City Secrets (7 page)

I followed Heather up to the one-story-high glass entrance, and we walked through the revolving door. I walked a few feet before I stopped. Someone clipped my shoulder.

“Sasha! God!” Heather said. “Act like you've been in a store before. You can't stop in the middle of the doorway.”

But I barely heard Heather. Barneys was
insane
. And I was only five feet inside the door. I wasn't a shopaholic, but this place could make me one, considering we were
only on the first of what looked like many floors.

“C'mon,” Heather said. “This is where all of the tourists walk around in a daze—like you're doing now. I know exactly where we need to go.”

Heather navigated the crowd with ease and I followed behind her. I noticed how everything about the way she moved screamed
New Yorker
. She didn't sidestep anyone, but didn't plow through the crowd either. She walked with purpose and knew exactly where she was going. I felt like a puppy tagging along behind her. I tried to copy her posture—head up, shoulders back—and the look I was sure was on her face: a cool disinterest in the people around her.

We walked past counters of makeup and skin products. I couldn't even read all of the brands—I had to focus on Heather so I didn't get lost in the crowd.

“Sample, miss?” a woman asked Heather. She spritzed a tab of paper with perfume and held it out to Heather.

Heather walked past without even stopping.

We passed the M.A.C. counter, where a woman was sitting in a chair, having blush brushed onto her cheeks by a makeup artist. Women were hovering over the makeup counters, pointing at shades of lipstick, types of moisturizer, and different tints of concealer.

Heather and I made it to the elevator and she pushed the up button.

“We're starting with the second floor,” Heather said. “Sienna works that floor and she'll give us special attention.”

“Like, she'll help us find sizes?” I asked.

The elevator doors opened, and Heather and I squeezed inside the crowded elevator. Someone had already pushed the button for the second floor.

“Like, she'll make sure dressing rooms are always empty for us and she'll help us find the perfect clothes,” Heather said. “It's actually always been really fun when I've done it.”

“That's so cool,” I said. “We have our own personal shopper.”

The elevator doors opened, and Heather and I got off with a few people.

“All the clothes we need are on this floor,” Heather explained. “They've got all the best stuff. We need to walk back to the customer-service counter.”

“Lead the way,” I said.

Heather was excited about this—there was no denying that. She'd always dressed well at school—not like a fashionista but like someone who knew what she was
doing. I wondered if that entire time it had been Mrs. Fox's personal shopper choosing and sending the clothes.

“Sienna's the coolest,” Heather said as we walked down the aisle. “She knows exactly what I like.”

“So . . .” I didn't want to start a fight with her, but I had to ask. “Do you like clothes and shopping when
you
do it, instead of someone doing it for you?”

Heather rubbed her glossed lips together. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I like choosing styles and things that I like, instead of having clothes handed to me.”

We reached the counter and waited while the salesclerk helped someone in front of us. It sounded like a fantasy having someone pick out clothes for you and knowing they'd look good. But the more I listened to Heather, the more I realized that wasn't true. I wondered if a sense of individuality was lost when someone else was making all of your choices. I didn't study fashion magazines, but I liked clothes and had fun piecing things together.

The woman in front of us finished her conversation, and Heather and I moved up to the counter.

“Hi,” Heather said to the clerk. “Could you let Sienna know Heather Fox is here?”

The woman nodded. “Certainly. One moment, please.”

She picked up a phone and spoke quietly into it. She hung up and smiled at us. “Sienna will be right with you, Miss Fox. Please, may I take your purses until you're finished shopping?”

“Sure,” Heather said. We handed our purses to the assistant and she disappeared into a back room.

“Is that safe?” I asked. “We just gave someone our purses. My new gloss is in there!” I blurted out the last sentence.

Heather looked at me, and for a second, I wondered if she was going to slap me. “Your
lip gloss
is safe, Silver. Trust me.”

“Heather!” We both turned as a petite blonde hurried over and hugged Heather.

“Sienna, hi!” Heather said, hugging her back.

Sienna smiled at me and stuck out her hand. “I'm Sienna, obviously.”

“I got that,” I said, grinning. “I'm Sasha.”

Sienna was dressed every bit the Barneys girl. Her spiky heels had to be at least four inches high. She wore a short skirt, ribbed black tights, and a simple white tank that was dressed up with a dozen layered necklaces. She looked amazing, but not like she was trying too hard in that annoying way.

Sienna looked at Heather with a sideways expression. “So . . .
are you here for something in particular, or are you here to—”

“Cause damage to the AmEx!” Heather and Sienna said at the same time, then they laughed.

“You know my mom,” Heather said. “She gave me her black AmEx. She doesn't care what I put on it as long as it's ‘proper' for school.”

“Oh, I know,” Sienna said. Her tone made me realize that she and Heather had some sort of understanding about Mrs. Fox and her need to dress Heather like a style snob.

“You'll love this,” Heather said. “It's going to make your job
so
much easier.”

Sienna raised an eyebrow. “I can't wait to hear this.”

Heather gave a fake giant grin. “Guess who won Homecoming Princess?”

Sienna slapped her hand against the counter. “Omigod! No way.” She put her hand over her heart in a mocking way. “Your dream come true.”

Faking seriousness, Heather nodded. “Exactly. So of course my mom's going to expect even more ‘princess-worthy' clothes.”

Sienna put a hand to her chin. “We'll do that.”

Heather's smile slipped.

“And we'll give that bag to your mom. And you can
take the clothes
you
want in another bag,” Sienna finished.

That made Heather grin. “And that's why I'm glad to see you. It's perfect. She never checks the credit card statement anyway—she just pays it.”

“Then let's shop!” Sienna said. “I'm going to clear two dressing rooms and reserve them. Be right back.”

“Um, Heather,” I said. “I'm totally into shopping, and I'd love to help you pick out stuff, but I told you what my budget is and—”

Heather shook her head. “Shut up. I'm using the AmEx on everything.”

“No way,” I argued. “I'm not letting you do that.”

“You don't have a choice. I'm doing it. My parents
really
don't care.”

“I can't have you buy my clothes,” I said.

“I told you—I'm not walking around with you dressed like that. And here—think of it as a gift from them for being such jerks to you last night.”

I paused, thinking about that last sentence.

“Okay,” I said finally. “A
couple
of things. That's it.”

Heather nodded. “Right. Fine. A couple of things.”

Sienna walked over to us. “All right. I've put reserved signs on two of the rooms, so they're ready whenever you girls want to start trying on clothes.”

“Thanks,” Heather and I said.

“Where do you want to start?” Sienna asked.

Heather thought for a second. “Fall tops,” she said. “Then skirts and pants.”

Sienna nodded. “Let's do it.”

Heather and I walked behind her, away from the customer-service desk. We passed brands I'd
never
heard of (dodo + angelika?!), and Sienna stopped in a section I
knew
was going to have price tags with four digits on them.

“I looove Maxx Aro's stuff,” Sienna said. “I think it's a good place to start. His collection has everything—preppy for class, edgy for Friday nights, fun stuff for the weekends, and casual clothes.”

“Let's start with stuff we can wear to class but also not look boring and blah,” Heather said.

Sienna nodded. “Perfect. Let's talk colors that you like and that look good on you.”

Heather grinned. “Well,
every
color looks good on me,” she said, her expression teasing. “But I need more black, red, and cream in my wardrobe.”

“Agreed,” Sienna said. “And those are all fantastic colors with your skin tone.” Sienna turned to me. “What about you, Sasha? What colors do you like?”

I paused, nervous about saying it out loud. What if
I told someone who knew fashion that I
thought
certain colors looked good on me but when really they looked horrible? “I like royal purple, hunter green, and black.”

Sienna nodded immediately. “Light brown hair looks amazing with darker colors, and purple makes green eyes pop. You both go ahead and start looking, pull a bunch of pieces, and I'll pick out a few things that I think you should try. Then you'll try them on and we'll toss out anything we don't like.”

“Perfect,” Heather said.

We started wandering through the rows and rows and
rows
of clothes. I tried not to touch every sweater and shirt that I passed. Everything was so soft! I saw a deep green three-quarter-sleeve shirt with a v-neck. They had my size and it was the perfect cut and color. My fingers reached to check the price tag, but I stopped myself.
It's not going to be any fun if you do that the entire time,
I told myself.
You can do that at the end when you choose your clothes.
I nodded at my resolve. For now I was going to do exactly what Sienna had said to do—I was going to pick whatever looked like it might be a good match and go from there.

I wandered through the racks of shirts and the tables with folded sweaters. I picked up a black sweater that was simple but classic. It would go with almost anything, and
I had a silver necklace and drop earrings that would make it look amazing.

Then I saw a heather gray cardigan that was cut long and would look awesome with jeans during a casual weekend. I started to drape it over my arm when someone reached for it.

“Let me take this.” It was Sienna. “I'll hang it up in your dressing room and that way your hands are free.”

“Thanks,” I said. I handed the clothes to her, and then I spotted a long-sleeve deep purple shirt with a scoop neck. I found my size and rubbed the fabric between my fingers. So. Soft.

I glanced up, looking around for Heather. She was holding a black wrap shirt in front of her.

I smiled to myself. This was way more fun than I'd thought it would be.

A seashell pink long-sleeve shirt, a sand-colored shrug, and a navy blue yoke sweater with white stitching were all taken from my arms and to the dressing room by Sienna.

And I kept adding clothes.
You're just trying them on, anyway,
I reminded myself. Like playing dress-up. I wasn't keeping even a tenth of this stuff.

A few minutes later, Heather wandered over to me. “I'm ready to start trying stuff on,” she said. “You?”

“Definitely,” I said. “I've got more than enough.”

Sienna was waiting by the dressing rooms. “Your initials are taped to your room,” she said. “I put a few extra pieces in there. Start trying things on and come out and let's look at something when you think it's a possibility.”

Heather and I passed several doors until we saw
RESERVED: HF AND RESERVED: SS
taped on dressing rooms that were side by side.

“You better not come out in something that looks exactly like what you're wearing now,” Heather said, smiling brightly as she shut her door behind her.

I entered my own dressing room. It was
huge
. It had a chair in the corner, a ledge to sit on, and several hooks to hang clothes on. In the corner was a three-way mirror that would show every angle of my body. I swallowed a little. That would make it
really
visible if I put on a dumb shirt or sweater.

Stop it and just start trying on clothes,
I said to myself.

And I did. It took only a couple of seconds of glancing at an outfit to tell if it was worth exiting the dressing room or not. And I hadn't heard Heather come out yet either, so she was still searching for the right piece. I took the deep purple shirt off the hanger and pulled it over my head. Smoothing it, I looked in the mirror. Score!

I opened the door and Sienna got up from the bench she was sitting on between Heather and my dressing rooms.

“Love. It,” Sienna said. “The color's perfect and I adore the cut. Great eye, Sasha.”

I smiled. “Thanks!”

I started back to my room when Heather's door opened. She'd chosen a black v-neck long-sleeve shirt.

Sienna smiled. “And you guys need me
why
? That looks gorgeous, Heather. It's a definite.”

“I really like it too,” I said.

Heather eyed my purple shirt. “Thanks. I like yours, too. You could have ended up looking like a grape, but you didn't.”

She disappeared back into her dressing room.

We repeated the process until we'd gone through all of the tops. I'd found three that I loved—the purple shirt, a black silk cardigan that Sienna had chosen, and the seashell-colored shirt.

Heather and I emerged with our items at the same time. I hadn't dared to look at the price tags yet. Heather had picked three things too. The black v-neck long-sleeve shirt, a deep red sweater, and a body-hugging dark gray belted sweater.