Bead-Dazzled

by Olivia Bennett

  They stopped in a small room off the back hall. A shiny white desk took up most of the space. A huge silver-framed bulletin board with oversized photos of the Beautylicious products covered one wall. This must be Kayla’s mom’s office, Emma thought.

  “Let’s hang here,” Charlie said, pulling them all onto a squishy, striped sofa in the corner. He gazed at his cell phone’s screen. “Five more minutes til midnight.”

  “We should make New Year’s resolutions,” Holly said, kicking off her shoes.

  “That’s lame,” Charlie clicked the stopwatch icon on his phone to start a countdown.

  “No, it’s not. It’s important. If you say it out loud, visualize your dreams, they’ll come true,” Holly insisted. Emma loved that Holly was so spiritual. She believed in karma and fate and love-at-first sight. Emma was much more practical.

  “This year I want to put myself out there,” Holly said. “I want to raise my hand more in class, join more clubs, maybe even try out for the play or do some performance thing.”

  “Really?” Emma was impressed. Back in first grade, Holly had been so shy. She’d refused to speak to any adults, including their teacher. Obviously she wasn’t like that anymore, but this resolution was a big change. “That’s so great. You’d be killer on a stage, Holls. What about you, Charlie?”

  “I want to be part of something bigger.”

  “Bigger than what?”

  “Bigger than Downtown Day. Bigger than school and homework.” Charlie leaned forward. “I want to do something that means something, you know?”

  Emma nodded. She did. “Totally.”

  “And you, Ems?” Holly asked.

  “Allegra Biscotti.”

  “Charlie smirked. “Of course. But what?”

  “This year has been crazy. I mean, six months ago I was just this middle school girl sewing dresses in the corner of my dad’s lace factory. And now…” Emma thought about having her designs featured in Madison magazine, about making a dress for the most-talked about Sweet Sixteen that was photographed for The New York Times Style section, about setting up her own design studio, about her successful pop-up shop in SoHo. “Well, now I’m also Allegra Biscotti.”

  “The sleek and sophisticated Italian fashion designer,” Charlie finished. He’d been in on it since the beginning.

  “That’s me.” Saying it still felt unreal to Emma. The kids at Downtown Day saw her every day, yet she was so far below the Ivana-popularity meter that they barely knew she was there. As Allegra Biscotti, the fashion world and press had taken notice, yet none of them had ever seen her in the flesh. Allegra Biscotti was everywhere and nowhere.

  Allegra Biscotti was an imaginary name that Emma had impulsively made up to hide that she was really just a kid. Was she Emma Rose or Allegra Biscotti? Could she be both and still keep her secret? Some days it was hard to know.

  “So what’s your resolution?” Holly asked.

  “Someday I want Allegra to be part of events like that Goin’ Green benefit. I want people to be inspired by my fashion.” Emma bit her lip. “Is that too much?”

  “Never,” Charlie insisted. “Got to dream big, right?”

  “Right.” Emma grinned. She glanced over at Charlie’s phone. “One minute left.”

  “We need to make a toast at midnight.” Holly gazed helplessly around Ms. Levine’s office. “But with what?”

  Emma’s eye landed on the latest issue of Madison on the desk. She picked up the famous fashion bible. Her thumb rubbed the glossy cover. She so wanted more photos of her designs, her ideas, her fashions in this magazine. She so wanted to be a bigger part of the fashion world. “Let’s toast on Madison.” It seemed fitting since Allegra had started with Madison. She held the magazine out. Charlie and Holly each grabbed onto a side.

  They raised their arms and tossed the magazine in the air, as the clock hit midnight.

  “To dreams,” Holly said.

  “To a mind-blowing new year,” Charlie said.

  “To something bigger,” Emma said. “Together!”

  CHAPTER 2

  THE FASHION GODS LISTEN

  Emma couldn’t wrap her mind around school.

  First day back after Christmas break, and she should’ve been trying to dig out the middle-school geometry and biology factoids that had retreated to the far back corners of her brain. Instead, Emma was focused on the amazing houndstooth coat with the flared hem the woman next to her on the subway wore. Could she narrow the silhouette and belt it to turn it into a dress? Add a thick zipper?

  “Earth to Emma!” Charlie called from behind her. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Kind of.” Emma blinked and stared into her locker. She forced her eyes past the green-and-white graphic flowers of the Marimekko fabric lining the interior and toward the pile of forgotten textbooks and binders. “Actually no. Sorry.”

  “Well, listen up. I have something—” The bell for classes cut Charlie off.

  Emma shook the fashion daze from her eyes. What did she have first period? A new semester meant a new schedule. Western Civilization, that was it. She’d been lucky enough to test into the honors class.

  “So here’s the deal—” Charlie started again.

  “Not now.” Emma scanned the nearly empty hallway. “Talk later, okay?” She slammed her locker closed and took off for room 404. Her mother would launch into one of her famous rants if she found out Emma had been late on the first day. And her mom would know. Not only because she taught English to Downtown Day’s high school juniors and seniors, but also because her mom’s best friend, Betsy Ling, taught Western Civ. Knowing Betsy—Ms. Ling, Emma reminded herself—Emma suspected that she’d be extra hard on her to help her mother in her quest to get her to live up to what she called “her academic potential.” Her mom thought nothing was more important than schoolwork. Emma’s deal with her parents was that she had to keep her grades high or it was bye-bye Allegra Biscotti.

  Emma slipped into the last remaining seat as the final bell sounded.

  She glanced at the desk directly to her left. A short, twitchy boy nervously chewed a pencil. Marco something. She cringed as flecks of yellow paint gathered on his desk. She turned to her right. Lexie met her gaze with a raised eyebrow. No smile. Then she crossed her long legs, tan from a tropical holiday vacation, and turned her attention to the teacher.

  This is going to be fun, Emma thought.

  Ms. Ling began outlining the course on the whiteboard. Emma noted her simple, starched white button-down shirt and crisp, tailored trousers. With her angular features and her slim hips, she pulled it off. Very clean, very no-nonsense. Emma liked a girlier look, but she admired that Ms. Ling owned her style with confidence.

  She didn’t admire the way Ms. Ling piled on the homework. The first day and she already had to read and outline two chapters.

  The homework kept coming as the day wore on. Emma had planned to use her holiday gift certificate to the fabric store, Allure, to buy a batch of yummy fabrics—she’d been feeling very ultra-suedy—and start draping some of the designs she’d been sketching. How was she ever going to have time for homework?

  She spotted Charlie’s white-blond hair, all spiky today, above the crowd as she made her to her locker after algebra. “Hey there!” she called.

  “Hey there,” came a voice from her other side. A voice softer and deeper than Charlie’s.

  She turned and smiled. Jackson returned her grin. His sky-blue eyes warmed as they met hers. He was even cuter than before the break, Emma realized.

  “I’ve been looking for you all morning,” he said.

  She smiled even wider, unable to think of something witty to say, unable to compose herself and look vaguely cool. She liked that he’d been searching for her. She liked the way his thick brown hair flopped across his forehead.

  “Finally!” Charlie pushed between them. “Em, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  “Can’t it wait?” She flicked her eyes toward Jackson.


  Charlie considered Jackson. “No.” Charlie wasn’t a fan of Jackson. Then again Charlie wasn’t a fan of any of the athletic guys at their school. He was hung up that they were all two-dimensional jocks. But Jackson was different. Emma wished Charlie could see that.

  Emma exhaled. “What is it?”

  “Not here. Private business, you know?” He nodded his head toward the door leading to the inner courtyard.

  “I’m kind of busy now.” She widened her eyes, hoping Charlie would get her hint to give it a rest. She didn’t want to sound mean, but she hadn’t seen Jackson for two weeks. She and Charlie had talked every day over break. Often two or three times a day. “And I’m going to be late for Bio.” The bell was ringing.

  “I’m headed that way, too.” Jackson started to walk and Emma walked with him. “I’ve got computers with Mr. Torrance. The man moves and speaks like a robot. Ever had him?”

  “No.” She turned to look over her shoulder. She felt bad about just leaving Charlie, but he did have English down the opposite hall. “Find me after school,” she called to him.

  Charlie shook his head. “Lame,” he mouthed.

  Emma groaned. Charlie could be way too judgmental.

  “Listen, hey,” Jackson began as they neared her Bio classroom. “We’re playing the Kirkwood Cougars at home in our gym tonight. I’m starting.”

  “Wow. Big game.” She knew Jackson was on the basketball team, and she knew that Kirkwood Academy was Downtown Day’s biggest rival, but she didn’t know much more. Sports weren’t her thing. Not even a little.

  “Yeah, you could come and watch.” He looked at her hopefully.

  They’d stopped walking. Emma sensed bodies flowing around them to get through the door, but she couldn’t move, especially when he was staring at her like that. He wanted her to be there for him! “Totally. When’s the game?”

  “At six.”

  “Okay, I need to go to work after school, but I’ll be there,” she promised.

  “Work?” He tilted his head, confused.

  “For my dad. I help out at his lace business after school. Remember?” Her stomach sunk a bit. Hadn’t he ever listened to her?

  “Right. But didn’t you say you were interning for that fashion designer? That Allegra woman?” Jackson stepped to the side to let Abby Diehl wiggle through the door.

  “Good memory, I’m impressed. Yeah, I do intern for her…sometimes…when she needs me.” Emma tried to keep it vague.

  That was the story she’d told. That she was an intern for Allegra Biscotti. Most kids hadn’t heard of Allegra and had no interest in what Emma did after school. It was only Ivana who cared. She thought she was the most fashionable girl at the school. She thought she deserved an internship with a soon-to-be famous designer—not Emma.

  Of course, she didn’t know Emma was the designer.

  “Five,” Jackson called, as he headed across the hall to his classroom.

  “What’s that?”

  “My number. So you can find me on the court.”

  Emma smiled. There was no chance she wouldn’t be able to pick Jackson out of a crowd, even if a thousand boys were wearing the same uniform!

  As she listened to lab safety rules, Emma doodled 5’s along the margins of her notebook paper. She filled some in with polka dots, some with stripes, and some with swirls. 5, 5, 5. Her new favorite number.

  Wow, she was losing it!

  She refocused on the teacher and the research on penguins he was assigning them to do for homework tonight. Her after-school designing day was suddenly getting much shorter.

  That’s okay, she told herself. There’s nothing big for Allegra on the horizon. Nothing like the Madison photo shoot or the pop-up shop. Her plan had been to start designing some new pieces. Experiment a bit outside her comfort zone. It could all wait a day or two.

  “I’m going to the basketball game tonight,” Emma told Holly after last period. Their lockers were next to one another, and she inhaled the familiar scent of watermelon. Holly was perpetually chewing fruit-flavored gum.

  “Does the team need new uniforms?”

  “I’m offended. Did it ever occur to you that I have school spirit and I like basketball?”

  “No, not for a second.” Holly snapped her gum and studied Emma. “It did occur to me that you like our team’s starting point guard.”

  “Really? That’s his position? Good to know.”

  “You’re actually going? To a basketball game? No sewing?”

  “Today I’m putting homework and basketball first and fashion second.”

  “You’re putting a boy first,” Holly said smugly.

  “Never.”

  “Tonight.”

  “Okay, tonight,” Emma agreed. “He asked me to go.”

  Holly squealed. “I so knew he liked you.”

  “What do I wear?”

  “You’re asking me?” Holly unwrapped another stick of gum. “That’s your department.”

  “Except I’ve never been to a school basketball game. Do I go in school colors? Something sporty?”

  “You go in what you’re wearing now.”

  Today Emma had put together one of her high-low mixes. She’d paired the plaid Marc Jacobs mini skirt she’d scored at an Upper East Side consignment shop with a vintage rock baby-tee, and red leather cowboy boots. Not exactly the outfit of choice for a gym filled with sweaty teens. If she hurried to Laceland and quickly did whatever her dad needed, he’d let her off early to race home to change. She waved to Holly and ran to the uptown subway.

  Five stops later, Emma got off at 34th Street and 7th Avenue. She slowed her pace as she walked north. The air smelled like pungent curried chicken from a nearby food cart. Emma loved it here in the Garment District. It was where the magic happened. Outside, the streets were crowded with double-parked trucks and handcarts. Ground-level stores sold ribbons and buttons and discounted cheap-looking clothes. But upstairs, high inside the century-old cavernous buildings, fashion came to life. Fabrics were designed and sent to dye houses. Materials from all over the world were bought and sold. Ideas were sketched in workrooms, draped then sewn into couture. Models were fitted in finery to be sent down runways. Fashion editors and department store buyers held meetings to decide what the world would be wearing a year from now.

  She dodged the rolling racks that crowded the sidewalk of West 37th Street. Her phone buzzed.

  Where r u????? I am standing by your locker!

  Emma cringed. She stopped outside the grey limestone building that housed Noah Rose’s wholesale lace business along with a pattern-maker, an umbrella company, and several fabric importers.

  Totally my fault. @ Laceland, Emma texted back.

  U forgot me?

  Never, Emma assured Charlie.

  Then what?

  There was no way around it. I 4got. Sorry!!!! Come up here. K?

  Maybe I’m busy. Ever think of that?

  C u later. Emma knew Charlie would show. He always did. He hated to do homework in his small apartment where his mom gave singing lessons to overly dramatic actresses who dreamed of Broadway.

  She took the rickety elevator up eleven floors then walked down the windowless hallway and into the reception area.

  “Yes. Isaac already said he would look for more in the back.” Marjorie Kornbluth tapped her coral-polished nails against the reception desk and flipped through the latest issue of People as she spoke on the phone. “Honey, this is the third time you’ve called today. I’m going to need a coffee transfusion if you’re going to keep at it. Isaac knows what you need.” Marjorie gazed up through her false eyelashes and rolled her eyes at Emma. “Yes, yes, I will remind him. Thank you, too.”

  She forcefully returned the phone’s receiver to the base and shook her head. “Does Reena really think under-ordering is the same as having a lace crisis?” Her silvery-blond hair stayed put, shellacked into place by decades of hairspray. “No one has patience anymore.”

  “Reena’s company
makes curtains, right?” Emma asked. “A curtain without lace is like Mary-Kate without Ashley.”

  “Like Dolce without Gabbana,” Marjorie played along.

  “Like Tim Gunn without Heidi Klum.”

  “That doesn’t work.” Marjorie waved her hand. “Not a fashion design team.”

  “Should I go find Isaac?” Emma asked. Isaac Munoz was the warehouse manager.

  “He’s at lunch.” Marjorie flipped another page of the magazine. She’d been in the fashion business for nearly fifty years. Extinction of the silkworm or contamination of the world’s cotton crop were the only disasters deemed worthy of her crisis control. “So’s your dad. Quiet day today, except for Reena. Go be Allegra.”

  “Thanks! You are the truly the Ruler of Ruffles.”

  Marjorie was completely in on her Allegra secret.

  When Emma first started designing as Allegra, Marjorie had shocked then saved her with her own secret. Who knew that her dad’s cranky seventy-year-old receptionist was a sewing whiz and had tailored clothes for years at Bergdorf’s? Emma had been in the midst of a meltdown at the machine, and Marjorie had magically appeared and stitched the fabric—and her fraying nerves—back together. From then on, Marjorie had been her sewing fairy godmother—The Queen of Seams, The Ruler of Running Stitches, The Princess of Pleats. Emma thought up a new name each week.

  Emma wound her way through the warehouse toward the far back corner to her design studio.

  Okay, it wasn’t really a studio. It wasn’t even a room, because technically a room needed four walls and her corner only had two. But the area had everything she needed: a large worktable for measuring and cutting fabric, three dress forms she’d scavenged off the street to drape and shape her designs, her enormous inspiration board filled with swatches, clippings, and photographs, and, most of all, her trusty Singer sewing machine. The old machine had been Grandma Grace’s before she moved to Florida. Every Allegra Biscotti piece had been crafted by its needle.