THE FASHION GODS LISTEN
Emma couldn’t wrap her mind around school.
First day back after Christmas break, and she should’ve been trying to dig out the middle-school geometry and biology factoids that had retreated to the far back corners of her brain. Instead, Emma was focused on the amazing houndstooth coat with the flared hem the woman next to her on the subway wore. Could she narrow the silhouette and belt it to turn it into a dress? Add a thick zipper?
“Earth to Emma!” Charlie called from behind her. “Are you listening to me?”
“Kind of.” Emma blinked and stared into her locker. She forced her eyes past the green-and-white graphic flowers of the Marimekko fabric lining the interior and toward the pile of forgotten textbooks and binders. “Actually no. Sorry.”
“Well, listen up. I have something—” The bell for classes cut Charlie off.
Emma shook the fashion daze from her eyes. What did she have first period? A new semester meant a new schedule. Western Civilization, that was it. She’d been lucky enough to test into the honors class.
“So here’s the deal—” Charlie started again.
“Not now.” Emma scanned the nearly empty hallway. “Talk later, okay?” She slammed her locker closed and took off for room 404. Her mother would launch into one of her famous rants if she found out Emma had been late on the first day. And her mom would know. Not only because she taught English to Downtown Day’s high school juniors and seniors, but also because her mom’s best friend, Betsy Ling, taught Western Civ. Knowing Betsy—Ms. Ling, Emma reminded herself—Emma suspected that she’d be extra hard on her to help her mother in her quest to get her to live up to what she called “her academic potential.” Her mom thought nothing was more important than schoolwork. Emma’s deal with her parents was that she had to keep her grades high or it was bye-bye Allegra Biscotti.
Emma slipped into the last remaining seat as the final bell sounded.
She glanced at the desk directly to her left. A short, twitchy boy nervously chewed a pencil. Marco something. She cringed as flecks of yellow paint gathered on his desk. She turned to her right. Lexie met her gaze with a raised eyebrow. No smile. Then she crossed her long legs, tan from a tropical holiday vacation, and turned her attention to the teacher.
This is going to be fun, Emma thought.
Ms. Ling began outlining the course on the whiteboard. Emma noted her simple, starched white button-down shirt and crisp, tailored trousers. With her angular features and her slim hips, she pulled it off. Very clean, very no-nonsense. Emma liked a girlier look, but she admired that Ms. Ling owned her style with confidence.
She didn’t admire the way Ms. Ling piled on the homework. The first day and she already had to read and outline two chapters.
The homework kept coming as the day wore on. Emma had planned to use her holiday gift certificate to the fabric store, Allure, to buy a batch of yummy fabrics—she’d been feeling very ultra-suedy—and start draping some of the designs she’d been sketching. How was she ever going to have time for homework?
She spotted Charlie’s white-blond hair, all spiky today, above the crowd as she made her to her locker after algebra. “Hey there!” she called.
“Hey there,” came a voice from her other side. A voice softer and deeper than Charlie’s.
She turned and smiled. Jackson returned her grin. His sky-blue eyes warmed as they met hers. He was even cuter than before the break, Emma realized.
“I’ve been looking for you all morning,” he said.
She smiled even wider, unable to think of something witty to say, unable to compose herself and look vaguely cool. She liked that he’d been searching for her. She liked the way his thick brown hair flopped across his forehead.
“Finally!” Charlie pushed between them. “Em, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“Can’t it wait?” She flicked her eyes toward Jackson.
Charlie considered Jackson. “No.” Charlie wasn’t a fan of Jackson. Then again Charlie wasn’t a fan of any of the athletic guys at their school. He was hung up that they were all two-dimensional jocks. But Jackson was different. Emma wished Charlie could see that.
Emma exhaled. “What is it?”
“Not here. Private business, you know?” He nodded his head toward the door leading to the inner courtyard.
“I’m kind of busy now.” She widened her eyes, hoping Charlie would get her hint to give it a rest. She didn’t want to sound mean, but she hadn’t seen Jackson for two weeks. She and Charlie had talked every day over break. Often two or three times a day. “And I’m going to be late for Bio.” The bell was ringing.
“I’m headed that way, too.” Jackson started to walk and Emma walked with him. “I’ve got computers with Mr. Torrance. The man moves and speaks like a robot. Ever had him?”
“No.” She turned to look over her shoulder. She felt bad about just leaving Charlie, but he did have English down the opposite hall. “Find me after school,” she called to him.
Charlie shook his head. “Lame,” he mouthed.
Emma groaned. Charlie could be way too judgmental.
“Listen, hey,” Jackson began as they neared her Bio classroom. “We’re playing the Kirkwood Cougars at home in our gym tonight. I’m starting.”
“Wow. Big game.” She knew Jackson was on the basketball team, and she knew that Kirkwood Academy was Downtown Day’s biggest rival, but she didn’t know much more. Sports weren’t her thing. Not even a little.
“Yeah, you could come and watch.” He looked at her hopefully.
They’d stopped walking. Emma sensed bodies flowing around them to get through the door, but she couldn’t move, especially when he was staring at her like that. He wanted her to be there for him! “Totally. When’s the game?”
“At six.”
“Okay, I need to go to work after school, but I’ll be there,” she promised.
“Work?” He tilted his head, confused.
“For my dad. I help out at his lace business after school. Remember?” Her stomach sunk a bit. Hadn’t he ever listened to her?
“Right. But didn’t you say you were interning for that fashion designer? That Allegra woman?” Jackson stepped to the side to let Abby Diehl wiggle through the door.
“Good memory, I’m impressed. Yeah, I do intern for her…sometimes…when she needs me.” Emma tried to keep it vague.
That was the story she’d told. That she was an intern for Allegra Biscotti. Most kids hadn’t heard of Allegra and had no interest in what Emma did after school. It was only Ivana who cared. She thought she was the most fashionable girl at the school. She thought she deserved an internship with a soon-to-be famous designer—not Emma.
Of course, she didn’t know Emma was the designer.
“Five,” Jackson called, as he headed across the hall to his classroom.
“What’s that?”
“My number. So you can find me on the court.”
Emma smiled. There was no chance she wouldn’t be able to pick Jackson out of a crowd, even if a thousand boys were wearing the same uniform!
As she listened to lab safety rules, Emma doodled 5’s along the margins of her notebook paper. She filled some in with polka dots, some with stripes, and some with swirls. 5, 5, 5. Her new favorite number.
Wow, she was losing it!
She refocused on the teacher and the research on penguins he was assigning them to do for homework tonight. Her after-school designing day was suddenly getting much shorter.
That’s okay, she told herself. There’s nothing big for Allegra on the horizon. Nothing like the Madison photo shoot or the pop-up shop. Her plan had been to start designing some new pieces. Experiment a bit outside her comfort zone. It could all wait a day or two.
“I’m going to the basketball game tonight,” Emma told Holly after last period. Their lockers were next to one another, and she inhaled the familiar scent of watermelon. Holly was perpetually chewing fruit-flavored gum.
“Does the team need new uniforms?”
“I’m offended. Did it ever occur to you that I have school spirit and I like basketball?”
“No, not for a second.” Holly snapped her gum and studied Emma. “It did occur to me that you like our team’s starting point guard.”
“Really? That’s his position? Good to know.”
“You’re actually going? To a basketball game? No sewing?”
“Today I’m putting homework and basketball first and fashion second.”
“You’re putting a boy first,” Holly said smugly.
“Never.”
“Tonight.”
“Okay, tonight,” Emma agreed. “He asked me to go.”
Holly squealed. “I so knew he liked you.”
“What do I wear?”
“You’re asking me?” Holly unwrapped another stick of gum. “That’s your department.”
“Except I’ve never been to a school basketball game. Do I go in school colors? Something sporty?”
“You go in what you’re wearing now.”
Today Emma had put together one of her high-low mixes. She’d paired the plaid Marc Jacobs mini skirt she’d scored at an Upper East Side consignment shop with a vintage rock baby-tee, and red leather cowboy boots. Not exactly the outfit of choice for a gym filled with sweaty teens. If she hurried to Laceland and quickly did whatever her dad needed, he’d let her off early to race home to change. She waved to Holly and ran to the uptown subway.
Five stops later, Emma got off at 34th Street and 7th Avenue. She slowed her pace as she walked north. The air smelled like pungent curried chicken from a nearby food cart. Emma loved it here in the Garment District. It was where the magic happened. Outside, the streets were crowded with double-parked trucks and handcarts. Ground-level stores sold ribbons and buttons and discounted cheap-looking clothes. But upstairs, high inside the century-old cavernous buildings, fashion came to life. Fabrics were designed and sent to dye houses. Materials from all over the world were bought and sold. Ideas were sketched in workrooms, draped then sewn into couture. Models were fitted in finery to be sent down runways. Fashion editors and department store buyers held meetings to decide what the world would be wearing a year from now.
She dodged the rolling racks that crowded the sidewalk of West 37th Street. Her phone buzzed.
Where r u????? I am standing by your locker!
Emma cringed. She stopped outside the grey limestone building that housed Noah Rose’s wholesale lace business along with a pattern-maker, an umbrella company, and several fabric importers.
Totally my fault. @ Laceland, Emma texted back.
U forgot me?
Never, Emma assured Charlie.
Then what?
There was no way around it. I 4got. Sorry!!!! Come up here. K?
Maybe I’m busy. Ever think of that?
C u later. Emma knew Charlie would show. He always did. He hated to do homework in his small apartment where his mom gave singing lessons to overly dramatic actresses who dreamed of Broadway.
She took the rickety elevator up eleven floors then walked down the windowless hallway and into the reception area.
“Yes. Isaac already said he would look for more in the back.” Marjorie Kornbluth tapped her coral-polished nails against the reception desk and flipped through the latest issue of People as she spoke on the phone. “Honey, this is the third time you’ve called today. I’m going to need a coffee transfusion if you’re going to keep at it. Isaac knows what you need.” Marjorie gazed up through her false eyelashes and rolled her eyes at Emma. “Yes, yes, I will remind him. Thank you, too.”
She forcefully returned the phone’s receiver to the base and shook her head. “Does Reena really think under-ordering is the same as having a lace crisis?” Her silvery-blond hair stayed put, shellacked into place by decades of hairspray. “No one has patience anymore.”
“Reena’s company makes curtains, right?” Emma asked. “A curtain without lace is like Mary-Kate without Ashley.”
“Like Dolce without Gabbana,” Marjorie played along.
“Like Tim Gunn without Heidi Klum.”
“That doesn’t work.” Marjorie waved her hand. “Not a fashion design team.”
“Should I go find Isaac?” Emma asked. Isaac Munoz was the warehouse manager.
“He’s at lunch.” Marjorie flipped another page of the magazine. She’d been in the fashion business for nearly fifty years. Extinction of the silkworm or contamination of the world’s cotton crop were the only disasters deemed worthy of her crisis control. “So’s your dad. Quiet day today, except for Reena. Go be Allegra.”
“Thanks! You are the truly the Ruler of Ruffles.”
Marjorie was completely in on her Allegra secret.
When Emma first started designing as Allegra, Marjorie had shocked then saved her with her own secret. Who knew that her dad’s cranky seventy-year-old receptionist was a sewing whiz and had tailored clothes for years at Bergdorf’s? Emma had been in the midst of a meltdown at the machine, and Marjorie had magically appeared and stitched the fabric—and her fraying nerves—back together. From then on, Marjorie had been her sewing fairy godmother—The Queen of Seams, The Ruler of Running Stitches, The Princess of Pleats. Emma thought up a new name each week.
Emma wound her way through the warehouse toward the far back corner to her design studio.
Okay, it wasn’t really a studio. It wasn’t even a room, because technically a room needed four walls and her corner only had two. But the area had everything she needed: a large worktable for measuring and cutting fabric, three dress forms she’d scavenged off the street to drape and shape her designs, her enormous inspiration board filled with swatches, clippings, and photographs, and, most of all, her trusty Singer sewing machine. The old machine had been Grandma Grace’s before she moved to Florida. Every Allegra Biscotti piece had been crafted by its needle.
Her phone buzzed again as she perched on one of the wooden stools by the table.
U r not gonna believe this! Holly texted.
First Charlie then Holly. What was up?
???? Emma texted back.
Got home & mom checking email & I peeked @ screen. Look @ link! Emma waited while the site uploaded onto her phone.
The Save the Earth home page appeared. Lots of blues and greens and logo of a spinning globe. The first paragraph was their mission statement, explaining why conservation was vitally important. Holly can’t really want me to read this, Emma thought. Then she spotted the box on the left side of the page. The heading: Goin’ Green Update! flashed in an animated font. Underneath were the words: New Designers Added. She scanned the list of names. C. Leveille—Emma had done the holiday pop-up shop with her. She worked with retro Southern floral fabrics designed in a very sleek, almost severe, way. Remini & Young—Emma had no idea who they were. Allegra Biscotti.
Allegra Biscotti.
Emma stared at the page.
Her hand shook slightly as she pressed Refresh. There must be something wrong with the page. Or her eyes.
The site appeared.
Allegra Biscotti was still on the list.
She was on the list!
She thought back to New Year’s Eve last week. Sure, she had wished for it, but really, it had been more of a self-motivating speech—an if-you-work-hard-this-will-happen deal. She’d never expected the fashion gods to perform so fast.
Is this a joke? Emma texted.
No.
Do not mess w/ me! R u sure?
Totally! Swear on Coco!
Emma bit her lip. Swearing on Coco Chanel was their secret way of saying they were being 100% honest. Coco Chanel was Emma’s fashion idol. Holly knew that you didn’t mess with Coco.
“I need a Hazmat suit to get through that cloud of toxic perfume!” Charlie exclaimed. He tossed his bulging school bag by one of the dress forms. “Marjorie really has to lay off the scents.”
“It’s not so bad.” Emma associated the smell of Marjorie’s Shalimar perfume with Laceland. “I need you to see something.”
“No, first I need to tell you something. I’ve been trying all day—”
“My thing is more important.” Emma held out her phone.
“You’re wrong there.” Charlie refused to walk over. He crossed his arms and leaned against the filing cabinets that acted as a wall.
“Mine shows that there’s…” She still wasn’t sure what. “A higher power.”
“Mine shows the power of Charlie.” He titled his head, as if cueing a drum roll. “I got Allegra Biscotti on the list.”
“What list?’
“Allegra Biscotti is now listed as one of the designers at the—”
“Goin’ Green benefit,” Emma finished. She pushed the screen directly under his nose. “Holy sent me the link.”
“Way to shred a surprise.” Charlie pouted, but he couldn’t hold back his lopsided grin.
“So let me get this right. You got Allegra to be a part of the benefit?”
“Of course.” Charlie continued to grin proudly. “Who’d you think it was?”
“The fashion gods,” she admitted sheepishly.
“I told you I deserve to be worshipped,” he joked. Or at least, she thought he was joking.
“What happened?” Emma asked.
“See it turns out—”
“Wait, I’m dialing Holly and putting her on speaker. She needs to hear, too.”
“My mom’s friend, Trevor Menand, who’s the set designer for the new touring company of Wicked, was over on Sunday,” Charlie began again. “I overheard him telling my mom that he’s doing the décor for the benefit. Em, you may be good at spotting trends, but I can sniff out opportunity, especially when it’s sitting right in front of me.”
“So you asked him and he said yes?”
“As if it were that easy! No, Trevor passed me onto some woman who I had to smooth talk like you can’t believe. But I did it! I got Allegra onto the list of featured designers.”
Emma wrapped her arms around Charlie. “You are the best! Absolutely the best! Totally amazing!”
“True, true.” He pulled away. “Just so you know, Allegra Biscotti is in the way back corner. A real minor spot.”
“Who cares? Allegra Biscotti is part of it all. She’s listed with C. Leveille and Glipin Faust and Sebastian Crile!”
“Not sure who those all are, but I’m guessing from your jumping they’re cool designers.” Charlie perched on the stool. “The deal is that all the money you take from orders that night goes directly to the Save the Earth Fund.”
“I’m good with that. I believe in what they do.” Emma’s mind was spinning. “I can show some of the dresses I used in the pop-up shop and maybe even the Tahitian Sunset collection I did for Madison.”
“Yeah, well…no. You have to show original clothes that fit in with their Goin’ Green theme,” Charlie explained
“I need to design and sew all new outfits?” Emma felt her heart beat quicken. “And this benefit’s on February seventh? That’s in less than five weeks!”
“You can do it, Em. You love a challenge,” Holly called through the phone’s speaker.
That was true. She’d had to work fast on all her other Allegra designs and they came out great. “Okay, and I can get Francesca to work the booth at the benefit, you know, be the representative for Allegra Biscotti. Everyone loves her Italian accent.”
“About that, there’s one more thing. A wee bit of info.” Charlie shrugged sheepishly. “Tiny, really.”
“How small?” Emma asked suspiciously.
“It’s all relative, isn’t it?” Charlie stalled.
Emma tapped the toe of her boots.
“The clothes need to be shown,” Charlie said quickly, as if saying it faster would ease the shock. “Each designer has to produce his or her own mini runway show.”
“What?” Emma shrieked.
“You know, a runway show. Where models wearing your clothes strut down a catwalk with music and visual effects.”
“I know what a runway show is.” Emma heard her voice squeak. “You expect me to mount a full original fashion show? Me?”
“Yeah. I promised you would. Or Allegra Biscotti would.”
Emma closed her eyes. What had Charlie gotten her into?