“Ew!” Lexie squealed. “I don’t want to have to wash some weirdo-stranger’s car!”
“Um, hello?” Ivana added. “We live in a city, remember? Most people don’t even own cars.”
Emma pretended to be fascinated with the last dollop of strawberry yogurt in the container. She swirled it around with her plastic spoon. Since she hadn’t joined the Fund-Raising Committee like Holly and the other girls, she didn’t have much to contribute. Nor had she signed up for the Social Committee or the Film Club, even though Holly had begged her to do those with her, too.
What was weird was that Emma and Holly had never been “joiners” before.
They had always been happy to move around the edges of all the groups without necessarily being a part of any one of them. Emma could tell who was who just by looking at what they wore. She had sketched them all, fascinated by how clothes ruled the cliques. Each group had their own style, she knew. If your clothes didn’t fit in, than neither did you. For as long as they’d been friends, Emma and Holly had hung out with various kids from all of the groups, but they mostly spent their free time together because that’s what they had the most fun doing.
Until this summer.
After school ended, Holly’s workaholic parents had dragged her to their new weekend house in Litchfield, Connecticut. Holly complained to Emma via a torrent of daily text messages about how there was nothing to do and no one to do it with. But then Holly started to sound like she was having fun. That’s when Ivana’s name began popping up.
Ivana’s mother and latest stepfather had a place in Litchfield, too. Emma was shocked. If she had been stranded on a desert island with Ivana, she would have sooner befriended a lizard than Ivana Abbott. When Emma complained about it to Charlie, he said that it was probably just a “friendship of convenience.” Emma spent the rest of the summer hoping he was right.
But now it looked like he wasn’t. Around the Ivana-Bees, Holly was different. Emma couldn’t put her finger on how. She just knew that suddenly she felt like their friendship went from being the most natural, easiest thing in the world to requiring a conscious effort to keep it going.
“Maybe we could put on a fashion show,” Holly said. “That’d be fun, wouldn’t it, Em?”
Emma looked up, surprised. She had started to draw a new outfit for Ms. Ramirez, the dowdy cafeteria cashier, in her sketchbook. It was coming out like a futuristic jumpsuit. Maybe not the best look. “For what?”
“A class fund-raiser,” Holly answered. “Don’t you think we could build a catwalk in the gym and get some of the students and teachers to model? Maybe call some boutiques to see if they would let us borrow their clothes?”
Ivana and the ’Bees faced Emma expectantly.
“Um, I guess so,” Emma answered.
“And you could be our fashion expert,” Holly added enthusiastically.
Someone snickered, but Emma wasn’t sure who. She glanced at the digital wall clock. Four minutes until lunch was over.
“Or,” Ivana began, turning everyone’s attention right back to her, “we could do an auction. I bet everyone’s parents have something decent they could donate as prizes. It would be so much easier. My cousin is an event planner, and she always says how no one ever realizes how much work it is to do events. Plus they’re super-expensive.”
“An auction is such an amazing idea, Ivana!” Holly gushed, leaning forward in her chair. Again, Emma was surprised by Holly’s tone. Was Ivana’s idea really that amazing? Hadn’t auctions been done since the dawn of time—or at least, since the invention of school fund-raisers?
“Actually,” Ivana continued, “I was thinking we could make it a green auction. You know, with all eco-friendly stuff.”
“I bet my parents could score a free dinner at the organic restaurant they go to practically every Saturday night,” Lexie said. “The restaurant’s owners only use ingredients they can buy locally. That’s green, right?”
“And my mom could donate a gift bag of her company’s new all-natural makeup line,” Kayla added proudly. “The stuff smells so good! I’ll bring you samples. We have a ton at home.”
And with that, the girls chattered on, excitedly throwing out ideas, each trying to top the other. Emma’s momentary existence in their plans evaporated into the puke-green floor.
Emma slid the printout of the Allegra Biscotti post from Paige Young’s blog from her sketchbook. Just looking at it made her heart jump. Her dresses! Hers!
Emma glanced at the clock again. The bell was just about to ring. Maybe she could get Holly to hang back for a few seconds while the other girls tossed their garbage. Then she could show Holly the blog and quickly tell her what happened with Paige…
“Holls, don’t forget. We need to stop at your locker before class so you can give me your To Kill a Mockingbird notes from yesterday,” Ivana said, already standing.
“Right!” Holly leaped up to follow Ivana. “See you later, Em.”
Emma watched Holly and the girls leave the cafeteria. She wanted to stop Holly, but she suddenly felt glued to her seat, unable and unwilling to run after them. The noise level dropped as everyone headed for the halls. Emma continued to sit, gazing at the paper in the hands. Allegra Biscotti.
Not being able to tell Holly what happened with Paige didn’t make it any less real. She knew that. She really did. And she didn’t want to be upset—not now.
Someone important said I was a talented designer, and that’s a really good thing, Emma reminded herself, finally standing to leave.
Chapter 4
Killer Dress
“Hey, watch it, buddy!” someone shouted at the man recklessly climbing up the crowded subway steps two by two and pushing people to the side—including Emma and her mom. After he disappeared, everyone grumbled but kept moving up and out onto the street before fanning in different directions. Just another morning in Manhattan.
Emma re-wrapped the sheer, crinkly, electric-blue gauzy scarf around her neck as she worked her way up the stairs. She had woken up feeling like a real fashion designer, and a sequin-sprinkled scarf was definitely in order. Her mother paused at the street corner to push her glasses back up her nose.
“It seems busier than usual today. Or maybe I shouldn’t have had that second cup of coffee,” she said. She eyed Emma. “Have you started studying for the Western civ test yet?”
It was the same question she’d asked last week. And Emma still had the same answer. Umm…no.
“Not yet,” Emma replied, praying that, by some miracle, her mom would move on to some other subject. Any subject. But that was as likely as Prada selling their clothes at Marshalls.
“Why not?” her mom asked. She wanted Emma to take a hard test to get into an advanced Western civilization class that was only offered second semester and was taught by her mother’s best friend, Betsy Ling. Studying for this test would be on top of the two or three hours of homework Emma already had every night.
“I’ve been pretty busy, especially at work.” But Emma knew that her answer was not going to fly. Not with her mom, who acted like school was more important than everything, including breathing.
Her mother hiked her frayed, faded public-radio-station tote bag higher up on her shoulder. “I love that you’re helping your dad at the warehouse after school, and it’s great that you’re continuing to practice your sewing after Grandma Grace spent all that time showing you how. But I don’t want you to miss out on all the amazing academic opportunities you have, especially by being able to go to this school.”
Practice? Emma cringed that her mom thought her designing and sewing was some passing hobby. She thought about telling her about Allegra Biscotti but just as quickly changed her mind. Her mother would suck all the fun out of it. Plus this was about the one-billionth time she’d reminded Emma that she wouldn’t even be attending Downtown Day if her mother wasn’t teaching there. Going to a snooty private school for free was one of the few perks of being the daughter of a teacher. It was probably the only perk, Emma figured.