Bead-Dazzled (5 page)

“Oh, no,” Emma groaned.

“Keep the faith. This will be awesome,” Charlie promised.

“What about Paige?” Emma asked. Without Paige Young, there wouldn’t have been Allegra Biscotti. She was the editor at
Madison
who had discovered her. Paige had vowed to keep her dual identity a secret—and she’d promised to help guide and launch Emma’s career. So far she’d been true to her word.

“She’s all yours,” Charlie said. “Paige scares me.”

“Me, too.” Emma feared Paige would think she was committing fashion suicide. “I’ll fill her in later.”

Emma pulled out her sketchbook and her favorite soft pencil. She doodled a ski jumpsuit with a fur-trimmed hood. In two weeks, Allegra might be wearing this—forever exiled to the frigid Alps, Emma realized. This fashion show was like hurtling down an icy cliff on skis, but without having taken any lessons. She was way out of her league.

Then she imagined her dresses, her designs, her creations swirling around the lanky legs of models as they strutted down a runway in front of live people. The Allegra Biscotti collection in motion.
That
would be awesome.

I can do this, she decided. I’ll stun the audience with my clothes and none of the other stuff will matter. It will be all about the clothes.

* * *

Jackson waited by her locker the next morning. His hunter-green flannel shirt hung open over his gray tee and worn jeans. He looked so effortlessly cool, as if he didn’t care what anyone thought or said—totally unheard of at Downtown Day.

Emma hesitated, unsure how to make this right. He deserved to be angry with her. “I’m sorry,” she said, resting her binders on her hip.

“You didn’t show up, did you?”

Emma gnawed her chapped lip. “I meant to. I really did.”

“We won. I shot a three-pointer from outside the box to win the game.”

“That’s amazing.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. How could she explain that she’d gotten so wrapped up in designing for the fashion show that she’d completely blanked out the basketball game? She hadn’t clued into it until she’d gotten undressed for bed and realized she’d meant to go home and change her clothes. “I got stuck at my dad’s office. He needed me to work late—”

“Next time.” Jackson shrugged. “If you want to, that is.”

“I do—”

“Em!” Charlie stepped between her and Jackson.

“Hey, man,” Jackson said, raising his eyebrows at Charlie’s intrusion.

“Oh, hey.” Charlie turned to Emma. “Will your dad let us hang out late at Laceland again tonight? I can spring for Chinese takeout. That pizza last night was nasty.”

Emma registered Jackson’s questioning look. “We’re working on a group project,” she fumbled. What else could she say?

“Sure thing.” Jackson’s eyes lost a bit of their warmth.

“So Chinese?” Charlie asked again.

Couldn’t Charlie leave it alone? Didn’t he see she wanted to talk to Jackson and needed him gone? Obviously not. Charlie stood his ground.

“Later,” Jackson said, clearly frustrated by Charlie. She watched him meet up with Lexie and Ivana halfway down the hall. Lexie let out a husky laugh at something he said. He playfully punched her lightly on the shoulder. She laughed again.

Emma cringed. Jackson never touched her. No playful punches or nudges. Last night could’ve been a big deal. They could’ve gone out somewhere afterward. A coffee place? Ice cream? He might’ve held her hand. Or even kissed her.

But, once again, her sketchbook had sucked her away from the world. Everything faded when she was designing. Even Jackson. She’d blown off his big game and hadn’t even texted an apology.

She was definitely bad at this boy stuff.

“Veggie dumplings? Good?” Charlie asked. “I can peek at what you’ve drawn, if you want.”

Emma couldn’t stay angry with Charlie. She was going make fashion history with his help, even if only they were the only ones who knew it. She’d be the youngest designer to put on a real fashion show.

“Chinese food is great,” she replied, as Jackson turned the corner with Lexie.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Charlie showed up in her studio with Holly. He brought square, white containers of dumplings and crispy tofu. “A feast,” he declared, jabbing the air with a chopstick.

“We’re ready to work. We’re going to huddle in this corner and watch fashion show videos,” Holly said. “We brought headphones. We won’t bother you, promise.”

Emma nodded, barely looking up. She furiously scavenged the back issues of
Madison
that she collected. She never threw one away, even scoring some vintage issues from the 90s at a used bookstore in the Village.

She needed inspiration. She needed an idea. A theme. A collection had to be cohesive. All the outfits could be different, but they all had to hinge on that one idea that knit them together. One story.

Using Post-Its, she flagged designs that caught her eye. A slouchy blue-and-white striped boat-neck top. Moss green gauchos with a wide sash. A long gypsy skirt trimmed with tiny gold coins. An embroidered silk tunic with fierce dragon details.

She sketched a moto jacket that sparkled with little coins.

She drew a high-necked gown with embroidered flames.

For two hours, she sketched and sketched.

“What’d you got?” Charlie asked, after he and Holly had overdosed on runway review and downed all the dumplings.

Emma flipped through her sketches. Each design wasn’t bad on its own, but none of her ideas fit together. “It’s a mish-mash,” she complained.

“The theme is Goin’ Green. Eco-friendly.” Charlie said. “Focus in on that.”

“You could make everything out of different shades of green fabric,” Holly suggested.

Emma tried to imagine a head-to-heel green palette. She
did
love green. Bright grass green, deep forest green—but there could be too much of a good thing. “Too Kermit,” she decided.

“Agreed.” Charlie said. “And maybe too literal.”

“Fabric, fabric…” Emma stood and walked to an old armoire she’d rescued from the curb one rainy afternoon. Her mom had helped her to strip it, and they’d repainted it a brilliant yellow. Inside, she kept all her extra bolts of fabric and the remnants of the fabrics she’d already used. She took stock of the few pieces she had left. Then she added up the money she’d gotten for the holiday gifts along with the gift certificate to the fabric store. “Big trouble. There’s no way I can buy enough fabric for a whole collection.”

“How many pieces do you need to make?” Holly asked.

“I’m thinking four. But some outfits should have more than one piece. You know, a jacket or a vest or something.” Emma tightened her ponytail. “That’s a whole lot of fabric.”

“What about your dad?” Holly asked.

“He’s paid for so much already. I’m sure he’d help if I asked, but I kind of want to do this on my own,” Emma said. “I doubt Michael Kors has his dad paying for his fabric.”

“Maybe he did at the beginning,” Holly pointed out.

“Maybe you don’t need fabric,” Charlie suggested. “Think outside the box. Goin’ Green means recycling, right? What if you used plastic water bottles or cardboard or even newspapers?”

“Seriously?” Holly rolled her eyes. “This isn’t some arts and crafts project, Charlie. Go outside and show me one woman who is wearing newspapers or plastic bottles!”

“Wait.” Emma began to pace her small space. “Charlie’s idea isn’t so off. Just a bit half-baked.” She smiled at Charlie. “The recycling idea is actually good.”

“What’re you going to recycle?” Holly wrinkled her nose. “Nothing gross I hope.”

“Not exactly recycle,” Emma explained. “More like repurpose. Use again. Instead of using brand new material, I’ll use old material. I’ll take old clothes, deconstruct them, and make them new.”

“Can you get enough fabric that way? You know, big enough pieces to work with?” Holly asked. She had a better grasp of the sewing part than Charlie did.

Emma wasn’t so sure. “We could go to the thrift stores and look.”

“Look for what?” Charlie asked. “It’s not like you can take another designer’s dress and just chop off the hem or the sleeves.”

“Of course not.” Emma was liking this idea. “I would do a complete overhaul. It’ll be a totally new style from the old one. I’d reuse the fabric and the buttons and zippers or whatever I can find. I’d take apart the garment and rebuild it from scratch. The key is good-quality fabric.”

“I like it!” Holly’s eyes sparkled. “Let’s go shopping now. How about that thrift store on Lexington?”

Emma was always up for shopping. She moved to grab her bag.

“Halt,” Charlie called. “Reality check. How much money do you have?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I’m trying to act as business manager here.” Charlie stood straighter, as if to justify his position. “Before you blow it all shopping, we’ve got to write down how much money there is then make a budget for everything we need. Besides fabric, the runway show will cost money.”

Emma sunk back onto the stool. “This is crazy. I can’t afford this.”

“Yes, you can.” Charlie sat beside her. “Just like you’re going to recycle or upcycle or whatever it’s called with the fabric, I’ll trade stuff and make deals for the music and the models for the show. I’m all over this. This is what I do.”

Emma smiled. When they first met back in fourth grade at recess, Charlie was selling colorful, scented erasers he bought in bulk in Chinatown for five times what they were worth. He used the money after school at the nearby candy store. He’d then trade the candy he’d bought for the answers to that night’s homework. She’d spent a huge chunk of her allowance on erasers that year.

“What I do is fashion,” Emma said. “The fashion is more important than budgets or planning a runway show, unless you want the models to walk down naked. Right now, I’ve got nothing.”

“That would get people talking about Allegra Biscotti, if you went all
Emperor’s New Clothes,
” Charlie joked.

“That would be the worst!” If nothing else, she could guarantee her models would be wearing clothes. “I’ve got the green-thing figured out now, but I need a theme that’s special enough to prove that Allegra belongs at this benefit.”

It was still so unreal. A week ago she was wishing for it and now she was listed on the benefit’s website. Suddenly her studio space felt smaller than ever. The empty dress forms stood forlorn without fabric. Her sewing machine waited silently, willing her to begin. The huge inspiration wall filled with clippings, swatches, and sketches seemed to taunt her:
you have all these ideas yet none fit together.