Olivia Bennett - The Allegra Biscotti Collection

Emma clicked on the browser to reopen it. She leaned back in her chair and turned slightly. She wanted to get Holly’s attention so she could show her the screen. But how? She couldn’t say her name out loud. Ms. Williams would be all over her in two seconds flat. Not only did the librarian have eagle eyes, she also had elephant ears.

So Emma tried staring at Holly’s back, hoping she’d feel Emma’s eyes on her and turn around. But Holly was too busy IMing with Kayla to notice anything.

“Killer dress,” a girl Emma only sort of knew whispered as she walked by, nodding at the screen on Emma’s computer.

“I did that! Those are mine!” Emma screamed, though only in her mind. But right now, the only person she cared about telling was her best friend, even if she hadn’t saved her a seat. If Holly would just look over at her…but Ms. Williams was now walking back toward her desk at the front of the room.

Emma reluctantly returned to the study guide. But even as she tried to absorb the answers to the sample test questions, all she could see were Allegra Biscotti’s name and her designs gracing the pages—admittedly the digital pages—of Madison magazine.

“Can you do any impersonations? You know, someone with a heavy Italian accent?” Charlie asked later that afternoon as he dodged a rolling rack of clothes being pushed down the narrow sidewalk on Seventh Avenue. Emma was ready to explode by the time Charlie found her at her locker after school, and the two chatted nonstop for the entire walk to the 1/9 train and the ride uptown.

Every time Emma came up from the subway on 34th Street, a jolt of excitement shot though her. Emma loved the Garment District. It didn’t matter that it was always so loud and dirty and crowded. It was the epicenter of the fashion business. It thrilled Emma to walk up Fashion Avenue, which was what Seventh Avenue had been renamed because so many famous clothing and accessories designers’ studios were located there.

Not that she ever really saw any celebrity designers. But just knowing they were up there somewhere in the buildings that lined the avenue was enough for her. She didn’t mind almost being mowed down by deliverymen hurriedly pushing metal hand trucks piled high with boxes destined for the offices of those very designers. It was all just part of the action.

Charlie and Emma turned right on 37th Street toward Laceland, carefully navigating around the black garbage bags and tied stacks of flattened cardboard boxes lining the curb.

Emma frowned. “You’re not helping! I have to figure out a way to call Paige Young back. She left two messages last night, and it’s already three-thirty. I don’t want Allegra to seem rude.”

Charlie threw all of his weight into pulling open the massive front door of the office building as Emma walked through. “Hey, Allegra Biscotti is a very busy woman. Personally, I think it’s a good thing that she didn’t call Paige back right away. You don’t want her to seem desperate or anything, do you?”

“I guess not.” Emma stopped talking as other people stepped into the elevator with them. Once they were safely on the Laceland floor, she continued. “But I think Allegra needs to respond today.”

“Agreed. Paige left her cell-phone number, right?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah.”

“So, why doesn’t she—you, whoever—just send Paige a text?” Charlie suggested.

Emma pursed her lips and thought for a second. “Is that, like, professional?”

“What are you two plotting now?” Marjorie asked from behind the file cabinet as Emma and Charlie entered the reception area of Laceland. Emma felt a twinge of nervousness in her stomach. She hadn’t seen Marjorie there. Had she heard what they were talking about? She wasn’t sure how her dad would feel about her pretending to be an Italian fashion designer to his client. Her guess—not thrilled.

Marjorie slid the file drawer shut with her hip and stepped back around to her desk. “Figuring out how to stuff the ballot box to get Charlie elected to student council, perhaps?”

Emma let out her breath, relieved. Marjorie clearly had no idea what they were talking about. “Something like that,” Emma answered as Charlie stifled a snort.

“Can you continue your strategy session while you cover the phones? It’s time for my caffeine fix. I’m dying .”

Without waiting for Emma’s response, Marjorie pulled her purse out of the bottom drawer and reached for her nubby, turquoise tweed swing coat on the coatrack.

“Have fun, kids. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Charlie settled himself in the vinyl guest chair to the side of the reception desk. “As I was about to say, a text message is professional. Everybody does it now. Even old people.”

“My grandma doesn’t,” Emma countered.

Charlie shot her a look. “I didn’t mean that old. But like adults and stuff.”

“Okay, fine. So what should we write in the text? Am I letting her buy the dress? How would that whole thing work? Does Allegra take checks or what? I have a bank account, but I can’t deposit a check made out to Allegra, can I?”

Charlie leaned back and propped his feet up on Marjorie’s desk. “Good point. That could get complicated.”

“Could we…I dunno…could we give it to her? I know her size, and I’m almost finished with it anyway,” Emma suggested. “Or is that just weird, like she’ll think Allegra is trying to bribe her or something?”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean no, it’s not weird, and yes, you could give it to her. I think designers give things to fashion editors and celebrities all the time. It’s called ‘gifting.’ My mom is friends with some actresses who have been on TV and in movies, and I’ve heard them talking about how they get tons of stuff for free. Sometimes designers just send things, and sometimes celebrities go to these gift lounges and they can pick anything they want. Designers want stars to be photographed in their clothes.”

“Stars maybe, but fashion editors? Really?” Emma asked.

“Yeah…I mean, I think so.” Charlie leaned forward and stared for a second at some far-off spot. Emma could see his scheming mind at work, churning through all the angles, all the possibilities. “If you give something to an editor it’s not like she has to write about it in the magazine,” Charlie continued. “Besides, Paige has already plugged your clothes. So you could just think of giving her the dress like a thank-you-slash-engagement present. Why do you think fashion editors are dressed so well all the time? It’s called perks.”

The office phone rang, and Emma put up her finger to silence Charlie. She put on her best Marjorie voice. “Good afternoon! Laceland Distributors. Emma speaking. May I help you?” Emma crossed her eyes at Charlie while she listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

“I believe that Isaac is out on a delivery. May I take a message?”

Emma carefully wrote down the information on the old-school pink “While You Were Out” notepad that Marjorie insisted on using. Laceland was still very low-tech in many ways.

“See?” Charlie said, pointing both of his index fingers at her. “You do an almost perfect Marjorie imitation. Your voice isn’t as gravelly as hers, but it’s close. If you really wanted to, you could fake Allegra’s voice.”