But then last year Holly had shot up five inches without gaining an ounce, it seemed. Now, with her long, thick, honey-brown wavy hair, blue eyes, clear skin, and pretty smile, she looked like the kind of girl who would be spotted on the street by an agent and become a supermodel overnight. If they hadn’t been best friends since the days of finger painting and macaroni necklaces, Emma would’ve probably been too intimidated to talk to Holly now.
Compared with Holly, Emma thought that she was boring-looking. Not gorgeous, not ugly, just in between. She did have bright green eyes, which she got from her dad, and what her grandmother called her “sweet smile,” but what set Emma apart were clothes. She understood their power. How they could transform a person. Even her. It didn’t matter how messy your ponytail looked, if you sported a flirty minidress or high suede boots.
By contrast, Holly’s look was cool and classic. Holly’s mom was one of those people who believed in buying very, very good things that would last a very, very long time. Holly’s outfit was typical Holly: dark jeans, soft chocolate-brown flats, a thin lemon-colored sweater, and a stretchy wrap T-shirt underneath. As always, she looked as if she had stepped out of the pages of a preppy catalog. As much as Emma begged her, Holly never took fashion risks.
“A bunch of us are going to hang out in the park after school.” Holly unwrapped a second piece of gum and popped it in her mouth. “Can you come with?”
Emma could guess exactly who “a bunch of us” were. Ivana Abbott and the “Ivana-Bees”—as in “I Wanna Be Ivana”— Lexie Blackburn, Kayla Levine, and Shannon O’Malley.
“Will Number One, Number Two, and Number Three be there, too?” she asked, hoping for a giggle from Holly. Until recently, she and Holly had referred to the Ivana-Bees by number because, even though they looked different, they acted exactly the same, laughing at everything Ivana said and doing whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.
Instead, Holly looked slightly offended. “Come on, Em. Don’t pretend you don’t know their names. They’re really nice, you know. Just give them a chance.”
“I still don’t know how you can be friends with Ivana,” Emma said. “She actually created a fan page for herself on Facebook, like she’s famous or something. I mean, give me a break.”
Holly laughed. “Oh, come on. It’s kind of cool. Like those reviews she does of movies and CDs and all those amazing restaurants she goes to with her parents? They’re hilarious!”
Emma used all her self-control to not roll her eyes. She couldn’t wait for the day when Ivana would become bored with Holly and move on—or even better, the other way around—so that it would be just Emma and Holly again. But that hadn’t happened yet. In fact, it looked like Holly was currently applying for the position of Number Four.
“Just come with us. What’s the big deal?” Holly persisted.
“I’m not sure if I can today,” Emma said as she opened her locker. Her tiny metal sanctuary. She had lined the inside of the door with a swatch of 1970s Marimekko fabric in a great green-and-white graphic print. Large square magnets covered in random fabric swatches held clippings from various fashion magazines. The framed picture of her style hero, the one and only Coco Chanel, hung in the center of her rotating fashion collage.
Seeing Coco’s face every day reminded Emma that there was a whole world outside these walls, a world filled with stunningly beautiful dresses made of luxurious fabrics, intricately detailed jackets, expertly tailored pants and skirts, and, of course, killer shoes and bags.
“Some guys are coming, including Jackson Creedon,” Holly singsonged, knowing that she had just majorly sweetened the deal.
Emma was no math genius, but even she could calculate that Jackson being there added much more to the equation than Ivana took away. Emma turned to face her friend. “Are you serious?”
“Would I lie about that? Hello! Have you met me?”
Emma had been crushing on Jackson Creedon ever since he had stepped foot into school three weeks earlier. Maybe it was his intense blue eyes or the way his brown wavy hair, which was on the long side, kept flopping into his face or the fact that he was taller than the other boys and lean—strong but not all thick-necked and muscle-y.
At the end of the first week, Holly had declared Emma officially infatuated. Emma could hardly deny it, even though she and Jackson had never exchanged a single word. Yet. But going to the park could change all that…maybe he would actually notice her.
Emma groaned. “Sorry, Holls, but I really can’t go. I just remembered that I promised my dad I’d work for him after school.”
Underneath her fringy bangs, Holly’s eyes narrowed, the way they always did when she was preparing to get her way. “You’re picking lace over Jackson Creedon? Can’t you just do it tomorrow?”
“I wish.” Emma sighed. “But it has to be today because they’re getting in a big shipment that needs to be unpacked, and there aren’t enough people to help out.”
Emma had started working for Noah—as Emma called her dad at Laceland, his wholesale lace business—during the summer. When school started, she had agreed to work in the afternoons to earn extra money for design materials without having to be stuck home baby-sitting her ten-year-old brother, William. But today, when her best friend and the hot new guy were hanging in the park, having an after-school job was a bummer.
“Plus,” Emma added, “I kind of need the money.”
“For what?” Holly demanded, gum snapping and cracking.
“I’m working on the most amazing dress. The fabric cost a lot.”
Holly nodded slowly, clearly unhappy that Emma was not going to the park.
“Besides,” Emma said, “doesn’t Lexie have a thing for Jackson? Even if I could go, she’d never let me get anywhere near him.”
Holly waved her hand. “Just because Lexie likes Jackson doesn’t mean he likes her back. He’s new to school. I bet if he got to know you, he’d like you much more than Lexie.”
Emma allowed a small smile. She appreciated Holly’s pep talk, but they both knew that a guy would have to be blind not to be drawn to Lexie’s exotic looks. Long dark-brown, perfectly smooth, straight hair; almond skin; dark-brown eyes with a perfect veil of mascara-enhanced lashes. It was a killer combination.
“Look, you’ll never know whether or not he’s going to like you unless you come.” Holly closed her locker. “AndI know how badly you want to know. So see you later, right?”
“Right,” Emma found herself agreeing. Holly always had that effect on her.
“I mean, could there be a better excuse to skip work than getting to hang out with Jackson?” Holly smiled.
“Can’t think of any,” Emma said, as they made their way together upstairs toward first period. “Besides, how bad could it be to miss one measly afternoon at Laceland?”
Later that afternoon, as Emma stepped into the elevator of the century-old building that was home to Laceland, her mind was thirty blocks south in Washington Square Park. As the day wore on, she had realized that as much as she would trade a pair of Alexander McQueen shoes—that is, if she magically owned a pair—for the chance to hang out with Jackson, she couldn’t break her promise to her dad. She was wired that way.
Now that she was here, it was blindingly obvious that she had made a crucial mistake. Jackson is probably talking to Lexie this very minute, Emma thought, a pit of regret growing in her stomach. Sometimes she wished there was a manual for all this boy stuff. Lexie and Ivana seemed to have it. For all she knew, they had written it themselves.