Who What Wear

by Olivia Bennett

  “Fired,” Rylan replied.

  Emma’s first reaction was to feel sorry for the maid. But Rylan looked so wrecked that Emma felt a pang of sympathy for her, too. Emma’s mother might be kind of bossy and unreasonable sometimes, not to mention obsessed with academics and pretty much nothing else in life. But Emma wanted to rush right home, hug her, and promise to take every advanced class that Downtown Day offered just out of sheer gratitude that she hadn’t been born Mrs. Sinclare’s daughter instead.

  An enormous mirror framed in hammered copper covered most of one wall of the lounge, and Rylan wandered over and stared into it. “I can’t believe Mother is ruining this for me,” she said.

  Emma kept quiet. She had the distinct feeling that Rylan was talking to herself more than to her. In fact, she wasn’t sure the other girl remembered she was still there. Invisible Emma strikes again.

  “That first dress Allegra sketched would’ve been epic,” Rylan went on into the mirror. “The lines were great. Really flattering while still looking totally cutting edge. And I love all of the fabrics she sent, too.” She sighed. “I so would’ve loved to wear that dress. Talk about making an entrance!”

  Yeah. Rylan was all about making a splash everywhere she went—being noticed, being first with the newest, hippest thing.

  But Emma was stuck on the first part of what Rylan had just said. She couldn’t help remembering the way Rylan had reacted to the redesigned dress just now. And to the original design, for that matter. That hadn’t been all about the name on the label.

  “I’m glad you liked it,” she blurted out. “I really thought it would be perfect for...” Her voice trailed off as Emma suddenly remembered where she was. Who she was. And who she wasn’t, at least as far as Rylan knew.

  She gulped. As tempting as it was, she couldn’t let Rylan know exactly how well she understood. “I mean, I think Allegra really got what you wanted,” she said lamely. “I know Francesca and I both told her all about you so she’d understand who she was designing for. Sounds like it worked.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Of course it might have worked better if she’d ever bothered to show up for these fittings.” Rylan’s voice and expression were bitter. “Maybe if she’d been here, Mother couldn’t have steamrolled her like she did the rest of you.” Then she glanced into the mirror again. “Then again, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. She thinks she knows what’s best for everyone, and she won’t be happy until she turns me into a clone of my three perfect older sisters.”

  “Oh.” Emma was surprised. “I didn’t even know you had sisters. Did they go to Downtown Day?”

  “Of course. And everyone there always expects me to be just as perfect and obedient as they were. They’re all like Mother’s little robots.” Suddenly seeming to remember who she was talking to, Rylan turned to face Emma. “So I suppose it’s going to be all over school by tomorrow,” she said, her face hard and fierce.

  “Um, what?” Emma said uncertainly.

  Rylan glared at her. “You know. This. Today. How Rylan Sinclare’s mommy made her cry. About how she doesn’t even get to pick out what she’s going to wear to her own party. All the rest of this garbage.” She smirked humorlessly. “You could make your social life at Downtown Day with a juicy little nugget like that.”

  “Of course not!” Emma shook her head. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything. I can keep a secret.”

  If Rylan only knew how true that was, she wouldn’t be so worried.

  Rylan narrowed her eyes, sizing up Emma’s expression. Finally she relaxed, shrugging off the mean veneer like a too-warm coat.

  “I hope you’re for real,” she said, sounding kind of tired.

  Emma chanced a small, tentative smile.

  Rylan’s smile in return was brief but looked sincere. Then she glanced at the door.

  As they stepped back into Paige’s office, Emma quickly surveyed the scene. Paige stood behind her desk, idly flipping through possible photos for an upcoming issue. Francesca was charming Mrs. Sinclare over near the windows. Charlie was slumped in one of the guest chairs, clearly wishing he were anywhere else. He shot Emma a curious look as she entered, but all she had time to do was shrug before Rylan stepped forward.

  “Listen, everyone,” Rylan said. “I want to apologize for running out like that. I’m soooo sorry to have put all of you through all the hassle of these redesigns and everything.”

  “It’s all right, Rylan,” Paige said. “It’s just part of the process. We really don’t—”

  “Wait, I’m not finished,” Rylan interrupted. “To make up for the extra work, I want to invite all of you to my Sweet Sixteen party as my special guests.” She turned and looked at each of them in turn—Paige, Francesca, Charlie, and then Emma. When Emma met her eye, she was sure she saw an evil twinkle in it. “And feel free to bring a date if you like,” Rylan added. “Or two or three of your friends, or whatever. If Allegra gets back to town in time, she should totally come, too.”

  Mrs. Sinclare took a quick step forward, looking alarmed. “But we’ve already cut the guest list...” Her voice trailed off and, for the first time since Emma had met her, she seemed less than fully in command of the situation. “I mean, yes, of course,” she finished. “You’re certainly all welcome if you think you’d be comfortable attending.”

  “Thank you for the generous invitation, Rylan,” Paige said. “Unfortunately, I’ll be tied up with a work function that evening, but I’m sure it will be quite a party.”

  “Oh, it will.” Rylan glanced around at the others. “The rest of you will come, though, won’t you?” Her gaze stopped on Emma, and she stared at her.

  Emma wasn’t sure what to say. Most of Downtown Day would kill for an invitation to Rylan Sinclare’s Sweet Sixteen. But it wasn’t really her kind of scene, to say the least. Plus, the pop-up shop would be open that same weekend, and Emma had assumed she’d be hanging out there every chance she got.

  “We’re totally there,” Charlie piped up. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Right, Emma?”

  “Um, sure,” Emma said, shooting him a surprised look. Since when was he Mr. Social Party Boy? She would have thought he’d rather spend an evening watching his mother’s worst drama student in some so-far-off-Broadway-it’s-actually-in-New-Jersey production of A Chorus Line than hanging out with Rylan and her crowd.

  “Oh, sicuramente, I will be there, too,” Francesca gushed. “I cannot wait to attend, signorina. It is so sweet of you to make such an invitation!”

  “Good. And definitely bring friends. Mother and Daddy are sparing no expense. After all, you only turn sixteen once, right?” Rylan sounded pleased with herself.

  “Yes. More’s the pity.” Mrs. Sinclare’s tone was icy. “Now, I have things to do.” She turned to Paige. “See to it that Allegra fixes the dress and gets rid of that ribbon. I really don’t want to bring my husband into this. He gets...well, let’s just avoid that, shall we?” She shot Paige a meaningful look. “We’ll see you at the next fitting. Come, Rylan.”

  She strode out of the office. Rylan hesitated, her eyes locking with Emma’s for a brief, curious moment, and then she followed her mother.

  “Oh, man,” Paige muttered when they were gone. “That was...something.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Emma blurted out, grabbing the crisscross ribbon dress from Paige and quickly zipping it back into its garment bag. “I thought I was, you know, compromising. I thought this new design was something Rylan and her mom might both like.”

  Paige sighed and sat down behind her desk. “I know you were,” she said. Everything about Paige suddenly slowed down. “And I’m the one who should probably apologize. Sometimes I forget you’re really still just a kid. I can’t expect you to know all the ins and outs of this industry. And people like her.”

  Emma kept quiet, not sure where this was going. Charlie and Francesca were listening silently as well.

  “The main point is,” Paige went on, “a designer and a client really ne
ed to be a team, working toward the same goal. It’s like me and my wedding-dress designer.”

  Emma nodded. She’d first met Paige when she’d come to Laceland to look at materials for the dress she was having made for her upcoming wedding. Her designer had been there, too, and had spent a lot of time reassuring Paige that the dress would be perfect. Definitely a team player.

  “Okay, I hear that,” Emma said. “But this is different, right? First off, you have great style. I know you keep saying that Mrs. Sinclare is the client because she’s paying the bill. But Rylan’s the one who has to wear the dress. What am I supposed to do if the two of them aren’t a team?”

  “I’ll tell you what you’re supposed to do,” Paige said, revving back into fashion-executive mode. “You make Mrs. Sinclare happy. Lose the sash. Add some buttons and a ruffle. And let her deal with her daughter. It has to be that way this time.”

  Emma could tell that Paige thought this was all really simple. But Emma was conflicted. Could she really go along with what Paige was saying when she really wanted to stick with the dress that Rylan preferred, the one that would make her look and feel amazing on her special day? Wasn’t that what fashion was all about? A way to express yourself to the world? To make the wearer feel self-confident and beautiful?

  But she knew what Paige would say. What she had said.

  Emma wondered how she could do that to Rylan.

  “Did you hear Ivana and the Bees talking after geometry class about Rylan’s party?” Charlie grinned at Emma as the two of them climbed the steps leading out of the 34th Street subway station. “They’re so dying for an invite. I really wanted to tell them we scored an exclusive invite. It’s killing me.”

  “I still can’t believe you actually want to go,” Emma countered. “Who are you, and what have you done with Charlie?”

  He grinned. “Okay, so the actual party will probably be a joke. Just a bunch of snobs all trying to out-snobbify one another. Total train wreck. But don’t you want to watch Ivana’s head explode when she finds out we were there? I’m already planning the choice photos I can upload onto Facebook. Now that’s going to sting our little Ivana and her Bees when she is revealed to be the social outcast.”

  Emma had to admit it was a slightly delicious thought, though she hadn’t had much time to dwell on the actual party. It was hard to believe an entire week had gone by since the fitting. It had passed in a mostly happy blur of cutting, stitching, and draping the pieces for the pop-up collection. The babydoll dress looked happy even hanging on a hanger. She’d moved it off the dress form once she finished it to make room for the other dresses.

  Yesterday she had played around with lace samples her father had given her to layer over the tights that would go underneath the babydoll dress as leggings. She thought she’d found the perfect stretchy weave. She just needed to track down the perfect pale-pink tights to go underneath the lace.

  The princess dress now hung on the dress form. She attached the first pomegranate-colored tier to the gold top. Adding the Velcro to the moveable burnt orange and lime tiers would mean much less sewing. She still had to tidy up the neckline. The gold knit fabric was tricky to work with, but it fell beautifully and looked gorgeous with the palette of this dress. Totally SoHo princess.

  The cobalt and black dress she’d originally designed for Rylan was complete and displayed on another dress form. She had just sewn a tiny brown-flannel collar onto the pink velvet dress. Once she replaced the zipper, that one would be done, as well.

  Then she would tackle her ah-mazing accessory idea. She’d found an old, clear Lucite purse, filled to the top with buttons, that Grandma Grace had given to her for her ninth birthday. It was a beautiful vintage piece from the 1920s, and Emma loved the sound it made when she snapped the gold closure.

  She lined the purse with fabric remnants, giving her a purse that coordinated with each of the very different dresses she had made. With a big square of lollipop silk tucked inside, it was the swingy, hip partner to the babydoll dress. A length of sapphire satin lining made it an exquisite match for the party dress. And any one—or all three—of the princess-tier colors stuffed inside made it look gorgeous with that dress, too! She was almost ready for the grand-opening press party on Friday night.

  Then there was Rylan’s dress.

  Emma wasn’t quite so happy about that.

  She’d remade it to Mrs. Sinclare’s specifications. She’d found tiny, tiny turquoise crystal buttons and run them down the back of the dress. She hadn’t really known what to do with the ruffle. She added a tiny ruffle to the end of the sleeves, hoping that would suffice. It was the most ruffle she was willing to give. But without that sash, this dress was something any fourteen-year-old with a sewing machine (and a Grandma Grace and a Marjorie) could have designed, and she knew it.

  She kept trying to figure out if there was anything else she could do to save the design. She needed just one magical idea.

  But how could she fix the dress when she wasn’t allowed to change the parts that looked the worst?

  Sure, she’d had sewing problems before. Plenty of them. She’d made dresses with crooked zippers, jackets with uneven armholes, and pants that had mismatched legs. But she still loved them, imperfections and all, because she believed in her designs.

  Emma sighed heavily, realizing she was just going to have to live with sending a dress out into the world that her heart wasn’t in. She dreaded seeing Rylan wearing it Saturday night. But according to Charlie, they were going, no matter what.

  “Don’t get too excited about your new social fabulousness or anything,” Emma told him as they reached the top of the steps. “I’m sure Rylan just did it to get back at her mom and make sure the party would be even more expensive than they’d planned by inviting a bunch of extra people. She even texted me to say I could invite all of Allegra’s other employees, too.”

  “Maybe we should do her a favor and just start inviting random people off the street.”

  Emma didn’t say anything. She had almost done just that today. Sort of.

  During world history, she’d turned and glimpsed Jackson staring at her as she doodled in the margins of her notebook. She’d pretended not to notice as she tried to process this startling turn of events. For the last three months, she had stared at him in class. She’d tried desperately to fight the urge but failed daily, her eyes drawn almost magnetically to him.

  And now that he was an item with Lexie, the boy of her dreams was looking at her? What sense did that make? She momentarily summoned the courage to ask him to the party but immediately chickened out.

  Besides, she told herself, there was Lexie.

  “It’s freezing out here.” Charlie pulled his fuzzy-lined motorcycle jacket closed as the cold winter air whipped across 37th Street from the Hudson River. “Let’s hurry. Laceland awaits.”

  “Hold on. I need to make a stop at Allure first,” Emma told him. “I need to pick up a little pink nylon for the leggings.”

  “Do I have to come?” Charlie wrinkled his nose. “Fabric stores make me sleepy. All that material begs to be wrapped around me like a blanket.”

  “How would you know? You’ve never even been in one!” Emma laughed. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you at Laceland in a few.”

  Emma turned and hurried the few blocks to the fabric store.

  She looked for Nidhi when she got inside but didn’t see her. It must be her day off, Emma realized. Probably just as well. This way, she could get what she needed and get out, back to the safety of Laceland, where everybody knew her secrets and she didn’t have to sneak around or lie.

  A few minutes later, she was in the creaky, wheezing elevator on her way up to Laceland. She peeked into the Allure bag and smiled at the fabric nestled there, like a pretty tropical flower just waiting to bloom. She was excited to finish up the leggings, go over all of her seams, and tie up her pop-up collection.

  “Clear the way, everyone!” she sang out cheerfully as she pushed open the heavy
door to Laceland, swinging her Allure bag. “Allegra Biscotti is here, and she has work to do!”

  The grin froze on her face.

  Standing in front of Marjorie’s desk, staring at her, was... Holly.

  TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES

  Holly!” Emma blurted out, her mind racing. How much had Holly heard?

  She shot a desperate look around the lobby area. Marjorie sat in her chair, her face frozen in an expression of dismay.

  Francesca and Charlie stood alongside the desk, staring at Emma in shock.

  Then there was Holly. She waited silently, wrapped in her favorite puffy, white down jacket and glaring at her.

  “Um—hi!” Emma stammered. “I was just saying that I need to take this fabric back so Allegra can…”

  She trailed off as she spotted Charlie shaking his head at her. “Give it up,” he said. “She already knows the truth. Or at least way too much of it. Thanks to you-know-who.”

  He tilted his head toward Francesca, who clasped her hands and leaped forward. Even in the midst of what was happening, Emma couldn’t help admiring Francesca’s perfectly tailored chocolate wool pantsuit, peach silk tank, and high-heeled Mary Janes.

  “I’m so sorry, Emmita!” Francesca cried. “When this ragazza bella said she was your best friend, I naturally assumed—”

  “Former best friend,” Holly put in, her voice as cold and sharp as the icicles hanging over the doorway downstairs.

  Francesca was still talking, not seeming to hear her. “How was I to know she was not part of the secret?” she exclaimed sorrowfully.

  “It’s not your fault,” Holly said to Francesca. “Any normal person would assume that best friends tell each other everything. I mean, that’s what I always assumed, until now.”

  “Get over yourself, Holly,” Charlie put in with a frown. “Anyway, Francesca shouldn’t have—”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s not like I hadn’t already figured it out before she—”