When we meet back at the worktable, I’ve got this awesome gold brocade, black rayon for the lining, and black velvet for the collar. Mia’s got a bunch of cool fabrics to work with for the scarf, including some glittery, brassy, and silver material to make gear shapes with. Jesse finally shows up with the black crepe for the pants.
We’re working with a mannequin instead of a live model this time. Since our character is the Beast, ours is a very cut male mannequin.
I start taking measurements and Mia writes them down so we can all use them.
“I’ve got a six-pack just like that,” Jesse brags.
Was he always this annoying and I didn’t notice it because I was too busy being distracted by his eyes and cheekbones and all that? They are very, very distracting, it’s true.
“Any danger of you doing some actual teamwork?” Mia asks him. “Or are you just going to pretend you’re the mannequin and leave it all to us?”
“The mannequin has a better personality than you do,” Jesse retorts, but at least he rolls out the pants fabric and starts marking out the measurements to cut.
Mia winks at me. Maybe under the tough exterior that terrified me so much, she could be an ally. Or maybe she’s just trying to lull me into a false sense of security? One thing is for certain, though—she’s a really hard worker. The two of us are measuring and cutting side by side, offering advice and suggestions. Jesse is working on his own, basically ignoring the two of us, as if we weren’t in a team competition. I hope it doesn’t count against us.
I’m starving, but when they bring pizza for lunch, I decide to wait until I can eat by myself—so I can be assured that no one will give me a slice of poisoned pizza or contaminated Coke. My stomach is growling so loudly the sound guy picks it up on audio and tells me they’ll have to edit it out.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Mia asks when she comes back from her own quick break. “You don’t want to faint again.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I’ll go soon.”
Mia looks over her shoulder at the pizza table, where Jesse is talking to Lazlo while he eats.
“Listen, watch your back,” she says. “Last week after the show, I overheard Jesse talking on the phone in the hallway outside the greenroom. He didn’t know I was there, and he was talking about you—and saying some weird stuff.”
I go still. “Like what?”
“Like that you fainted, and he thought it worked, but then you woke up.” The shock must show on my face, because she continues, “I know, right? That’s so messed up, because of course you woke up. Duh! So what was supposed to work?”
A curse, that’s what. Maybe one that was supposed to kill me. Mom’s spindle curse was supposed to kill her—it was only through some magical intervention of the other wisewomen that death was downgraded to a superlong nap.
“Good question,” I say, although I know what ended up happening instead. I woke up spouting Shakespeak. But what was the curse that Jesse and his phone accomplice intended?
“Then he says something about how maybe it went wrong or something, and it sounded like he was getting chewed out by the person on the other end, because he keeps saying, ‘It’s not my fault,’ ” Mia says. “And get this—it turns out he’s talking to his grandma.”
“Wow. Unbelievable.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jesse heading back to us. I need to text Mom and my friends so they know this additional information. Maybe they can find something out while I’m here risking my life for a future in fashion.
“Listen, Mia, can you do me a favor and keep a close eye on Jesse?”
“As close as I can while I’m working,” she says.
“Just make sure he doesn’t do anything like switch sewing needles with me. It’s really important.”
She gives me a curious look, like she’s trying to figure out what’s behind this, as Jesse returns.
I bolt for the pizza, hoping there’s still some mushroom left.
Luckily, there’s still one slice. But wait . . . Jesse was just here. What if he surreptitiously switched normal mushrooms with poisoned mushrooms? Just to be safe, I switch to cheese instead. After taking a few bites, I take out my phone, turn it on, and text the Double-Double-Toil-and-Trouble group to update them on what Mia told me. Fortunately, the cameraman stays with Mia and Jesse, so I can get away with it.
Mom texts me back right away.
It’s not safe there! Get Grandma and Grandpa to bring you home!
Before, I might have been mad to read that, but now I understand. The danger is real, and my mother loves me, so she’s worried about me. I’m worried about me, too. But despite the risks, I’m not going home. Not yet.
No, Mom! I’m being careful, I promise!!!!!!!!! I have to see this through!!!
I’ve just taken another bite of pizza when there’s a text from Sophie.
So Mom just found this out. Do you know what Ffionn means in Welsh?
Ffionn? Oh, wait, that’s Jesse’s last name.
No, what?
FOXGLOVE.
The shock makes me choke on my pizza, coughing so much that I drop my phone. This can’t be a coincidence. Jesse has the same last name as Floriana Foxglove, the wisewoman who tried to kill my mother. Mia heard him talking on the phone to someone after last week’s taping, saying that he “thought it worked” but then I “woke up.”
The clues are adding up, and they all point to the guy who I thought was crushworthy. I clearly have really bad taste in crushes.
“Here’s your phone. You should probably turn it off before Arthur finds out.”
Hugh is standing there, holding out my phone, which is buzzing furiously in his hands.
I take it, but I’m afraid to look at what all the texts say. Mom’s head has probably exploded. She’s probably on her way here now, with an NYPD SWAT team. She’s probably texting Grandma and Grandpa to tell them to drag me off the set, except they still have flip phones and most of the time they have them turned off, so a whole lot of good that’s going to do.
“Yeah,” I say, turning it off. “You’re right. It was an emergency.”
“Are you feeling okay? You’re not going to faint again, are you?”
“No . . . I’m fine. It’s not that,” I assure him, although my brain is spinning a little with the knowledge that Jesse could be related to Floriana Foxglove, who tried to kill my mother. That the guy I had a crush on might have tried to kill me.
“Listen, Aria, I’ve been waiting to speak to you without a camera around,” Hugh says in an undertone.
“What about?”
“Last week after we finished filming, I hung around to talk to one of the cameramen because I wanted to ask him if I could interview him for the school paper. He was reviewing the footage from before and after you fainted, and he saw something strange.”
“What was that?”
“Jesse took your original needle when you went to have lunch and hid it in his bag. Why would he do that? I think he might be trying to sabotage you in some way.”
“Oh, he is,” I tell him. “I’ll tell you the whole story. It’s . . . unbelievable.” I glance at the clock ticking down. “But I have to get through the challenge first.”
“Watch out for him,” Hugh warns.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I will.”
As I head back to my group, I realize that between my family history, what Mia and Hugh heard and saw, and the fact that Jesse’s name is Foxglove, I probably have enough proof to go to the producers of Teen Couture and tell them that Jesse is a cheat who might have tried to kill me but made me speak Shakespearean English instead.
There are two problems with this plan: (1) It sounds crazy, even to me, and (2) we’ve got to finish the challenge first if I want to get through to the next round. #teamwork.
Mia finishes the scarf first, despite having to sew all the gear features on by hand.
“It looks amazing,” I tell her.
Even Jesse gives it a n
od of approval and grunts, “Cool.”
I’m sewing the lining into the jacket pieces.
“Do you want me to start on the velvet collar?” Mia asks.
“That would be awesome,” I say, glancing at the clock. “Unless you need help more, Jesse?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he says. “Just got to get the waistband and zipper in and then hem the legs.”
We’re a team of sorts, I guess, despite the fact that one of my teammates might well have tried to kill me. I just hope we’re working together well enough to keep us in the competition.
By the time Arthur Dunn announces we’re fifteen minutes away from the end of the challenge, we’ve got a pretty decent Beast outfit, but the fact that Jesse, Mia, and I haven’t come to blows is a miracle.
The good news is that from the sounds of the arguing and even crying going on around the room, the other two teams haven’t done much better.
I’m just cutting a thread from the sleeve of the jacket when Arthur calls, “Time! Step away from your mannequins.”
I step back, not realizing that Jesse is kneeling behind me, and fall over him, almost stabbing us both with the scissors in my hand.
“Sheesh, Aria, are you trying to kill me?” he exclaims.
“No. It was an accident,” I say. I stare straight into his eyes and raise my voice so everyone can hear what I say next: “But I could ask you the same question. Because you really did try to kill me.”
A sudden hush comes over the room, and I hear the director ordering an additional cameraman over to cover us. But I keep my attention focused on Jesse. His Adam’s apple rises and falls visibly as he swallows, and his face pales at least three shades under his makeup.
“Are you crazy? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Really? You don’t remember hiding my needle last week and putting another one on the table for me to find? One that you’d put an enchantment on that was supposed to kill me because I’m Brier Rose’s daughter and you’re Floriana Foxglove’s grandson?”
“I didn’t hide any needle—”
“Yes! You did!” Hugh shouts. “It’s on tape. There’s evidence!”
One of the cameramen nods, confirming Hugh’s statement.
“Say it out loud,” the director directs the cameraman on Camera 2. “Camera Four, get him doing it.”
Camera 4 rushes over to film Camera 2, who says, “It’s true. When I was reviewing the tape last week, I saw Jesse take Aria’s needle when she went to get food. He put a different needle on her table. Then after she fainted, he took back the needle he loaned her. It’s all there on the tape.”
“That’s not all,” Mia says. The director holds up a hand so she’ll wait to continue till there’s a camera in her face. “I heard him talking to his grandma on the phone after the show. There was something on that needle that was supposed to have ‘worked,’ but it didn’t, because Aria only fainted. Which means Jesse wanted something worse to happen to her.”
“He wanted me to die, the same way his grandmother wanted my mother to die,” I tell the camera. Looking down at Jesse, I say, “And all because she wasn’t invited to a party.”
That hits a deep-rooted Foxglove nerve. Jesse gives up all pretense of being innocent. Narrowing his eyes, he unveils his anger and lets it loose on me.
“It wasn’t just any old party! It was the party. Everyone who was anyone in the entire kingdom was invited—except my grandmother. How would you feel?”
And that’s when I realize the part I’ve been missing about the whole tale, the way it’s always been told to me by my family—just how bad Floriana Foxglove must have felt. I knew she was mad—I mean, no one puts a death curse on an innocent baby just for kicks. No one ever talked about how hurt, sad, and rejected she must have felt to act out in such a terrible way.
“I’d feel awful. Just like your grandma did,” I tell Jesse.
My admission surprises him, I can tell.
“Too right she did,” he says. “The shame of it has nearly destroyed her.”
“But do you seriously think my mom hasn’t thought about that?” I ask Jesse. “Why do you think she started Enchanted Soirées? It’s so that other people don’t make mistakes like my grandparents and people don’t get hurt like your grandma.”
It’s clear from Jesse’s confused expression that this hasn’t crossed his mind ever, not even for a second. He’s been told the Foxglove tale his entire life, and just as Floriana Foxglove is the baddie in my mom’s tale, my family plays the bad guy in theirs.
“I never . . . but . . .”
The anger seems to slowly leak out of him like air from a pricked balloon. What’s left is . . . sadness.
I put out my hand and hope the cameras don’t pick up that it’s trembling.
“Need help getting up?”
At first I think he won’t, that accepting my offer of a truce and understanding is too much to ask. But then he stretches out his arm and takes my hand. I pull him up, and he grasps my elbow with his other hand and gives it a squeeze. Everyone in the workroom claps—well, except for the camera guys and sound people, who are too busy making sure this whole drama is captured for posterity.
“Well, that was certainly unexpected,” Arthur Dunn says. “Load your mannequins onto a hand truck and take them down to the studio. I’ll meet you down there for judging.”
After he leaves the room, the director yells, “CUT,” and I’m relieved knowing the cameras are off.
“Wow!” Mia says. “That was freaking awesome!”
“Nice eavesdropping,” Jesse tells her. “Now I know to watch myself around you.”
“Yeah, next time you try to kill one of my friends, don’t talk about it on the phone in a public place,” Mia says.
The girl who I was afraid wanted to break my leg just called me a friend. I can’t help smiling.
“Hey, teamwork, remember,” I say, before they start fighting again.
I put my fist out. “Come on, Blue Team. We’re in this together.”
Mia rolls her eyes, but she puts her fist on top of mine, and Jesse reluctantly puts his on top of hers.
“Hey, if you three can work together, maybe there’s hope for world peace,” Iris says.
“Don’t hold your breath,” Lazlo says.
Sadly, I think Lazlo’s right. We’re just kids making clothes on a reality TV show about fashion. But maybe it starts with us. Maybe it’s a little like what Mrs. Solano said about history and “herstory”: If we had just paid more attention to one another’s tales, the Foxgloves wouldn’t have felt like they had to keep trying to kill us.
Mia, Jesse, and I load the Beast onto a hand truck and wheel him down to the studio for judging.
The Red Group chose Little Red Riding Hood, and they’ve made her look really funky and urban, like Little Red Riding Hoodie. She’s got a black denim miniskirt with a rhinestone belt, and she’s carrying a supermarket shopping basket.
The Green Group went for Cinderella, but instead of doing a ball gown, they’ve made her a uniform for Cinderella’s Cleaning Service, like instead of being a slave to her stepmother and stepsisters, she’s working for herself.
“Wow,” I say to Mia and Jesse. “They had really good ideas.”
“So did we,” Mia says. “Don’t doubt us.”
She’s right. The Beast looks like he’d be equally at home in a Jules Verne novel as in a fairy tale. He’s a steampunk god. You’d never know by looking at him that one of our team members was trying to kill another one.
We’re last down the runway, and hearing how much the judges like the other groups’ designs just makes me even more nervous.
Finally it’s our turn. We carry the Beast down the runway and set him in front of the judges. Mia describes our thoughts on the outfit, and my mouth is dry as I wait for the judges to comment. They just look at us, with strangely serious faces, for what seems like an eternity.
“It’s not often—in fact, never before have we ha
d an assassination attempt on a reality TV show,” Mallory Anderson says. “So it’s something we have to take very seriously.”
Mia and I both look at Jesse, who has gone stone-faced, staring straight ahead, not looking at the cameras or the judges.
“While you did a terrific job of pulling together as a team and coming up with an innovative design, we—and the producers—feel that we can’t ignore the attempt on Aria Thornbrier’s life. Jesse, you’re being cut from the show.”
I exhale in a whoosh of air. I should be happy about this. This morning I would have wanted nothing more than for Jesse to be cut. But now . . .
“I understand,” Jesse says in a quiet, steady voice. “I would do exactly the same thing in your position.”
“It’s not his fault,” I protest. “He was told that tale his whole life!”
“But, Aria, I could have asked why, like you did. I could have tried to change things, like your mom does,” Jesse says. “But I just believed the hateful things Grandma said and did what I was told.”
He smiles ruefully. “Luckily, I’m not so great at spell craft, so you only fainted instead of died. For once, I’m glad to be a disappointment to my family.”
“For what it’s worth, Jesse, while you might not have great spell skills, you definitely show promise as a designer,” Bailey Haberli tells him. “Even though you won’t continue to share them here, I encourage you to stick with it.”
Josie McGillicuddy seconds the motion. “Definitely. Learn from this, pick yourself up, and keep going.”
“I will,” Jesse says. “Thank you.”
He looks at me.
“I’m sorry, Aria.”
We hug each other, and then Mia joins in, and the director yells, “CUT!”
“Thanks,” Jesse says to me. “I couldn’t believe it when you stuck up for me like that, Aria. Especially after I gave you that needle.”
“Neither could I, to tell you the truth,” I admit. “But what’s the point of carrying on a feud about something that happened before either of us were even born?”
“No point,” Jesse agrees. “The only points I want to make from now on are fashion ones.”
Fairest of Them All Page 12