“Look,” her mom continued, pushing the rectangular, green plastic-framed glasses that she had been wearing since the nineties back up her nose. “It’s a small class, and Betsy has a really unique approach that I think you’d enjoy. It doesn’t hurt to at least try getting in, does it?”
As Emma and her mother turned the corner, the sounds of kids in the enclosed school yard to the side of an eight-story, redbrick school building grew louder.
“It might hurt a little,” Emma said, letting her fingers run along the chain-link fence, memorizing the diamond pattern to use later, possibly on the bodice of a dress. “It’s not like I have tons of free time.”
She wanted so badly to tell her mother that she didn’t want to take the test or the class. In her head, it sounded like a simple thing to say. But Emma couldn’t get the words out. Probably because she already knew what her mother’s answer would be. School first. Fashion second.
Her mother frowned. “Don’t you have some free time at work? I doubt Dad has you working every single minute that you’re there.”
Emma felt her chest tighten. She spent her free time working on her designs. Her mother had never understood Emma’s love of sketching, even though she’d been doing it since she was eight. And now that Emma was fourteen, the chances of her mother getting it seemed even smaller. Emma’s education was the only thing her mom cared about. Clearly, she wasn’t getting out of this. Her mother had won. Again. She would just have to find the time to study for the stupid test. Somehow.
“I’ll start reviewing the study guide,” Emma said. Just not today, she thought.
“Good.” Emma could see her mother reviewing her mental to-do list: Nag daughter about schoolwork. Check. Just then, her mother’s cell phone rang.
“It’s Vice Principal Manning,” her mother said, squinting at the caller ID. “I just have to speak to him for a sec. We can keep walking, though.”
Emma pulled her own cell from her bag. Weird…it was off. She pressed the power button, suddenly remembering that her mother had made her stop texting Charlie and shut it down to finally get serious about homework last night.
Coming back to life, the phone vibrated in her hand. Two new voice-mail messages and four missed calls from a number she didn’t recognize. Someone had actually been looking for her in the night, and her phone had been off! What was going on? Who was it?
Emma touched her mother’s arm to get her attention. “I just remembered. I need to go to the library before homeroom to look up something for world history.”
Her mother nodded and waved. Emma walked quickly down the block, her black canvas messenger bag—detailed with Klimt-like swirls she’d drawn on with metallic gel pens—swinging against her hip. She dialed into her voice mail.
“Hello, Ms. Biscotti. My name is Paige Young—” Emma’s heart skipped a beat. Oh. My. God. It was her.
Emma glanced back, but her mother was out of sight. Ducking into the doorway of a closed restaurant, she started the message again.
“Hello, Ms. Biscotti. My name is Paige Young, and I’m the senior fashion editor at Madison magazine. I just wanted to share with you what I hope you’ll think is ah-mazing news. I recently posted a very positive piece about you and your to-die-for designs on my fashion blog, StylePaige.com, which I hope you caught. After seeing the item, my editor-in-chief at the magazine went ahead and picked up the posting for Madison’s online edition. I hope you’re thrilled! Thanks so much. Ciao.”
Emma leaned back against the door of the restaurant, took a deep breath, and replayed the message. And then she played it one more time just to make sure she had heard it right. Madison magazine published the post about Allegra Biscotti on its website! Amazing was right! Then she remembered she had a second message. Hopefully, it wasn’t Paige calling back to say that they’d changed their minds.
“Hi, Ms. Biscotti. It’s Paige Young again. I’m sorry for the cell-phone stalking, but I wanted to make sure that the kids at Laceland gave you my message about purchasing your gasp-worthy, beautiful raspberry halter dress. I just about died when I saw it in your studio a few days ago. I have to have it and would love to get it before anyone else does! I hope it’s not already spoken for. It would be perfect for my honeymoon…Anyway, when you get a chance, would you mind giving me a call so we can discuss further? Thanks so much! Ciao!”
Emma clutched the phone to her stomach and closed her eyes. Madison magazine’s website. Paige Young wanting her dress. It’s really happening, she told herself. I’m not imagining this. I have the messages to prove it!
Even so, she carefully saved both voice mails so she could replay them later for Charlie and Holly—and for herself— just to make sure she’d heard what Paige said correctly. It was a good thing Charlie had her change her personal greeting back to the generic one. Paige clearly believed that this was Allegra Biscotti’s cell-phone number. From now on, Emma vowed to be extra careful not to answer her phone if a call came in from either of those numbers.
Filled with a surge of energy, she sprinted the rest of the way to school. She had to see the item about Allegra Biscotti on Madison’s website with her own eyes. Racing up the steps two at a time, her brain began to process Paige’s call. How was she going to find a way for Allegra to call back Paige? And what about the dress Paige wanted?
Emma hoped Charlie would know what to do.
Sitting still during her morning classes was almost impossible, much less paying attention to anything her teachers said. Her silver sneaker tapped the linoleum floor impatiently. Waiting. Waiting. After what seemed like years, geometry class finally finished. She rushed to the library for study hall. She needed to get in front of a computer.
Emma knew she had to score a carrel that wasn’t in full view of the librarian, cranky Ms. Williams. She pushed through the double swinging doors and instantly saw that all the good seats were taken. The one day I want to sneak a look at an outside site, and I can’t, Emma thought in frustration.
Then she spotted Holly waving to her. Holly sat in the best carrel of all—the one farthest away from the librarian’s desk and turned at just the right angle so Ms. Williams couldn’t see the screen. Excellent! Emma hurried toward Holly, knowing the desk next to hers would work, too. And that’s when Emma saw her.
Kayla. Sitting at the desk next to Holly’s.
Holly didn’t save me a seat, Emma realized. She was so surprised that she actually stopped moving. Just stood there and stared. It didn’t make sense. They usually sat together, and whoever got there first would hold the spot next to her for the other.
Holly shrugged, gave a lame half-smile, and put up her hands as if to say, “Sorry.”
Emma wandered like a lost child to an empty desk across the room.
Madison, she thought as she slid into the chair and shook the mouse to bring the sleeping computer screen to life. Forget Holly. Think Allegra.
With the librarian’s eagle eyes on her, Emma had no options. She pulled up the Western civ online study guide and tried to make her eyes focus on the words. Boring. If she couldn’t get through the study guide, how was she going to make it through a whole class of this stuff next semester?