Olivia Bennett - The Allegra Biscotti Collection

“An auction is such an amazing idea, Ivana!” Holly gushed, leaning forward in her chair. Again, Emma was surprised by Holly’s tone. Was Ivana’s idea really that amazing? Hadn’t auctions been done since the dawn of time—or at least, since the invention of school fund-raisers?

“Actually,” Ivana continued, “I was thinking we could make it a green auction. You know, with all eco-friendly stuff.”

“I bet my parents could score a free dinner at the organic restaurant they go to practically every Saturday night,” Lexie said. “The restaurant’s owners only use ingredients they can buy locally. That’s green, right?”

“And my mom could donate a gift bag of her company’s new all-natural makeup line,” Kayla added proudly. “The stuff smells so good! I’ll bring you samples. We have a ton at home.”

And with that, the girls chattered on, excitedly throwing out ideas, each trying to top the other. Emma’s momentary existence in their plans evaporated into the puke-green floor.

Emma slid the printout of the Allegra Biscotti post from Paige Young’s blog from her sketchbook. Just looking at it made her heart jump. Her dresses! Hers!

Emma glanced at the clock again. The bell was just about to ring. Maybe she could get Holly to hang back for a few seconds while the other girls tossed their garbage. Then she could show Holly the blog and quickly tell her what happened with Paige…

“Holls, don’t forget. We need to stop at your locker before class so you can give me your To Kill a Mockingbird notes from yesterday,” Ivana said, already standing.

“Right!” Holly leaped up to follow Ivana. “See you later, Em.”

Emma watched Holly and the girls leave the cafeteria. She wanted to stop Holly, but she suddenly felt glued to her seat, unable and unwilling to run after them. The noise level dropped as everyone headed for the halls. Emma continued to sit, gazing at the paper in the hands. Allegra Biscotti.

Not being able to tell Holly what happened with Paige didn’t make it any less real. She knew that. She really did. And she didn’t want to be upset—not now.

Someone important said I was a talented designer, and that’s a really good thing, Emma reminded herself, finally standing to leave.

“Hey, watch it, buddy!” someone shouted at the man recklessly climbing up the crowded subway steps two by two and pushing people to the side—including Emma and her mom. After he disappeared, everyone grumbled but kept moving up and out onto the street before fanning in different directions. Just another morning in Manhattan.

Emma re-wrapped the sheer, crinkly, electric-blue gauzy scarf around her neck as she worked her way up the stairs. She had woken up feeling like a real fashion designer, and a sequin-sprinkled scarf was definitely in order. Her mother paused at the street corner to push her glasses back up her nose.

“It seems busier than usual today. Or maybe I shouldn’t have had that second cup of coffee,” she said. She eyed Emma. “Have you started studying for the Western civ test yet?”

It was the same question she’d asked last week. And Emma still had the same answer. Umm…no.

“Not yet,” Emma replied, praying that, by some miracle, her mom would move on to some other subject. Any subject. But that was as likely as Prada selling their clothes at Marshalls.

“Why not?” her mom asked. She wanted Emma to take a hard test to get into an advanced Western civilization class that was only offered second semester and was taught by her mother’s best friend, Betsy Ling. Studying for this test would be on top of the two or three hours of homework Emma already had every night.

“I’ve been pretty busy, especially at work.” But Emma knew that her answer was not going to fly. Not with her mom, who acted like school was more important than everything, including breathing.

Her mother hiked her frayed, faded public-radio-station tote bag higher up on her shoulder. “I love that you’re helping your dad at the warehouse after school, and it’s great that you’re continuing to practice your sewing after Grandma Grace spent all that time showing you how. But I don’t want you to miss out on all the amazing academic opportunities you have, especially by being able to go to this school.”

Practice? Emma cringed that her mom thought her designing and sewing was some passing hobby. She thought about telling her about Allegra Biscotti but just as quickly changed her mind. Her mother would suck all the fun out of it. Plus this was about the one-billionth time she’d reminded Emma that she wouldn’t even be attending Downtown Day if her mother wasn’t teaching there. Going to a snooty private school for free was one of the few perks of being the daughter of a teacher. It was probably the only perk, Emma figured.

“Look,” her mom continued, pushing the rectangular, green plastic-framed glasses that she had been wearing since the nineties back up her nose. “It’s a small class, and Betsy has a really unique approach that I think you’d enjoy. It doesn’t hurt to at least try getting in, does it?”

As Emma and her mother turned the corner, the sounds of kids in the enclosed school yard to the side of an eight-story, redbrick school building grew louder.

“It might hurt a little,” Emma said, letting her fingers run along the chain-link fence, memorizing the diamond pattern to use later, possibly on the bodice of a dress. “It’s not like I have tons of free time.”

She wanted so badly to tell her mother that she didn’t want to take the test or the class. In her head, it sounded like a simple thing to say. But Emma couldn’t get the words out. Probably because she already knew what her mother’s answer would be. School first. Fashion second.

Her mother frowned. “Don’t you have some free time at work? I doubt Dad has you working every single minute that you’re there.”

Emma felt her chest tighten. She spent her free time working on her designs. Her mother had never understood Emma’s love of sketching, even though she’d been doing it since she was eight. And now that Emma was fourteen, the chances of her mother getting it seemed even smaller. Emma’s education was the only thing her mom cared about. Clearly, she wasn’t getting out of this. Her mother had won. Again. She would just have to find the time to study for the stupid test. Somehow.

“I’ll start reviewing the study guide,” Emma said. Just not today, she thought.

“Good.” Emma could see her mother reviewing her mental to-do list: Nag daughter about schoolwork. Check. Just then, her mother’s cell phone rang.

“It’s Vice Principal Manning,” her mother said, squinting at the caller ID. “I just have to speak to him for a sec. We can keep walking, though.”

Emma pulled her own cell from her bag. Weird…it was off. She pressed the power button, suddenly remembering that her mother had made her stop texting Charlie and shut it down to finally get serious about homework last night.