Bead-Dazzled Read online

  “My taste is fine. The music has to go with the fashion and I know the fashion, so I can do the music, too,” Emma said.

  “It’s not only your decision,” Charlie protested. “I’ll stay here with you. I found these—”

  “That’s it. I just need time alone. Then I can figure it all out. Allegra’s my baby. I can do it myself.”

  “If that’s how you want it.” He grabbed his bag and left the iPod and speakers behind. “Tracks fifty-six, fifty-seven, and fifty-eight. I can’t wait to hear your choice, Allegra.”

  Charlie stalked across the hall and pushed open the door to the stairs, his sneakers pounding down the eleven flights.

  Emma rested her head in her hands. She wished she could go somewhere to cocoon herself away from all the negativity—that her designs were lacking, that she was never around, that her musical taste was so yesterday. If she could do that, she was sure she could get everything on track. But where did you hide when you lived in a small apartment, worked in a corner of a warehouse, and lived in a city of eight million people?

  If only Charlie had come by at a different time, she thought—or on a different day.

  Since she arrived at Laceland this afternoon, she’d managed to annoy Marjorie, Jackson, and Charlie. But the good thing, she reasoned, was Charlie was Charlie. They’d had plenty of fights before, and he never stayed angry for long. She’d let him cool off this weekend while she designed like crazy and by Monday, everything would be perfect in both Emma and Allegra’s worlds.

  CHAPTER 12

  BOSSY

  Emma worked all weekend, taking risks with the silhouettes and the detail, traveling only from her bedroom to Laceland and back again. She’d shut off her phone and refused to boot up her laptop—a total disappearing act.

  Unplugged and focused.

  Cocoon central.

  Instead of going to school on Monday, Emma stayed in hiding. She loved how the clothes were looking. She’d managed to drape six dresses, even though she wouldn’t use all of them in the end. She’d gone longer, flowier, listening to the fabric that was begging for long and dreamy, not short and flirty.

  She cleared off a corner of her work table and took a bite of the tuna wrap her dad had brought back from the deli around the corner. Lunch tasted a whole lot better out of the Downtown Day cafeteria. Hiding is good, she decided.

  Not that she was really hiding.

  Her mother taught at her school and her father worked where she’d stowed away. There was no chance she could skip school without being busted. But they’d totally surprised her this weekend, giving her the space she needed. Her mom made her favorite gooey grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches and let her eat in her bedroom, which was unheard of for Joan Rose. Her dad found paperwork to do on a Sunday, so there was an adult at Laceland while she worked in her studio. And they’d agreed to let her skip school today. Truly mind-boggling. It was the one and only time she’d ever asked for a day off, and they must have sensed her desperation.

  School probably just let out, Emma figured. She switched on her phone, and nearly toppled off her stool at all the messages waiting for her.

  Holly. Charlie. Charlie. Holly. Francesca. Marjorie. Charlie. Francesca. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Chloe.

  She started with Holly’s voicemail. “Hey, Em. Ivana just, like, attacked me. She said she was at her cousin’s apartment last night and this cousin takes art history class with some gorgeous girl named Carmen, who told the cousin that she’d gone to a model casting for Allegra Biscotti. Ivana recognized the name, because she thinks you have that after-school job with her. It kills her, you know. According to Ivana, if anyone should have a job with a fashion designer it should be her. Little does she know, right? Anyway, she wants me to talk to you so you talk to Allegra and see if she can’t be considered as a model, too. So I did it. I talked to you. Your choice? Ivana as your model?” Holly giggled before she hung up.

  No need to answer, Emma decided. Holly knew she’d sooner trade her new sample sale Stella McCartney flats for Birkenstocks than let Ivana Abbott model her designs.

  Emma was surprised Carmen was telling people. She didn’t think being a model for Allegra Biscotti would matter to someone as worldly as Carmen.

  Francesca’s messages were next. Something about Billy Perez. It was hard to know what—Francesca spoke mostly in Italian. She’d have to ask her later.

  Marjorie had called from the front desk. She knew Emma didn’t want to be disturbed, but she asked her to come out front and meet her friend Inez. Emma shook her head. She didn’t have time to be social.

  Emma began Charlie’s string of messages. He’d moved on from their argument. What did Emma think of his musical picks? He had video ideas to run by her. She should check her e-mail to see the different images. Did she look? He wanted to meet up at Tome, their favorite hole-in-the-wall bookstore. See you there Sunday at noon. You will be there, right?

  Emma sucked in her breath, before clicking onto the next message. Obviously, she hadn’t shown. Charlie grew concerned. Where was she? Was she sick? Was she mad at him? Abducted by aliens? Then he became annoyed. Was she blowing him off?

  @ laceland, she texted. When he stopped by—and she knew he would—she’d explain her Fashion First mindset.

  The last message, time stamped from earlier today, came from Chloe. Weird, Emma thought. She and Chloe never spoke outside of class. Since they weren’t allowed to talk on their phones at school, Chloe must’ve hidden in a bathroom stall to make the call.

  Chloe was upset. Ms. Ling had lectured their group about the poor quality of their work. “The outline we handed in on Friday?” Chloe said. “She said it was bad. She didn’t get how we planned on connecting the ancient statue in the Egyptian desert to the human-headed, riddle-telling lion in ancient Greek mythology. She doesn’t get it, Emma, because it makes no sense. I know that and I can tell that you know that, but Lexie and the others don’t or don’t care. The other groups are much farther ahead, and Ms. Ling warned we’d get a bad grade if we don’t get this project together. I told her that I’d taken all the notes and did all the research, that it wasn’t my fault, but she said ‘You need to find a way to work together. If researching is your strong point, Chloe, that’s great. Now the others must find their strong points and add it to the mix. You will be graded together.’ Can you believe it? Lexie is being as bossy as ever. She won’t listen to any of us.”

  Emma checked for a second message from Chloe. A message with a plan. A message with a way out of the mess.

  There wasn’t one.

  We’re in trouble, Emma thought. She’d managed to sneak in her homework and do well enough on her tests the last two weeks while designing for the fashion show. But if her grades fell, her mom would follow through and stop Allegra. Emma had been ignoring Western Civ, hoping the others would do the work. Suddenly it was as clear as a Swarovski crystal that this group project could sink her.

  What does Chloe want me to do? Emma wondered. Shutting Lexie down or getting her to listen to other ideas would be a battle. Or could she and Chloe convince Ms. Ling to let them split from the group?

  Doubtful….

  “There you are!” Charlie marched into her studio, flipped up his vintage tortoise-shell Ray-Bans, and shot her a laser stare. “This excuse better be good. We’re talking dying-grandmother good, because I hate being ignored and stood up.”

  “Grandma Grace is fine. Still in Florida,” Emma reported. She explained about going into Fashion Lockdown.

  “No excuse for shutting me out,” Charlie said. “Everyone else, sure. Not me.”

  “True,” Emma agreed. She showed him the draped gowns—goddess-like silhouettes in deep red, bright gold, and earthy green. The browns were just not working so there was a heap of brown silk piled into the corner of her space like a barren hillside. “I sent photos to Paige a little while ago.”

  “Covering your bases?” Charlie unpacked his laptop, pushing aside her tins of buttons and ma
king himself at home in her corner studio.

  “I trust Paige,” Emma said. “She’s great at what she does. I can’t start sewing until she says they’re good.”

  “Good?”

  “Not good. Wow. I want to hear ‘wow.’”

  “You will.”

  Emma wished she could be as optimistic. Charlie had his own quirky look that set him miles above the style-challenged boys at school, but his grasp of cutting-edge women’s fashion fit on one lens of his favorite John Lennon circular-framed sunglasses. She wouldn’t exhale until Paige gave the thumbs-up.

  “So I’m figuring we’ll shoot the show next week,” Charlie said.

  “What? No way!” Emma cried. “That’s too soon.”

  “The benefit is two weeks from Friday. I got to get the video from the photographer dude and sync in the music and overlay graphics on the computer and then we need to tinker with it before we have a final cut.”

  That hard-to-breathe feeling returned, as everything that was still left to do swirled around her like a tornado. And somewhere in that whirlwind were her clothes, so far from being runway-ready.

  “I’ll e-mail the photographer. Maybe he can push the date back a bit,” Emma suggested.

  “He and I are already in contact. We set a date. It’s done,” Charlie said. “Finito.”

  “But it’s not. It’s my schedule, not yours,” Emma protested. “I’ll fix it with him.”

  “Actually it’s the benefit’s schedule—”

  “Don’t be that way. I’ll move it,” Emma insisted.

  “What way? Organized?”

  Emma bit her lip. She didn’t want to get into again with Charlie. It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t started cutting or seaming.

  “Whatever. Moving on,” Charlie said. “Whose music did you like?”

  “I didn’t get to hear them yet,” Emma admitted. She dug through the red metal tin that once held peppermint bark and now housed her thread supply. She lined up the spools in the colors she’d thought she’d need. Stitches had to match the fabric, so they’d be nearly invisible. Did she need a lighter shade of green? Did she have enough of the beet red?

  “Why not?” Charlie demanded.

  “That’s the whole point of the Fashion Lockdown,” Emma explained. “I did nothing but design.”

  “We need to hire a band. I’ll call the NYU guys.”

  “No!” Emma’s voice came out louder than she’d intended. “I want to choose.”

  “But you haven’t.” Charlie gritted his teeth, recently released from years of braces. “I get that you’re busy with the fashion. I’ll do this.”

  “No, it all has to go together. I will choose. I’ll do it tonight.”

  “Right. You’ll do it.” Charlie hesitated as if debating whether to say more. He pushed forward. “Any chance you looked at the backgrounds?”

  “Backgrounds?” Emma reached for the red Allegra phone, now buzzing.

  “The e-mails I sent? All the work I did—”

  “One sec.” Emma turned her back to him and read Paige’s text.

  Like the silhouettes. Much better. But what is your story?

  story??? Emma texted back.

  Your vision, Paige replied.

  Emma texted about the lights sparkling over the rainy city and the beads.

  Paige wasn’t convinced.

  Keep that but the veggie-dyed colors have an earthier feel. You don’t want to overkill with the beading. You need a stronger theme—not an embellishment. Keep trying.

  Keep trying? When and how was she supposed to keep trying? Emma rested her head in her hands. All she wanted was to sit at her Singer sewing machine and make her designs come alive. She didn’t even know how to try harder than she already had.

  “I pulled up all the backgrounds I created.” Charlie was still speaking. “We can look at them together.”

  “Backgrounds?”

  “To use behind Holly as she walks the runway.” Charlie tapped his screen, now divided into four windows. “I’m liking this one of the city skyline best.”

  The images Charlie pasted together blurred into swirls of abstract color. Emma couldn’t separate them from everything else spinning in her tornado. Billy Perez. The Sphinx. Music. Lexie. Beads. Paige.

  It’s not the individual outfits but the inspiration, Emma realized, coming back to the fashion. Beads are not enough to tie the collection together. The beads are the icing on the cake. “I need the cake,” Emma said aloud.

  “Cake? You want cake as a background image?” Charlie screwed up his face. “Or you want to eat cake?”

  “Neither.” Emma opened a fresh sketchbook. “A fashion thing.”

  “I’m not going to pretend to understand. Let’s look at these images,” Charlie prodded.

  “Not now.” She turned all her attention on the creamy, white paper, willing her pencil to draw something fabulous. Something strong. A story.

  “When?” Charlie asked impatiently.

  “Later. I’ll choose the background later.” She wanted to crawl back into her fashion cocoon. Never before had she had this much trouble designing.

  “Again with I. Not loving your pronoun choice, Em. If I must say, you’re being self-centered.”

  “It’s my fashion show, Charlie,” Emma reminded him. “I am Allegra Biscotti. It’s about me, and there’s no fashion show without the fashion.”

  “Well, you can let me handle the show part while you handle the fashion,” Charlie argued. “If you’d stop being so bossy and listen—”

  “Me? Bossy?” Emma was amazed. How could she boss anyone if she didn’t know what she was doing? Couldn’t he see how confused she was? “I’m not bossy. If you want to see bossy, you should check out Lexie in my Western Civ group.”

  “Sounds to me like the two of you would get along great. Both self-absorbed.”

  “You did not say I was just like Lexie? Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “It’s totally different. Allegra’s my thing. I need to put the pieces together—”

  “And what about me? Where do I fit in?” Charlie demanded.

  “You help me when I need it. You always have—”

  “When you need it? Like a puppy panting at your heels, begging for attention? Is that how you see me? That’s just great!” Charlie slammed his laptop closed and shoved it into his bag. His cheeks flushed pink.

  “Not like that,” Emma protested. Why was Charlie twisting her words?

  “You know, Emma, or should I say, Allegra, this used to be fun. You and me, completely in over our heads but working it out, figuring stuff out together. But all week, you’ve been pushing me aside, and I’m sick of it.”

  “Sick of it how?”

  “Maybe I want out.” Charlie laid down the challenge with his eyes.

  Emma crossed her arms and met his gaze. “Fine, go. See if I care!”

  “All right. I quit Allegra Biscotti!” He stormed out of her studio.

  Emma froze, not quite believing he was leaving.

  Why had she baited him like that? She hadn’t meant for him to go. She was just feeling so overwhelmed. In danger of failing her Western Civ project. Nowhere near wow designs for a fashion show that was going to take place in less than two weeks. Yet she stayed where she was, unable to run after Charlie. She listened to him stomp through the cavernous warehouse halls until his footsteps faded into silence.

  Her dad poked his head around the metal filing cases she used as a wall. “What’s with Charlie? He barreled right past me.”

  “He’s mad at me.”

  “Oh?” Noah Rose stepped closer and raised his bushy eyebrows.

  “He thinks I’m being bossy.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.” Emma pushed her hair out of her eyes in exasperation.

  “Then what are you being?”

  “I’m not being anything. I’m being me.”

  “Em, honey, I’ve always admired your passion. Since you were a lit
tle kid, you threw yourself headfirst into whatever you did. If you were building a tower of blocks, you’d make sure it was the highest tower. I see you do that with your fashion and that’s what will get you ahead. But passion can be confused with being bossy.”

  “Totally.” Emma loved how her dad always understood her. “Charlie doesn’t get that. He’s confused.”

  “Maybe you’re making it hard for him to see the difference,” her dad suggested.

  “No. Charlie overreacted. He knows that. He’ll be back, and we’ll laugh about it like we always do. No worries.” She didn’t want to drag her dad into her silly fight with Charlie.

  “I’m not worried if you’re not,” Dad agreed. “I’m off to a meeting. Marjorie’s going to need you soon.”

  “Sure.” Once he left, Emma circled her Girls, fingering the fabric she’d artfully draped over their stiff forms. This fashion show would bring her even closer to her dream—her passion—if she could fit all the pieces together.

  “Charlie’s wrong. No music or computer images are going to make these clothes fabulous,” she told the dress forms. “It’s just me and a needle and thread. I can do this.”

  * * *

  This fight with Charlie was different, Emma quickly realized. He’d avoided her for two days, turning his head when she passed him in the halls. He didn’t answer her texts or calls. She’d wedged a note into the slats of his locker, and it stayed there all Wednesday, ignored.

  Holly confirmed that he was really, truly angry.

  He’d never been really, truly angry. Not with her at least.

  Meanwhile, her red Allegra phone buzzed non-stop. Everyone but the person she wanted to hear from, Charlie.

  The photographer—Sven Laarson—kept e-mailing, because Charlie told him she was the decision-maker. He needed to lock down the time and place to film the runway show. He wanted her to get Allegra’s opinion on lighting and location and a whole list of other things.