Confidentially Yours #6

by Jo Whittemore

  “No! Why does everyone think that?” I rolled my eyes. “You know how sometimes actors will take up their character’s hobbies or eat like their character to really get into the role?”

  Mom nodded. “Method acting, sure.”

  “I’m going to try method designing,” I said. “You said put myself in Lazenby’s shoes, but I’m going to put myself in their clothes. I’ll bet Heather has plenty.”

  After dinner, I went to my room to text her, but as soon as I settled on my bed, my phone buzzed with a call from Brooke.

  “Hey, how was soccer practice?” I asked.

  “Not bad. We’re working on channeling our anger into kicking the ball, and not each other, when we’re upset.”

  I smiled. “And how was your stakeout?”

  Brooke made a disgusted sound. “Lame. I almost drowned.”

  I sat up straight. “What?! Katie didn’t tell me that part.”

  “Yeah, I was playing it cool, you know? Drinking from the water fountain while I waited for the Phantom Dirt Digger to show. For five minutes straight. I must’ve drunk, like, two gallons and that can’t be good, considering I’m already sixty percent water.”

  I giggled and relaxed. “You know you could’ve just pretended to drink the water.”

  “Then someone might have gotten suspicious!”

  I didn’t bother telling her about Katie’s observation. “So the culprit never showed, huh?”

  “Nope. But that’s not why I called. Did you happen to take all the advice requests out of the box after school?”

  “After school?” I frowned. “No, Heather and I went straight to Lazenby’s. Why?”

  “When I went to check before I left, it was completely empty. That hasn’t happened since we first started.”

  “Maybe Heather picked them up before we met,” I said. “I need to talk to her about something, anyway, so I’ll ask.”

  “Yeah, let me know what she says,” said Brooke. “I’ve got to call Abel and tell him the stakeout was a bust. Maybe he and I can come up with a new plan.”

  “Well, hopefully, we won’t have to,” I told her. “This could all be over tomorrow.”

  Brooke’s voice took on a stiff tone and did her best Sherlock Holmes impersonation. “On the contrary, my good Vanessa, I think it’s just beginning.”

  I shook my head and hung up with her to call Heather. When Heather answered and I told her about dressing like a Lazenby’s fan, she was more than happy to help.

  “I’ll pack an extra outfit to bring to school,” she said. “I’m so flattered you want to borrow my clothes!”

  “Yeah, I really want to understand their appeal,” I said.

  There was silence. “Okay, now I’m slightly less flattered.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean! Those clothes aren’t me, but I want to like them for the buyer. Help me embrace polyester!”

  Heather laughed. “V, the buyer’s either going to like your designs or she’s not.”

  “Yes, but I can make sure she does,” I said, “if I know the style inside and out.”

  Heather sighed. “Fine. But I’m bringing the outfit I like least so that when you insult it, I won’t feel so bad.”

  “I won’t insult it,” I said, crossing my fingers over my heart, even though she couldn’t see me. “Also, Brooke wanted me to ask if you emptied out the advice box at the end of the day. She didn’t see any requests in there after school.”

  Heather made a sound of surprise. “Huh. None?”

  I shrugged. “That’s what Brooke said. Why?”

  “It might be nothing, but I haven’t gotten any requests through our email account, either,” she said.

  “Maybe the school’s email system is down,” I said.

  “I wondered the same thing, so I sent an email to the address, and it came through fine. People just aren’t sending advice requests.”

  I tapped my chin. “Weird. I’ll let her know. And thanks again for the clothes!”

  “Happy to help,” she said. “See you tomorrow!”

  When we hung up, I sent a text to Brooke telling her what Heather had said. Her response was just one word.

  Uh-oh.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Vanilla Vanessa

  “Maybe we’re making a big deal out of nothing,” I said from beneath an unsettling amount of polyester. It was the next morning, and I was in the girls’ bathroom at school, changing into the clothes Heather had brought for me. The jeans weren’t too bad if I ignored the hearts sewn onto the back pockets (which I thankfully couldn’t see without a mirror), but the camisole-and-sweater combo were taking some effort to love.

  “Maybe we are,” agreed Heather. “But, V, with Valentine’s Day so close, the in-box should be flooded. All I’ve gotten is one letter from a girl sending flowers to herself who wants to know if adding chocolates would be too much.” She paused. “How’s it going in there?”

  I stepped out of the stall and threw my arms in the air. “Ta-da!” I mimicked her exclamation from the day before.

  Since they were Heather’s clothes, I expected her to beam with pride. Instead, she tilted her head to one side.

  “Huh.” Then she smiled. “Well, at least they fit.”

  “Do I look that bad?” I asked, checking out my reflection. “Oh.”

  My normal clothes were bright and flashy, like a peacock, but these clothes were dull and bland, like a pigeon . . . wearing these clothes.

  “It’s just not you,” said Heather. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Very not you. I guess they’ll take some getting used to. But that’s the point, right? To get the feel for this look?”

  I nodded. “You’re right. I want the Lazenby’s buyer to see that I understand their style.”

  Heather smiled again. “So let’s button that cardigan and hit the halls!”

  “Yeah!” I said, trying to mirror her enthusiasm.

  As we walked, several kids stopped and did double takes.

  “Is that Vanessa Jackson?” one of them asked. “Since when does she wear sweater sets?”

  “Maybe she lost a bet,” someone said.

  Either Heather didn’t hear them or she chose to ignore them.

  “Where should we stop first?” she asked. “The advice box or Locker 411?”

  “Let’s start with the advice box since it’s closer.”

  But Brooke had already beaten us there. She was leaning against the wall beside the advice box and chatting up people who passed.

  “Nice morning, huh? A perfect morning to get some advice! Hey, kid, you know what goes great with that breakfast burrito? A side of advice.”

  Heather and I approached her.

  “What are you doing?” I asked at the same moment Brooke asked, “What are you wearing? You look like you work at a potpourri store.”

  “Hey!” said Heather. “V’s in my clothes!”

  “Oh.” Brooke laughed nervously. “Have I mentioned how much I love potpourri? Yay, wood chips!”

  Heather didn’t look soothed by that response. “You guys are getting really close to hurting my feelings. I might not dress bold like Vanessa, but I definitely dress better than a lot of kids at this school and definitely better than Lazy McSweatpants.” She gave Brooke a pointed look.

  “I’m not wearing sweatpants today!” Brooke lifted a leg so we could see her jeans. “Mainly because my mom hid them all, but also because I know they don’t look good.”

  Heather continued to stare at her until Brooke sighed. “I’m sorry I insulted your clothes. They look cute on you. Just not on Vanessa.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “With tact like that, maybe you’re the reason the advice box is empty.” I lifted the lid. “At least, I’m assuming it’s empty since you’re standing out here, begging for requests.”

  Brooke’s expression turned serious. “Guys, this is bad. If we stop getting requests, we won’t have anything to submit for the state contest. And you know Mary Patrick won’t like that.” />
  Heather swallowed. “There won’t be enough chocolate in the world to make her happy.”

  “Well, Heather and I will go check out Locker 411 and tear down any new advice clippings,” I said. “But you can’t stand out here. Otherwise, Mary Patrick is going to know something’s up. We need to solve this without her knowing.”

  Heather and Brooke nodded.

  “Let’s go,” I told Heather.

  “Okay, but if you’re wanting to feel like a Lazenby’s customer, you need to start moving like one,” she informed me as we walked. “You’re still strutting like you’re a supermodel in heels. You need to be stepping lighter and moving your body less.”

  I changed my pace. “How’s that?”

  Heather giggled. “You look like a robot on Slinkys.”

  I bounced a little less and flexed my knees a little more. “Now?”

  In answer, Heather grabbed my shoulders and stepped in front of me. “Watch how I walk.”

  She spun around and demonstrated. “Now you try!” she called from down the hall.

  I mirrored her steps, trying to think Heatherish thoughts, like glitter-covered ponies and kittens with balls of string.

  “Okay, now you’re skipping. Stop skipping,” she said.

  “I can’t help it! It’s what happens when I think of kittens and ponies,” I said, catching up to her.

  “Kittens and ponies?” she repeated.

  I nodded. “Like what you think about.”

  Heather laughed. “I never think of those things. Try choir and your friends.”

  I smiled. “You think about us when you’re walking down the hall?”

  “Of course! You’re my best friends and some of my happiest thoughts.”

  I threw my arms around Heather before stepping back. “Okay, I can do this.”

  I tried one last time and Heather clapped. “Perfect!”

  “Really?”

  “No.” Heather shook her head. “But it’s taken us five minutes to go fifty feet, so I figured we should get moving. Just walk normal.”

  “You realize if I walk normal, you run the risk of me crashing into something or ripping your sweater,” I warned her. “I have the ability to collide with objects from several feet away.”

  She nodded. “I knew the risks when I became your friend,” she teased.

  When we opened Locker 411, Heather and I both cheered.

  “No new clippings!” she said. “Maybe now we’ll start getting requests again.”

  I was also happy to see that the sign-up sheet for the lunchtime’s fashion show tryouts was completely full.

  Heather texted Brooke while I took down the flyer for the tryouts and went looking for Katie. I found her in the student lounge talking to several girls I recognized from the sign-up sheet.

  “But the most important thing to remember is— Oh my God, who died?” Katie’s gaze fell on me, and she gasped. The other girls exchanged confused looks as Katie jumped to her feet and ran to me. “Was it your grandma? Which one? Bingo Grandma or Cooks-with-Lard Grandma?”

  I gripped her shoulders. “Stop! No one died. What would make you think that?”

  Katie gestured to my outfit. “You look ready for a funeral.”

  “I’m trying to find inspiration,” I told her.

  She nodded. “Inspiration to never wear that again?”

  I stepped closer. “Look, I’m trying to get a feel for what the Lazenby’s people like by wearing their clothes.”

  “Ah. And finding ways to improve them,” she said. “Say no more.” Katie took my hand and pulled me toward the group of girls. “Vanessa might have something to add to our conversation. Vanny, can you give some ideas on what you’re looking for in a runway model?” With a wink, she added, “The girls are a little nervous about all the competition.”

  “Oh! So you already saw the sign-up sheet?” I asked, holding it out.

  Katie nodded. “I checked first thing this morning.” She held up a finger. “And you’ll be happy to know there weren’t any new advice clippings from your friend.”

  “Well, that’s good.” I turned to the girls, who were waiting expectantly for an answer. “Okay, let’s see. A good runway model should have confidence, good posture, and the ability to walk without falling down.” I finished with a smile.

  A couple of the girls laughed.

  One of the girls raised her hand. “When will you be posting results?”

  Katie looked to me, and I said, “Well, we need to take measurements as soon as possible, so you’ll know by the end of the day. We’ll post the results here in the lounge.”

  The girls whispered among themselves.

  “I’m getting so nervous!” someone said.

  “And because we’re designing these pieces to fit the models specifically, you’ll get to keep them after the show!” said Katie.

  Not that they’ll want to, I mentally added. But I smiled alongside Katie at all the excitement her comment earned.

  When the bell rang for homeroom, Katie joined me on the journey to the sixth-grade hall.

  “So how long are you going to dress like that?” she asked.

  “Shhh.” I put my finger to my lips. “These are Heather’s clothes.”

  Katie smiled. “Aww. Heather always dresses so cute.”

  I frowned at her, and she waved a dismissive hand.

  “Cute doesn’t work on you,” she said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “I know there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

  Katie put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re better than cute. You’re sassy and gorgeous.”

  I smiled. “Good save. And to answer your question, I’ll wear this outfit for as long as it takes for me to appreciate”—I took a deep breath—“how wonderful snap buttons are.”

  Katie gasped and looked me over. “Where?”

  In answer, I snapped a button open on the sleeve.

  “Oh, what is Heather thinking?” Katie asked, shaking her head.

  I said good-bye to Katie outside homeroom and took my seat in front of Brooke’s.

  “So is the advice box filled to the brim now?” I asked. “Are we going to have to start sending people to ‘Dear Abby’?”

  Brooke smiled. “No new requests yet, but I checked Locker 411 right before homeroom, and there weren’t any new advice clippings, so I think things are looking up!”

  Ten minutes later both our phones vibrated. I shifted in my seat so the homeroom teacher couldn’t see Brooke, and she checked her messages.

  “Shoot!” she said.

  “Shh!” the homeroom teacher said, not looking up from a pile of papers she was grading.

  Brooke leaned closer to me and whispered, “The Phantom Dirt Digger strikes again!” She turned her phone so I could see the group text that had come through from Tim. Sure enough, there was another clipping from the advice column.

  Except this one wasn’t in Locker 411.

  The Phantom Dirt Digger had struck in the student lounge. And had already gotten some responses.

  “Double shoot!” I said.

  “SHH!” the homeroom teacher said again, this time looking right at me and Brooke. Luckily, Brooke was quick enough and tucked the phone up her sleeve as she smiled at the homeroom teacher.

  “Sorry. Tough math problem!” she said.

  I pretended to work on our imaginary equation while instead writing, Tell Tim to pull it down before Mary Patrick sees!

  Brooke nodded and started texting but paused halfway through and grimaced. She took my pencil and wrote, Mary Patrick sees.

  I gave her a confused look, and she turned her phone toward me again with a message from Mary Patrick. It was sent to everyone on the advice team, so my phone was no doubt vibrating in my bag.

  First Locker 411, and now the student lounge isn’t safe? You’d better deal with the Advice Column Killer.

  I pointed at the phone and whispered, “Ooh! I like that nickname.” I froze when I realized Brooke was staring with eyeb
row raised. I put a finger to my lips. “I mean . . . shh!”

  As soon as homeroom was over, Brooke pulled me aside so we could wait for Heather and Tim.

  “Did you see?” Heather asked when she saw us. We both nodded. “What do we do?”

  “Spend our days roaming the halls of school, waiting for the Advice Column Killer to strike again.” Brooke turned to me. “Yes, it’s a better name than mine, okay?”

  “We can’t waste our time following this kid around,” said Heather. “We have classes and choir and runway shows!” She pointed to me.

  “And soccer,” added Brooke. “At least when the clippings were in Locker 411, we only had one location to watch, but now that this kid’s gone rogue, those clippings could be anywhere!”

  At that moment Tim showed up, and Brooke grabbed him by the backpack straps, shaking him back and forth. “Tim! What are we going to do?”

  He widened his eyes and freed himself from her grasp while I grabbed her hands.

  “For starters we’re not going to put Tim in the hospital,” I said. “At least not until he’s done planning my fashion show.”

  “Thanks. I think,” he said.

  “Second, we’re not going to panic.”

  “But nobody’s coming to us for advice anymore!” said Brooke. “And Mary Patrick sent me a message saying I’d better come up with a backup plan for the advice team!”

  “People will come back to us,” I assured her. “This can’t last forever. And in the meantime, we still have some older requests we can answer. The important thing is to keep this between us and Mary Patrick, now that she knows. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” chorused four voices. I wasn’t one of them.

  My friends and I turned to see Katie standing behind us, waving.

  “What’s going on, guys?”

  “The Advice Column Killer struck again,” I said.

  She wrinkled her forehead. “Huh?”

  “There was another one of our advice clippings in the student lounge this morning,” explained Brooke.

  Katie still looked confused. “But I thought they were always in Locker 411. Why the change?”

  “If we knew that, we’d be answering advice requests, not fighting our way out of death grips,” said Tim. He looked at Brooke. “How are your cats still alive?”