There was definitely no getting out of that test. Her mother wasn’t about to let that happen. If Emma failed the whole thing completely, her mother would know she hadn’t studied at all. That was the problem with being more than somewhat intelligent.
Emma watched Ms. Williams—who wore a frilly white blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a thin, fitted daffodil-colored cardigan sweater with tiny pearl buttons—for signs of movement. Emma always had trouble making the connection between the witchy librarian and her sweet-schoolgirl-from-the-1950s outfits. Which was the real Ms. Williams?
Ms. Williams stayed firmly planted in her seat. Is she going to sit at her desk forever just to torture me or what? Emma thought desperately. Please get up! Please, please, please get up!
As if motivated by the silent plea, Ms. Williams finally stood with a stack of books and DVDs and walked toward the rolling shelves. This was Emma’s chance. She quickly typed the Web address for Madison magazine, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she waited for the page to load. That seemed to take forever, but then there it was, with almost the same headline as on StylePaige: “Smokin’ Hot New Design Talent Discovered by Our Own Paige Young: Exclusive First Peek at Allegra Biscotti!”
Even though Emma had known the post was going to be there, seeing it felt totally different. There it was, at the top of the page with the photos that Paige had taken. The paragraph was pretty much what Paige had written for her blog, but now it was on an official magazine website that was seen by hundreds of thousands of people, possibly as far away as Europe and Japan. Plus, on the same page as the item about Allegra Biscotti was news about many mega-famous designers—Marc Jacobs, Michael Kors, and Donna Karan. Allegra Biscotti, who hadn’t even existed a few days ago, was suddenly sharing page space with some of the most successful designers in the world!
Emma clapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from whooping out loud in the hushed library. She quickly minimized the page, as if everyone in the room would know that “Allegra Biscotti” was really Emma Rose. She looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to her. As usual, they weren’t.
Emma clicked on the browser to reopen it. She leaned back in her chair and turned slightly. She wanted to get Holly’s attention so she could show her the screen. But how? She couldn’t say her name out loud. Ms. Williams would be all over her in two seconds flat. Not only did the librarian have eagle eyes, she also had elephant ears.
So Emma tried staring at Holly’s back, hoping she’d feel Emma’s eyes on her and turn around. But Holly was too busy IMing with Kayla to notice anything.
“Killer dress,” a girl Emma only sort of knew whispered as she walked by, nodding at the screen on Emma’s computer.
“I did that! Those are mine!” Emma screamed, though only in her mind. But right now, the only person she cared about telling was her best friend, even if she hadn’t saved her a seat. If Holly would just look over at her…but Ms. Williams was now walking back toward her desk at the front of the room.
Emma reluctantly returned to the study guide. But even as she tried to absorb the answers to the sample test questions, all she could see were Allegra Biscotti’s name and her designs gracing the pages—admittedly the digital pages—of Madison magazine.
“Can you do any impersonations? You know, someone with a heavy Italian accent?” Charlie asked later that afternoon as he dodged a rolling rack of clothes being pushed down the narrow sidewalk on Seventh Avenue. Emma was ready to explode by the time Charlie found her at her locker after school, and the two chatted nonstop for the entire walk to the 1/9 train and the ride uptown.
Every time Emma came up from the subway on 34th Street, a jolt of excitement shot though her. Emma loved the Garment District. It didn’t matter that it was always so loud and dirty and crowded. It was the epicenter of the fashion business. It thrilled Emma to walk up Fashion Avenue, which was what Seventh Avenue had been renamed because so many famous clothing and accessories designers’ studios were located there.
Not that she ever really saw any celebrity designers. But just knowing they were up there somewhere in the buildings that lined the avenue was enough for her. She didn’t mind almost being mowed down by deliverymen hurriedly pushing metal hand trucks piled high with boxes destined for the offices of those very designers. It was all just part of the action.
Charlie and Emma turned right on 37th Street toward Laceland, carefully navigating around the black garbage bags and tied stacks of flattened cardboard boxes lining the curb.
Emma frowned. “You’re not helping! I have to figure out a way to call Paige Young back. She left two messages last night, and it’s already three-thirty. I don’t want Allegra to seem rude.”
Charlie threw all of his weight into pulling open the massive front door of the office building as Emma walked through. “Hey, Allegra Biscotti is a very busy woman. Personally, I think it’s a good thing that she didn’t call Paige back right away. You don’t want her to seem desperate or anything, do you?”
“I guess not.” Emma stopped talking as other people stepped into the elevator with them. Once they were safely on the Laceland floor, she continued. “But I think Allegra needs to respond today.”
“Agreed. Paige left her cell-phone number, right?”
Emma nodded. “Yeah.”
“So, why doesn’t she—you, whoever—just send Paige a text?” Charlie suggested.
Emma pursed her lips and thought for a second. “Is that, like, professional?”
“What are you two plotting now?” Marjorie asked from behind the file cabinet as Emma and Charlie entered the reception area of Laceland. Emma felt a twinge of nervousness in her stomach. She hadn’t seen Marjorie there. Had she heard what they were talking about? She wasn’t sure how her dad would feel about her pretending to be an Italian fashion designer to his client. Her guess—not thrilled.
Marjorie slid the file drawer shut with her hip and stepped back around to her desk. “Figuring out how to stuff the ballot box to get Charlie elected to student council, perhaps?”
Emma let out her breath, relieved. Marjorie clearly had no idea what they were talking about. “Something like that,” Emma answered as Charlie stifled a snort.
“Can you continue your strategy session while you cover the phones? It’s time for my caffeine fix. I’m dying.”
Without waiting for Emma’s response, Marjorie pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer and reached for her nubby, turquoise tweed swing coat on the coatrack.
“Have fun, kids. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Charlie settled himself in the vinyl guest chair to the side of the reception desk. “As I was about to say, a text message is professional. Everybody does it now. Even old people.”
“My grandma doesn’t,” Emma countered.
Charlie shot her a look. “I didn’t mean that old. But like adults and stuff.”
“Okay, fine. So what should we write in the text? Am I letting her buy the dress? How would that whole thing work? Does Allegra take checks or what? I have a bank account, but I can’t deposit a check made out to Allegra, can I?”
Charlie leaned back and propped his feet up on Marjorie’s desk. “Good point. That could get complicated.”
“Could we…I dunno…could we give it to her? I know her size, and I’m almost finished with it anyway,” Emma suggested. “Or is that just weird, like she’ll think Allegra is trying to bribe her or something?”
“No! I mean, yes! I mean no, it’s not weird, and yes, you could give it to her. I think designers give things to fashion editors and celebrities all the time. It’s called ‘gifting.’ My mom is friends with some actresses who have been on TV and in movies, and I’ve heard them talking about how they get tons of stuff for free. Sometimes designers just send things, and sometimes celebrities go to these gift lounges and they can pick anything they want. Designers want stars to be photographed in their clothes.”