I said, trying to be cheerful.
She crossed her fingers and waved them in the air at me. I did the same back and went on my way.
Weird.
But that evening, when my mom listened to the messages on our voice mail, there was a call inviting me in for a shoot on Saturday! It would be three hours, and they’d pay me a thousand dollars.
My mom and I whooped and high-fived. But then she said, “Wait, do you want to go? It’s for Teen Look, right? Is that interesting to you?”
“Mom, who cares?!” I said. “It’s a thousand dollars!”
We fell silent and stared at each other. Then we started laughing again. “Oh my goodness!” said my mother, wiping her eyes. “That’s a lot of money!”
Suddenly I remembered something. “Wait, but I have my cupcake shoot in the city the same day!”
My mom’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “Can we do both? What’s the schedule for the cupcake shoot? This one is from nine to twelve.”
I quickly called Mia and discovered our cupcake shoot was for the afternoon, from one to five p.m., and I told her I’d get back to her with a plan. When I called back later, she proposed we all drive in together and they come to watch my shoot. I agreed, saying my mom would check to see if they could watch, but they could certainly drive in with us, and it was all settled.
On Wednesday we had an official meeting of the Cupcake Club, and it felt good to be back. We’d all been a little busy lately—Alexis with our web design, Mia and Katie with school, and me with the modeling stuff—so the cupcake business had slid a little. Except for our weekly delivery to Mona and our big plan for her Jaden Sacks launch party the following Saturday, we didn’t have any other jobs booked right now.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Sometimes it’s slow, but just think about the times we’ve been swamped and how we’d wished it would quiet down. It will pick back up again. I’m sure of it.”<
br />
Alexis nodded. “We just have to use this quiet time for business development. The website will be great. I can’t wait to show you what I have so far.” She flipped open her laptop and proceeded to walk us through the site layout.
“And here’s where our portfolio will go,” she said, “and here would be a photo of us. . . . ”
“Oh, my dad has great shots from that day. I’ll e-mail you some, and you can pick the one for there, okay?”
“Great.” Alexis nodded again.
After the site tour, we made our shopping list for the supplies for Saturday, then divided it up, since we had so much to get. We agreed to meet after school on Friday at my house to pack everything up and do our baking for Mona and the cupcakes for the shoot, then everything would be ready to load in my mom’s minivan the next morning. Leaving our meeting, we all felt organized and efficient. It was a good feeling.
At home, my mom had three new messages about go-sees from Alana! One was tomorrow, one was after school next Wednesday, and the other was next Saturday—during the Jaden Sacks launch! And, of course, that go-see was the biggest one. It was for Icon, one of my favorite stores. The money they were offering was insane (five thousand dollars!!!), and my mom and I just stared at each other, dumbfounded. How could people make so much money just standing around having their picture taken?
“But I can’t go,” I said, coming back down to Earth.
“Emma, that’s a lot of money to turn down,” my mother said. “Are you sure?”
“I promised Mona two weeks ago. It’s a really big day for her. I can’t back out now!”
“Could you have someone else go to Mona’s in your place? Like Olivia Allen?” my mom suggested.
“No. No way. I owe it to Mona.” I felt very strongly about this, as hard as it was to turn down the Icon shoot. Plus, to be honest, there was no way I was going to even suggest Olivia take my place at my beloved The Special Day.