DRESS LIKE AN EGYPTIAN
“I need you to know your stuff. This a review of last night’s reading,” Ms. Ling informed the class. She finished drawing a Venn diagram on the whiteboard—four interlocking circles for the four ancient river valley civilizations. “The compare-and-contrast test is later this week.”
Everyone copied the words Ms. Ling wrote, taking meticulous notes, but Emma’s mind drifted far from the Indus and the Nile. The graphic pattern of the overlapping Venn circles intrigued her—much more than the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. Her pen strayed to the margins of her notebook.
What if she made the circles different sizes?
What if one was large and the others were small?
She imagined repeating the pattern on a tunic. Interlocking rings of the same color. She’d embroider one circle with glass beads that caught the light.
Shimmer. She was all about shimmer now.
She still hadn’t told Charlie or Holly her great idea. Later, when they met up at Laceland, she’d lay out all the plans she’d stayed up late into the night crafting. Just the thought of her sparkly designs made her shiver with excitement.
“Moving on.” Ms. Ling’s clipped voice popped Emma’s fashion bubble. She hurried to scribble the whiteboard information around the series of circles now flooding her page. Maybe when she finished the show she’d stencil a plain T-shirt with the pattern.
“We will be doing an in-depth project on the river valley civilizations. A group project.” Ms. Ling leaned toward the computer screen on her desk. “One group per civilization.”
The buzzing began. Whispers and gestures to friends. Promises to work together. Emma frantically searched out a friendly face who was also smart. Maybe Pooja or Audrey?
Ms. Ling cleared her throat. “I have already made the groups.”
Emma grimaced. The only thing worse than a group project was one where the teacher masterminded the groups. She held her breath as Ms. Ling read them with a forced enthusiasm.
Emma exhaled when she landed in the ancient Egypt group. That was good news. She liked the pyramid and mummification thing much better than the Fertile Crescent. The bad news: Lexie was in her group.
Lexie kept her dark eyes focused forward, never bothering to glance or nod at Emma, as their names were called, one than the other. No acknowledgement that they were in this together. Then again, Emma reasoned, Lexie barely ever talked to her without Holly around. A group project wasn’t going to change that.
The class filed down the hall to the Media Center to begin their research. Today Western Civ was a double period at the end of the day. Their schedules moved like that. One day English was first, the next day it was directly before lunch, and the next it was the final period. Holly always complained that she was forever confused about where to go when. Emma found it a relief. She hated doing the same thing the same way every day.
“Ancient Egypt over here!” Lexie called. Books on each civilization were stacked Jenga-style in the center of each table.
Emma slid into one of the chairs. Chloe Kang folded herself into the seat to her left. Chloe was tall, lanky, and extremely awkward. She constantly bumped into things. She wore a black trapeze sweater and stretchy black pants. She was a hard worker, which Emma reasoned was good for a group project, but Chloe was extremely shy. Like a new-to-the-city shoe lover at a Manolo Blahnik sample sale, Chloe would be trampled by Lexie.
“Hey, how’s your mummy?” Clayton Vanderbeek joked loudly as he pulled out a chair.
No one laughed.
“You can’t de-Nile that I’m funny,” Clayton leaned his thick forearms on the table. “We could do a mummy project. You know, where they pull the organs out the nose with a special hook. Or, of corpse, I can rap! Get it? Rap. Wrap. Like a mummy.”
“Really, Clayton, I thought you needed a brain to get into this class.” Lexie sneered. “That is, one that works.”
Clayton rubbed his hand over his the blond fuzz of his buzz cut. “Do not underestimate my smarts, Blackburn. I can say the alphabet backward, can you? Z, Y, X, W…”
Clayton was a mystery to Emma. He was an over-sized goofball, always clowning around. He was the kid with the whoopee cushion and fake spiders. For some reason, Holly liked his silly humor. She had a major crush on Clayton. He was also Jackson’s good friend. They played together on the soccer team. Emma had always written him off as a dumb guy looking for attention, but Lexie was right. If he was in this class, it meant that he’d scored really well on the placement test. Emma had been pressured to take the test by her mom, who as an English teacher at Downtown Day. She was good friends with Ms. Ling and thought Emma would get a lot out of studying ancient civilizations. Who had forced Clayton to take the test, she wondered? Had Clayton been playing at being stupid all these years? Could there really be more to him?
“…N, M, L…” Clayton continued though no one cared.
Maybe not, Emma thought.
The final two chairs at their table were taken by Kayla Levine, who pushed hers so close to Lexie’s she was nearly sitting in her friend’s lap, and Marco Alvarez, the twitchy boy, who made sure he was as far from Lexie as possible. Not that it mattered. Lexie didn’t give the boy even a sideways glance. As low as Emma was on Lexie’s popularity barometer, Marco was even lower.
Emma reached for the book on the top of the tower. The cover caught her attention. A pastel illustration of Cleopatra in all her glory. Her striking face with its prominent nose and high cheekbones was framed by shiny, jet-black hair and full bangs. Her brooding eyes, ornately outlined in smoky hues, stared past Emma, transfixed by something in the distance. A headpiece of pure gold inlaid with amethysts rested upon her straight hair, and golden discs hung from her ears.
“We need a plan,” Lexie started. “Ms. Ling said we have to prepare a multi-media presentation on our civilization—”.
“Ancient Egypt,” Marco interjected.
“Obviously.” Lexie raised her dark eyebrows at Kayla.
Kayla giggled, her red glossed lips parting to reveal the glint of silver braces.
Marco cringed and brought his pencil near his mouth. One more icy glare from Queen Lexie and Emma was sure he’d gnaw all the way through it.
“We need one main topic,” Lexie continued, suddenly the self-appointed group leader, “and then we can weave in all the historical information, timelines, and contributions to modern society into that framework.”
“Totally,” Kayla agreed, always eager to back up Lexie. “What about the pyramids?”
“We could combine the pyramids and the wonder of their construction with burial tombs,” Chloe added. She’d already started taking notes. Unlike Emma’s, Chloe’s pages were clear of any distractions. Just her notes in tiny handwriting. No drawings. No scribbles.
“Predictable.” Lexie waved Chloe’s suggestion away, as if she were swatting a fly. “We can’t do burial tombs and mummies.”
“I love my mummy,” Clayton squeaked in a high-pitched baby voice.
“Give it a rest, Clayton.” Lexie straightened the collar of her pink velvet blazer. Then she went on to explain the lameness of Chloe’s idea.
Emma knew better than to interrupt Lexie on a rant. Instead she flipped through the pages of the book. Cleopatra was truly amazing, she thought. She oozed couture style long before any model walked the European runways.
Emma savored the pictures of her long, pleated gowns. The heavy gold beading along the neckline and around the narrow waist contrasted with the lightness of the ivory linen. She admired the thick straps and the draping over one shoulder. Her eyes danced as she took in the delicate, strappy leather sandals and the chunky serpentine cuff that wound its way up her slender wrist.
“We could base the project on Egyptian fashion,” Emma ventured. “Cleopatra was known for her royal fashion. What people wore back then had a lot to do with their social and economic rank.”
“The workers wore simple tunics or loincloths,” Chloe added. “We could even talk about burial clothes. Did you know when they opened the tombs, they found fancy robes dyed in vivid colors and the colors were still bright thousands of years later?”
“What’s with you and burial tombs?” Lexie asked. “Morbid much?”
Chloe’s face reddened.
“A project on fashion is silly, don’t you think?” Kayla asked Lexie.
“Agreed.” Lexie opened her notebook. “Too simplistic.”
“It’s not simplistic,” Emma countered. “Look at this book. Fashion was important to the Egyptians. I could do detailed drawings of different outfits and then we could do a PowerPoint showing how fashion revealed everything about their religion and their culture. We could even bring in kohl, the black eyeliner Cleopatra used, and recreate the beaded headdresses the wealthy Egyptians wore. ”
“Emma, you’re obviously confused.” Lexie refused to touch the book. “We’re not trying for a Girl Scout badge. We can’t hand in your cute art project.” Lexie spoke as if Emma were five. “We need something more complicated. More intellectual.” Lexie gazed around the table. “Agreed?”
Marco chewed his pencil. Kayla and Clayton agreed.
Lexie eyed Chloe, projecting a stare sizzling enough to wilt a cactus. Chloe slowly nodded.
And that was that.
Welcome to the Lexie show, Emma thought. Everyone’s too scared to go against her.
Emma was done trying to please her. She turned back to the book. The later pages showed the actress Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra in the 1963 movie. The beautiful starlet was exquisite in a floor-length golden gown with a plunging neckline. A feather cloak circled her shoulders like the wings of a mythical bird and atop her head sat a magnificent headdress with the image of a cobra. Emma nudged open her sketchbook and began to draw a shorter, more modern version of the dress.
“There’s nothing more intellectual than the Sphinx,” Clayton interjected. “This dude had a lion’s body, a bird’s wings, and a human head. He tricked people by telling wicked riddles. If someone couldn’t answer the riddle, he was killed. We could write up all our research as riddles. Really trick Ms. Ling.”
“But if we confuse the teacher—” Marco started.
“That’s interesting.” Lexie turned toward Clayton. Clayton was in the group of boys that hung with Lexie and Ivana. That social fact alone allowed Lexie to consider his ideas. “Oh, my God! Total genius idea by me! We could craft a giant Great Sphinx out of papier mache and rig it up to a voice recorder and make it talk.”
Now who’s doing art projects? Emma thought.
She shaded a short, feathered cape, as Lexie, Clayton, and Kayla talked about painting the Sphinx so it looked like stone. Chloe offered ideas on the construction, but Lexie talked over her. The Sphinx was her vision, she reminded them. She assigned each of them research and announced that she would handle the creation of the talking riddle machine.
So much for the whole group project concept, Emma thought.
Emma didn’t exactly hate the Sphinx idea, but it was hard to get excited about something she had no part in. Maybe it’s better, she reasoned. I have a lot to do with the Goin’ Green benefit. Who cares if Lexie does the whole project?
The end-of-school bell rang, sending everyone racing to their lockers, off to their bus and subway stops, and to after-school activities. But Emma stayed behind. The book was packed with illustrations that inspired so many ideas. She couldn’t sketch fast enough.
Straight tunics split at the hip with bands of color. Crisp-pleated maxi dresses. Sandals adorned with clusters of sparkling stones. Broad jeweled collars.
She sensed Ms. Williams, the librarian, tidying up the room and shelving the books left on the tables. Emma didn’t look up. She had to get her ideas down before they were pushed out of her mind by homework and the subway ride to Laceland.
“I like that one. Looks like one of those fancy dresses actresses wear to awards shows,” said a voice behind her.
Emma turned to see Jackson. His lips turned up in a half-smile as he adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and peeked at her drawings. Maybe he wasn’t angry anymore. Maybe she had another chance.
“Hi!” she said brightly. She was sure Holly would say she shouldn’t allow her voice to give away how excited she was to see him, but Holly wasn’t here and she did like him. “Don’t you have basketball practice?”
“Yeah, but I forgot to check out a book for that English paper tonight. Coach is okay if I’m late.” He sat on the chair next to her. “Well, a little late. A lot late and he’ll make me run the bleachers. What’re you doing? Giving Ms. Williams a new look?”
“Shhh!” Emma glanced at Ms. Williams, who was now scanning bar codes. The old woman dressed as if she were a 1950s schoolgirl. Her gray wool skirt fell far below her knees, her pale yellow blouse had a sweet Peter Pan collar, and her thin cardigan was trimmed with tiny pearl buttons. Emma could easily transform the look into sassy-retro. She’d shorten the hem and pouf the skirt, button the collar to the chin, add a cinch belt and saddle shoes, and dangle cat-eye glasses in a bright color from a chain around her neck. Of course, Ms. Williams would have to be thirty years younger to properly pull off the nod to vintage.
“This dress is inspired by Cleopatra. It’s totally not for Mrs. Williams. Can you see her sailing along the Nile in something this form-fitting?” Emma wasn’t trying to be unkind. There was just no denying that Ms. Williams had the lumpy older woman thing going on.
“A scary thought.” Jackson pretended to shudder.
“I found this book during Western Civ and it got me sketching. I’m trying to reinterpret Cleopatra’s gown. Like here, I crisscrossed the straps twice to give it a more geometric look.” She pointed to the detail she added at the back of the dress.
Jackson glanced at her sketch but didn’t seem to grasp the design elements that she was working so hard to incorporate. Instead, he reached for the oversized book and flipped through its pages. “Do you ever wish you were her?”
“Who? Cleopatra?”
“Yeah, I mean, she was Queen of Egypt.”
Emma shrugged. “Honestly, I’d never really thought about her before today. She is amazing, though. She seems to radiate power—”
“Like her secret weapon,” Jackson finished. “Or her super power.”
“Do you turn everyone into a comic book hero?” Emma teased. Jackson had a thing for comics. She’d caught him secretly drawing in his notebook last semester when they had History together. Jackson didn’t draw wrap dresses and strappy sandals. Instead his margins were crammed with caped crusaders, angular villains, and everyday objects transformed into weapons.
“Cleopatra would be wicked in a comic book. Her headdress could become radioactive at will. She’d be able to vaporize Pharaohs. She’d make the Egyptians her slaves.” Jackson’s deep-blue eyes widened.
“I think the Egyptians were already her slaves,” Emma pointed out.
“Technicality.” He turned his gaze upon her. A warm blush crept along her hairline. “If you were a super hero, what powers would you want?”
“Me? Seriously?” Emma hesitated. Was he joking or did he really want to know what she dreamed about?
“Totally. You’re Super Emma. What can you do?”
“I’d have the power to clone myself. That way I could be in many places at the same time.” She paused. Did he get that it was an apology? Did he get that she had wanted to go to his game? “I’d be able to fly—”
“Or you’d have a magic zip-line that crossed the city,” he finished.
“And I’d zoom above the buildings from place to place.”
“I like it!” He leaned toward her. He smelled of dried sweat and caramel. A scent Emma found strangely appealing. “What’s she wearing?”
Emma paused. “I don’t know.” She could design for fashion magazines and runway models, but she had no idea what she’d wear if she really were a super hero. A unitard? A cape?
Jackson flipped her sketchbook to a clean page. “Is it okay?” he asked, reaching across her for her drawing pencil. She flinched when his fingers touched hers.
“Sure,” she mumbled. He was so very close to her. Shoulder to shoulder. Normally, she didn’t let anyone write in her sketchbooks. But he could’ve asked for the antique coin necklace that had been in her family for generations that Grandma Grace had passed down to her and instructed her to keep safe, and she would have gladly given it to him.
He took her pencil and leaned over the page, his shoulder bumping hers. Confidently, he began to draw.
Emma bit her lip and watched as a face emerged. Wide eyes set far apart under rounded brows. Thin nose and lips. Pointy chin. A super-high ponytail. The long hair slightly wavy.
Emma felt her face turn five shades of red. He was drawing her. Maybe not as she looked in a mirror, but her as a comic book character. The resemblance was amazing. She could draw halter-dresses but she was horrible at faces. Jackson was truly talented. She watched as he gave her a defiant gleam and angled her neck and shoulders to make her soar through the sky.
He placed the pencil on the drawing. “Your turn.”
“Me? You need to finish it,” she protested. She’d already planned to strip the bulletin board in her bedroom so that Jackson’s drawing of her would be pinned front and center.
“You’re the fashion person.” His tone was playful. “Come on, add the outfit.”
Emma gripped the pencil and thought for a moment. Then she began to draw. A tight long sleeved top with exaggerated padded shoulders and a narrow waist. A flirty mini skirt with an asymmetrical hemline that gave off sparks. Thigh-high boots and a cape.
“Fierce,” Jackson said approvingly.
She quickly added a narrow, black mask around her super hero eyes.
“What’s that mean?” Jackson asked, as Emma’s phone buzzed.
She ignored it. “She’s hiding things.”
“So our super hero is a girl with a secret?”
Her phone buzzed again.
“Emma, this is a quiet place,” Ms. Williams called from across the room. “Remember the rules of respect.”
“Really?” Emma whispered to Jackson. “We’re the only three here.” She sincerely doubted that particular Media Center rule still applied. It was kind of like the “if a tree falls in a forest” question. You couldn’t possibly bother people that weren’t around, could you?
Her phone continued to buzz.
She reached for it and glanced at the screen. Charlie texting. Looking for her. He wanted to take the subway to Laceland together.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard. Meet u in 10. She could feel the easy, jokey feeling between her and Jackson disintegrating. He pushed his chair back a few inches.
“It’s Charlie,” she explained. She couldn’t get over how Charlie managed to always get between them.
“You hang around him a lot.” Jackson’s voice had changed to the disinterested flatness she often heard when he talked in class or to teachers.
“We’ve been friends for years.”
“He’s kind of weird, no?”
“Not at all.” Emma was quick to come to Charlie’s defense. Charlie didn’t dress like the other boys at Downtown Day. He wore skinny jeans and sunglasses on all but the darkest days and his taste in music was offbeat—electropop mixed with show tunes mixed with classic rock. He was a bit of a loner at school, occasionally hanging with the theater kids but content to spend lunch alone in the lounge with his headphones on. “He’s super smart and super creative.”
“What do you guys do together?” Jackson voice sound clipped and strange.
“We just hang out.” That was far from the truth, but Emma couldn’t tell Jackson that Charlie was really her partner in a secret fashion design business. “He comes to Laceland a lot. He’s always showing me clips from these really offbeat yet cool bands. Well, some aren’t so good, but a lot are. You should hang out with us. You’d like Charlie.”
If Jackson would open up, she was sure he and Charlie could find lots to talk about. Everyone at school pinned Jackson as the popular athletic kid, which was true, but Emma knew a side he kept hidden. He loved to draw. He was obsessed with comics, not just for their bold art, but for their magical stories as well.
“I can’t see that happening.” Jackson stood. “I got to get to practice.”
“Oh.” Emma didn’t want to end whatever they had going. “What about our super hero? Can I keep it?”
“She’s all yours.”
“You should write a story with her,” Emma suggested, grasping for a way to reclaim the lightness of earlier. The pronoun had suddenly changed from me to her. He hadn’t ever said it was supposed to be me, she reasoned. Maybe only she thought he meant that. Maybe the fierce girl had nothing to do with her.
“I’d need to know more about her.”
“Like what?”
“Like who she really is.” He turned to go then stopped. “What’s our super hero hiding behind her mask?”
“No one knows quite who she is or what her mission may be.” Emma ran her fingernail along the edge of the mask. “A dual identity, perhaps.”
“So she has secrets?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I’d need a list of her secrets.” Jackson pushed open the library’s double glass doors. “You know, to really understand her character. To write the right dialogue.”
“She may not share her secrets with mere mortals.”
“That would be a problem. I’d have to make things up.” He grinned. “I might make up some really strange things for our girl.”
“I could live with that,” Emma said.
Any fictions he could create would never compete with her truths.