Poseur (24 page)

No one spoke.

“Y’all say you don’t get along?! You think Eminem would be
half as good
if he and Kim
got along
? You think my platinum album
Mo’tel
would have been the indisputable masterpiece it is, if me and Slick Willi hadn’t experienced a few . . .
creative differences
?”

In one lightning-quick move, Seedy unzipped his black Adidas tracksuit jacket and revealed his bare chest. The liner notes
to
Mo’tel
weren’t exaggerating. Slick Willi
had
shanked Seedy with the dull edge of a can opener during a quarrel over the cello track on “Kim Chee Killa.” The scar arced
across Seedy’s rock-hard abdomen like an angry comet.

“You girls need to
cherish
this fight!” he bellowed. “You need to
love the hate
! You need to clash and clash and clash
again.
Why? Because it is out of
conflict
that
creativity
is born!”

At that, Seedy re-zipped his jacket, concealing his chest (and past) from view. “All great art,” he concluded with a long,
stern look, “is born of conflict.”

“Totally,” Petra whispered after an awkward pause.

“That was” — Charlotte cleared her throat — “moving.”

“Yeah,” Janie agreed.

“Are you
done
?” Melissa flared.

“Yes,” her father replied. “But just one more thing.” Seedy frowned at the floor, choosing his words carefully. “Conflict,”
he paused, “doesn’t always mean you hate each other. Sometimes . . . deep down? It means you love each other.”

The girls looked at each other for the first time since arriving at Melissa’s door. A meaningful silence passed between them.

“No,” Charlotte confessed at last, “I’m almost a hundred percent sure we hate each other.”

“Definitely,” the three girls concurred.

“Okay,” Seedy conceded. “But just ’cause you hate each other, doesn’t mean you have to give up on The Trend Set. Right?”

“I guess not.” Charlotte shrugged. The other girls nodded in bewildered agreement.

“You won’t regret it.” He smiled, then shuffled toward the wall and punched the button on the intercom.

“Yes, Mr. Seedy,” a nasal voice crackled from the speaker.

“Yo, Zelda, whassup,” he replied, scratching the back of his head. “Uh . . . we got something broken in the living room? I
know. Yeah. No idea how it happened, no. Aw, come on, Z . . . would I lie to you?”

While Sofia and Isabel played in the living room with Emilio Poochie, the members of the newly restored Trend Set decided
to meet in the Moons’ kitchen and discuss the future of their fashion label. First, they created specific positions based
on their strengths. After some discussion, Melissa drew up an official chart.

Once the positions were official, the girls decided to make a meal to celebrate. Petra sliced up every vegetable in the house:
red, green, and yellow bell peppers, bright baby carrots, fresh cucumbers, and crisp jicama. Janie whipped up a special yogurt-dill
dip. Melissa air-popped an enormous bowl of popcorn, and Charlotte made her dessert du jour: crêpe and nutella “sushi” rolls.
The four girls stared at the banquet in front of them, salivating for a taste. They were starving! But the rule was: no eating
until they came up with a name for their label. After all, they couldn’t just call it THE TREND SET forever.

“Okay,” Janie said after five minutes of serious thought. “This might sound a little crazy. But what if we just go ahead and
name the label . . . “Poseur”?

“What?” Melissa almost choked.

“I don’t know,” Petra considered, shrugging her shoulders in consent.

“You don’t know?” Melissa gasped. “That word is an insult! I mean — it makes us look bad.”

“I know.” Janie nodded. “But, you know, if someone uses a word to insult you, you can’t let it
get
to you. You gotta, like, take that word as your own. Once you
own
your enemy’s word and act like it’s something to be proud of — you take away its power.”

“Beautiful speech,” Charlotte oozed. “Bravo,
Pompidou.
”

At the sound of that word, Janie flushed with the old, familiar anger. But then she realized: Charlotte was only testing her
point. If her theory about “Poseur” had any merit, then it would have to apply to “Pompidou” too. She turned to face Charlotte,
her supposed greatest enemy, and smiled. For the first time, Charlotte hadn’t intended Pompidou as an insult. She intended
the word as a gift.

“Okay, okay . . .” Janie laughed, pumping her fist in mock-triumph. “I am Pompidou!” And that was all it took. At last the
word belonged to her.

“I guess I’m
Harlotte,
” Charlotte announced with a celebratory finger-swirl.

“I am Petrafried!” Petra joined in. The three girls laughed, turning their dancing eyes toward Melissa.

“And I am not participating.” She frowned. “
That
said: Janie . . . I see your point. My dad calls what you’re talking about, um . . . he’s calls it . . .”

“Appropriating the language of the oppressor!” Seedy’s voice echoed down the hall.

“
Thank
you, Daddy!” Melissa replied in a teasing lilt.

“So then” — Janie smiled — “are we down?”

Everybody waited as Melissa unsnapped the smooth Tiffany blue leather case that contained her Tiffany gavel. She raised the
small hammer into the air.

“All for sticking it to those who dare call us names!” The silver flashed. “Say here!”

“Here, here!”

“All for taking
their
word and making it
ours,
say here!”

“Here, here!”

“All for naming our label
POSEUR
because we don’t give a frying duck!”

“Frying
duck
?”

“Just say ‘here’!”

“Here, here!”

Melissa brought the gavel down, tapping it four times — one tap for each girl.

“Wait,” Janie interjected the ensuing whistles and cheers. “Does this mean we have to make t-shirts with
POSEUR
across the chest?”

The four girls looked at each other and collapsed into gasping guffaws. “Totally!” Melissa shrieked.

“What kinda noise was that?” Seedy Moon popped his head into the kitchen. At the sight of his mock-stern face, The Trend Set
tried to contain their laughter. But they couldn’t.

“You ladies are
getting along
!” Seedy shook his head in faux dismay. “After
everything
I told you!”

“No, Daddy.” Melissa covered her smile and shook her head.

“We are
not
getting along,” Charlotte added.

“We hate each other,” Petra whispered.

“To the
core,
” Janie squeaked.

“Yeah, excellent work, ladies.” Melissa’s father continued shaking his head. “Keep it up.”

At that, Seedy Moon headed down the hall, leaving the girls alone. Melissa looked at Janie. Janie looked at Petra. Petra looked
at Charlotte. All four of them were smiling. They smiled because they understood what they didn’t have the nerve to say: how
you look can be the opposite of who you are. What you say can be the opposite of what you mean. And who you think you can’t
stand . . .
can turn out to be exactly who you need.

They smiled because, knowing this, they could admit what no one else could:

They were just a bunch of poseurs.

October 4, 10:13 p.m.

Fellow Winstonians, Fashionistas, and Fabulazzi:

Okay, so it’s official. Our grand experiment in over-the-topness, our daring exercise in ’til-you-can’t-stopness (aka the
“Tag—You’re It” party), has come to its inevitable tragic end. No doubt some of y’all are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling,
wondering what more there is to life. Well, to you we say: chillax. There are more parties on the horizon, bashes so bananas
they make yellow the new black. Why? Our up-and-coming label has a brand-new name. What is that name, you ask?

POSEUR.

Yeah, you read that right.

We chose
POSEUR
’cause (admit it!)—it’s hard to always “be yourself.” How’re we supposed to be ourselves when we’re still figuring out who
that is? So, if you think you’re one thing one day, but change your mind the next, we at
POSEUR
say: that’s cool. And maybe even chic.

Yours with a cherry on top,
Melissa, Janie, Charlotte, Petra

P.S. Our wonderful but VERY SHY label name winner is currently anonymous. So, if you or anyone you know has any leads to who
this person is, please let us know. We’d hate for this amazingly perfect person to wander around without receiving their due
reward.…

In the words of William H. Shakespeare,

“all the world’s a runway,”

and it’s high time you played your part.

So who are you, anyway?

You can be a Janie, a Charlotte, a Petra, or a Melissa . . . or even a crazy combination of all four. (Hmm . . . are you a
Petrottemelanie?)

Whatever you decide, turn the page and make their looks your own. New York City fashion label Compai shows you how. It’s easier
than one, two, um . . . spree!