Bead-Dazzled

by Olivia Bennett

  “She’s right,” Clayton agreed. “Plus the opening sequence is supposed to be killer.”

  “We’ll go.” Lexie linked her arms through Jackson’s arms. “You guys could try to meet us. Or not.” She pulled Jackson out of the kitchen. Ivana followed with Clayton.

  “But Emma will shower fast.” Holly’s voice came out high and pleading, as she followed behind. Emma knew she was calculating the potential damage of leaving Clayton with Lexie, Ivana, and Shannon.

  “You go,” Emma nudged Holly toward Clayton. “Go to the movie now.”

  “You’ll be there?” Jackson reached out to touch Emma’s wet sleeve.

  “Sure.” Emma stared down at his hand.

  “Really for sure?” His voice was quiet, so the others couldn’t hear as they left the apartment.

  “Really for sure.” She had no interest in watching a movie with the Ivana-Bees, but she’d ditched Jackson once already. He seemed to really want her there. She had to show this time. “I promise.”

  “Okay.” Jackson grinned and left with the others.

  “Awkward much?” Charlie asked when they were, once again, alone in the apartment.

  “I’m toast if Ivana posts those photos.”

  “You’re probably toast on Monday with or without the hard evidence,” he pointed out.

  “Wonderful.” Emma dashed into her parents’ clean bathroom and did a power scrub in their shower, while Charlie watched TV in the family room. She knotted her wet hair into a fishtail braid and threw on her favorite worn jeans, and the three layered tops she’d planned along with tan suede booties. She added a last-minute accessory—a fuzzy gray scarf that she wrapped around her head like a hoodie to hide her yellow-infused hair. The shower hadn’t completely erased her turmeric tinge. She wondered if now wasn’t time to come up with a new design of the burka—the full body covering Muslim women wore—for when girls like her needed to conceal as much skin and hair as possible.

  Charlie gave an exaggerated sniff as she entered the room. “Interesting scent. A woody, Oriental perfume with undertones of curry.”

  “Okay, so I couldn’t completely mask the smell. But it’s better, right?” Emma gave a hopeful smile. “The bottle promised an air of mystery.”

  “Yes, one could say this whole night is quite the mystery.” Charlie leaned back onto the sofa cushions.

  “You’re coming with me?” Emma asked. “You’re not sending me into that movie theater alone like this?”

  “No way! You ordered the popcorn, not me,” Charlie said. “No movie, but I will walk you to the theater, but only because it’s on my way home and because I’m a good friend.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Emma said, as they walked the three blocks in the unseasonably warm January night. Emma knew she should hurry. The previews were probably wrapping up. She admired the extra-long grey cashmere cardigan sweater the woman ahead of them wore. The soft material was laced with threads of silver that glimmered in the streetlights. A cocoon with style. Exactly what Emma could use tonight.

  “Ivana-Boy and the crew of clones awaits you,” Charlie said as they reached the movie theater.

  “Don’t call him that. He’s nothing like Ivana.” Emma hesitated on the sidewalk, staring up at the movie posters promising action and adventure. How had she ended up as part of this group outing? This was so not her thing. Could she slip in unnoticed? Would Holly and Jackson care if she didn’t?

  “I’m thinking I’ll take a pass.” Emma fidgeted with her faux fox mini tote that held her keys, peppermint gum, and lip gloss and looked about for something to justify wimping out. She saw the folding table at the corner. Immigrant street vendors selling fake designer handbags, umbrellas, hats and scarves were a common sight in the city, but this one was different.

  “She has serious style,” Emma told Charlie, pointing her head at a tall woman with skin the color of hot chocolate, who stood regally over the rickety table. She wore a striped gold, navy, and avocado head wrap and a long shift with a tribal, geometric pattern in the same colors. Emma couldn’t help herself. She hurried over, wishing she had her sketchbook to play with the colors and patterns. Then she gasped. The woman displayed the most amazing beaded jewelry Emma had ever seen.

  The beads were teeny-tiny. Small crystal tubes. Round milky seed pearls. Faceted teardrops in sapphire, ruby, and emerald hues. German glass balls in pale pink and orange. Lucite cubes in topaz and cobalt blue. This table was coated with every color of the rainbow, all shimmering up at Emma’s appreciative eyes. Some were fashioned into intricate hoop earrings or long multi-strand necklaces. Twisted strand chokers, and thick patterned cuffs. All beautifully crafted. All enough to make Emma forget her yellow hair, her faint odor, and her crush, sitting in the theater right in front of her.

  “These are art,” Emma told the woman. She held up a choker made from hundreds of seed beads in pale gray, ivory, and seashell pink with sparkling crystal charms dangling from it.

  The woman held out a pair of tasseled beaded tortoise shell earrings. Up close, Emma realized how young she was. She couldn’t have been older than twenty. Emma inspected the earrings. The craftsmanship was amazing. She never saw stuff this good on the street. “I have a thing for beads lately. Did you make these?”

  The woman nodded. “Me and my three sisters.” She spoke with a thick, musical accent.

  “They’re insane,” Charlie agreed. “How do you know how to do it?”

  “Our family has been beaders for many generations. My sisters and I were taught to string beads before we could walk.” The woman introduced herself as Adja. She and her sisters had come to New York only a year ago from Senegal in Africa. “In our village, beading was an honored way of life, but here, it is different. No one understands.”

  “What don’t they understand?” Emma asked.

  “The value. Each bead, each color, each pattern has a meaning. Pride, beauty, power, identity. They express ideas and communicate hopes and dreams. Great thought goes into every piece. Great thought and great time.”

  “I understand that,” Emma said. That was how she designed.

  “Then you are the rare one.” Adja clasped her hands together. “Americans do not want to pay for such time investment.”

  Emma pulled out the little white paper tag attached to a necklace and looked at the number written in ink. The price was high. Much higher than any other folding-table, street-jewelry vendors she’d come across.

  “You need to be selling in a store,” Emma said. “Upper West Side, Soho, or Tribeca.”

  “Ah, I cannot afford rent of a store.” Adja shook her head. “As it is, my sisters and I share one mattress on the floor of my great-auntie’s small apartment. But I do not despair. As they say in our village, ‘However long the night, the dawn will break.’”

  “I like your positive vibe,” Charlie said. He glanced down at his phone. “My mom’s going to the theater tonight.”

  “Something good?” Emma asked. His mom had once been a Broadway star.

  “Another experimental off-off-Broadway show. This one’s about singing Emperor penguins or a singer who lives with Emperor penguins or an emperor who owns singing penguins. Hard to know.”

  “So you’re just going to sit by yourself tonight in your apartment?”

  “What of it?”

  “Oh, Charlie, please, please, walk in with me.” Emma begged. The smell of artificially-buttered popcorn had snaked out of the theater to remind her why she was there in the first place. “Safety in numbers and all that.”

  “Do you want to buy?” Adja asked. “These earrings are very pretty, no?”

  “Very pretty, but I have no money,” Emma confessed.

  Adja tilted her head. “I know the feeling.”

  “Let’s go before I change my mind.” Charlie stalked toward the theater.

  “Good luck,” Emma called to Adja as she ran after Charlie, yelling, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  The movie had already star
ted. Emma strained her eyes against the darkness. On the screen, a broad-shouldered guy in a charcoal suit scaled the side of a skyscraper with only one hand. The other hand gripped a leather briefcase, which Emma guessed must be important because the camera kept panning to it.

  She inched her way down the aisle with Charlie right behind her. It didn’t take long for her to find the group. They took up a row in the middle. Holly sat next to Clayton. Then came Ivana, Shannon, and that boy Kevin, who she’d never spoken to at school. After Kevin, there was an empty seat and then Jackson and finally Lexie.

  Had Jackson saved that seat for her?

  The thought made her fingers tingle. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to come, after all. Side-by-side at the movies. Hand-in-hand. And it was dark enough for him not to see her yellowness.

  Charlie shook his box of Raisinets impatiently, and Emma instantly saw the problem. Where would Charlie sit? She’d dragged him here. She couldn’t abandon him.

  What now?

  Lexie caught site of her and sighed, making it clear that she was so totally done with Emma.

  That did it. Even if Charlie wasn’t here—and of course, he was—she’d never give Lexie the satisfaction of climbing over her long legs to get to Jackson. She spotted two empty seats in the row behind and led Charlie to them.

  Jackson twisted around, noticing Emma. “There’s a seat here.” He pointed to the empty one next to him.

  “I’m good,” Emma whispered back, nodding in Charlie’s direction.

  “Oh.” He gave Charlile a long look then turned back and faced the screen.

  Was he angry? Did I hurt his feelings by not sitting next to him? Should I say something? Emma wondered

  “Rasinet?” Charlie pushed the yellow box under her nose.

  “Who likes Raisinets?” Emma asked, pushing it away.

  “Chocolate-covered dried grapes. What’s not to love?” Charlie poured a stream of candy from the box directly into his mouth.

  “Shhh!” Lexie said loudly, giving Emma a glare forceful enough to scatter the feathers from within her down jacket. Then she deliberately placed her hand on Jackson’s arm. And all Emma could do, the entire movie, was watch her hand on his sleeve. The hand he left there. The hand he seemed to like there.

  “Ivana-Boy,” Charlie muttered, following Emma’s gaze.

  For the first time, she wondered if he was right. Was Jackson really that shallow? Had she been wasting her time liking him?

  CHAPTER 9

  GO-SEE

  They’d wasted a whole week. Days and days when they should’ve been researching and crafting a comprehensive outline for their ancient culture project had been spent going around in circles, arguing about the direction of the project, and rejecting stupid idea after stupid idea. Now it was Wednesday and they were no closer to handing Ms. Ling the outline that counted for thirty percent of the project grade. The smell of defeat settled upon their table in the Media Center.

  “Chloe, could your facts be any drier? This project’s going to be a total snooze if you write like that.” Lexie tossed aside the page Chloe had handed her, the same way she’d dismissed the research Marco had done.

  “Facts aren’t supposed to be exciting. They’re facts,” Chloe choked out in her soft monotone.

  “Do it again,” Lexie said. “Try for some pep and brightness at least on the paper.” She scowled at Chloe’s black turtleneck, black jeans and knee-high black boots.

  Chloe grimaced but took back the paper. Emma knew she’d go at it again. She was too scared of bossy Lexie to refuse. Out of Ivana’s shadow, Lexie was even meaner than her friend.

  “Don’t stress, Lex,” Clayton advised. “Everything will roll into place once we get going on building the Sphinx.”

  “How can you say that?” Lexie shot back. “You’ve done nothing!”

  “Hey, I’m writing the jokes. What did the mummy say at the end of a stressful day at the pyramid?”

  “Like I care, Clayton! What are you, five?” Lexie gritted her teeth.

  “I need to unwrap!” Clayton let out a deep chortle. “Get it?”

  “I get that we’re going to fail!” Lexie’s voice summoned the attention of Ms. Ling, who raised her thinly-penciled brows.

  “Look, Lex, I made a sketch of the papier-mâché Sphinx.” Kayla pushed a sheet of notebook paper toward her for approval.

  Emma glanced up from her sketchbook for a quick look. Not that she really cared. She’d already written off this project as a complete disaster. Plus she was so done with Lexie. Every time she looked at her, she wondered about Jackson. He hadn’t texted or come up to her in the halls since the movies. She couldn’t figure it out. Was it because she hadn’t sat next to him? That seemed ridiculous. Or had Lexie swooped in and he’d quickly forgotten about her? She’d thought there had been the beginning of something between them.

  Had she been wrong?

  She wished she could ask him, but she was sure she’d sound pathetic.

  She was not pathetic. Instead she spent the period sketching.

  She’d found another amazing book, this one with cool hieroglyphs and Egyptian art. Using the angular geometric drawings as inspiration, Emma designed a metallic tube dress with bands of hieroglyph-based designs. She played with a long flowing dress with a stiff, high collar of metal and polished stones. Chloe watched as she added a thick rope belt to a dress lined from collar to hem with stiff pleats.

  Emma wished she could spend her time on her Allegra designs. But she’d vowed, no matter how tempting when she was bored in class or had extra time in study hall, to keep Allegra far away from the snooping eyes at school.

  “Seriously, Kayla?” Lexie dramatically crumbled the Sphinx sketch into a ball. “I could draw a better lion with my toes.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  They all stared at Marco, the boy more likely to be diagnosed with lead poisoning than to ever stand up to Queen Lexie. Lexie’s lips puckered in surprise. Clayton grunted his astonishment.

  Silently, Emma cheered, although she usually ran from conflict. A raised voice caused her to bury her head in the safety of her sketchbook and the calm of beautiful clothes. But she appreciated his bravery.

  Or stupidity.

  “For your information,” Lexie pointed her index finger at Marco, “I’m doing everything here. I wrote the preliminary outline. I sketched the thumbnails for the presentation. All I’m asking is that you guys do decent, in-depth research, write an interesting report, and make this Sphinx thing. But if you keep handing me garbage—”

  “Why do you get to decide what’s good?” Clayton asked.

  Lexie had a long explanation, but Emma knew the short answer. She was Lexie Blackburn, best friend of Ivana Abbott. To her that was reason enough. It was enough for most of Downtown Day, too.

  I hate group projects, Emma thought. Teachers always said they were good practice for the “real world.” Emma couldn’t imagine a real world situation where she’d be building a life-size Sphinx. And if she ever had to, she’d do it all by herself.

  * * *

  Emma hoisted her messenger bag, which she’d decorated with Klimt-like swirls from metallic fabric markers, over her shoulder and pulled open the heavy wooden door to the Triumph Theater.

  With its threadbare carpet, dusty chandelier with several bulbs missing, and the poster offering deep-discounts taped onto the ticket window, the off-Broadway theater’s days of triumph were long gone. Charlie had been able to secure it for free from a friend of his mom’s. They had one hour on a Wednesday afternoon to check out models.

  Free is good, Emma reminded herself, ignoring the smell of bleach that tried to cover the clinging odor of mold.

  Her eyes widened when she opened the tarnished-brass door leading into the theater itself. Although neglected for decades, the theater hadn’t lost its splendor. Ornate gold-carved moldings surrounded the large stage. A heavy velvet curtain, once crimson now faded to a dull rose, was secured by braided gold cord. The ce
iling was painted with angels and fluffy clouds against a pale blue sky.

  Emma squinted up at the largest angel. Her white-feather wings extended in majestic flight. Pulling out her sketchbook, Emma designed a short feathered cape. A satin bow secured it around the neck. She imagined it paired with a simple tee and leather shorts.

  “Em! Clock’s ticking!” Charlie called from down by the stage. He typed furiously on his laptop, inputting information. Emma took in the line of extremely tall girls, waiting for Charlie. Waiting for her, too. Francesca chatted with each would-be model, as if she were hosting a party. Her deep-throated laugh echoed in the empty theater.

  This is happening, Emma realized. I’m having go-sees with models for a society fashion show featuring my clothes. How amazing!

  She hurried down the aisle and sat next to Charlie.

  “This is Natalia.” Charlie nodded toward a girl with extremely pale skin and tendrils of red ringlets. “She’s really into cooking, no,”—he glanced at his screen—“baking. She makes a mean raspberry tart. She’s from Poland, and she likes movies where people sing. Oh, she’s never modeled, but she’s totally up for it.”

  “Hi,” Emma said to Natalia, who greeted her back. Then she looked at Charlie’s screen. “Where are the numbers?” she asked.

  “Numbers?”

  “Measurements,” Emma said. “Allegra needs body measurements.” Emma had to remember to act as if she were one of Allegra’s helpers. No one could know that she was really running this show. “Charlie, it’s about how the clothes fit. We’re not interviewing for the Miss America pageant.”

  “I know that,” Charlie bristled. But judging from the notes he’d taken on the six girls, he hadn’t. He assembled a list of hobbies, nationalities, and odd quirks.

  Emma reached into her bag and unrolled out a long tape measure. “I’m going to take some numbers,” she announced to the floor. She had trouble looking up at the girls’ faces. Each was more impossibly beautiful and confident than the next. “I need chest, waist, hip, thighs, arm length, and inseam.”