Olivia Bennett - The Allegra Biscotti Collection

The smile instantly returned to Holly’s face. “So does that mean you’ll come? You wouldn’t want to miss another chance to hang out with Jackson now that you guys have actually spoken, would you?”

At the sound of his name, Emma remembered the feel of his shirt against her cheek during the assembly the week before. Holly didn’t even know that Jackson had walked by Emma’s locker the other day and actually said hi to her—in front of a couple of his soccer buddies.

“I’ll try,” Emma hedged, knowing that she would need a miracle—beyond the already huge one of discovering Marjorie could sew and was teaching her how to deal with the more complicated seams—to give her enough extra time to figure out a costume and be able to spend a whole night at a party, away from her sewing.

Holly’s eyebrows knitted together. “That’s it? You’ll ‘ try’? I just don’t get it, Em. You know, I’ve really put myself out there with Ivana, telling her how cool and awesome you are, but you do nothing to show her any of that. You don’t even try . You act like you’re all superior or something. It puts people off, Emma.”

Emma stiffened. Was she really acting that way? Or was Holly bending the truth? I’m acting like I’m superior to Ivana? Oh, please. How was that even possible? Who’s the one with the fan page for herself? Emma was dying to ask. Not me!

“Look,” Emma started, trying not to let her voice shake, “if you want to hang out with Ivana and all of them, just go ahead and do it. I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

“But I want to hang out with you , too,” Holly said. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?” She shifted on her feet. Her expression hardened ever so slightly but just enough for Emma to notice. “Look, if our friendship means something, you’ll come to the party. Besides, Em, it’s going to be fun . Remember fun?”

Feeling guilty, although for what she wasn’t exactly sure, Emma relented. “Okay, okay. I’ll go. For you.”

“Good,” Holly said, her face softening again.

“Happy now?”

“Yes. I am.” And for the first time in weeks, Emma could see the old Holly—the real Holly—in her eyes.

For the rest of the day, Emma found it impossible to concentrate in her classes. Her body was so tired from staying up late, hand-sewing the detailed trimmings, that she felt almost weightless. Her foot tap-tap-tapped under the desk, anxious to press the pedal on the sewing machine and get back to work.

Emma opened to a fresh page in her sketchbook, as the rest of her world history classmates chatted before Ms. Lyons arrived, and made a list of the things she still needed to do before Monday. Delivery Day.

Construct dress and sew in zipper

Sew jacket lining (collar, cuffs, box pleat)

Attach vest lining with interior slit pockets

Sew dress lining (slit, belt)Add buttons to vest and jacket

“Wearing costumes isn’t my thing,” Clayton Vanderbeck said, and Emma tuned back in. “Maybe I’ll go to Kayla’s party dressed as me.”

“That would be a scary disguise,” teased Meghan Mahon, who definitely had a thing for Clayton. She giggled. “Or you could be a soccer player.”

“Yeah, that would totally work since you’re already pretending to be one on the field!” one of the other guys said. Everyone laughed, and the guy began ribbing Clayton about how he messed up a game the day before. Emma tuned back out. She sketched the vest button placement on the corner of the homework sheet she’d actually managed to complete the previous night.

“Hey, you going?”

Jackson Creedon. He was looking right at Emma with those eyes. Those amazing blue eyes. And talking to her.

“Oh, yeah, totally ,” she said.

“Cool.”

“Are you?” she ventured, not wanting their second conversation to end—ever.

“Yeah.”

“Class!” Ms. Lyons called out as she entered the room. “Let’s get started.”

Emma felt as if she were really filled with helium, hovering high above the classroom. Not only did Jackson specifically ask if she was going to Kayla’s party, but also, and maybe more importantly, he thought it was “cool” that she was!

She couldn’t wait to tell him about how she’d read—well, looked at— Night below the Surface . We’ll have so much more to talk about than the last time, Emma thought happily. She pictured them standing on the terrace at Kayla’s apartment, maybe a moon rising over the city as the party went on inside. She’d be wearing that adorable fringed flapper dress she’d picked up at the vintage store last year—and that had been living in the back of her closet—and maybe fishnet stockings and her high-heeled, velvet peep-toe pumps.

First they’d talk about Night below the Surface , and then he’d ask a zillion great questions about her collection. He’d listen to her answers really hard, maybe biting his lip as he told her how much more interesting she was than any other girl in school. He would have such a hard time ending their fascinating conversation that he would offer to take her home…

She looked down at her list. In between “Sew jacket lining” and “Attach vest lining,” she added, “Accessorize flapper costume for Kayla’s party.”

Emma clicked her phone shut. Charlie had called—again. Checking on her progress. She knew he felt frustrated. He wanted to do something, but really what was there for him to do? Only she could design and make the clothes.

She had just finished another successful afternoon sewing marathon at Laceland, thanks to Marjorie. Everything was slowly coming together. A full day of sewing tomorrow, Saturday, and she’d be close to done. Marjorie had agreed to meet her there to unlock the door, keep her company, and as they both knew, jump in and save Emma when she hit a snag.

While Emma waited for the elevator in the lobby of her apartment building, she thought about the pieces tucked in her bag that needed hand-sewing and that she would work on later tonight. She hoped she’d brought the right color thread. Her dad had taken the subway home with her but detoured at the corner to pick up the dry cleaning. As she fumbled around in her bag for her keys, which she could never find, her phone rang. No doubt it was Charlie. Again.

Resting the phone on her shoulder, she continued hunting. “Charlie, get a life!”

“Um…excuse me? Emily?” a perky female voice asked. Definitely not Charlie.

“Not Emily. Emma,” Emma said, stepping onto the elevator, hand still searching through the random buttons, pencils, and papers scattered in her bag.

“Oh. Sorry. I wanted Emily.”

Emma finally felt her fingers graze the charm on her key ring. It was a thimble from an old Monopoly game. As a kid, she always picked the thimble. “I think you have the wrong number.”

Emma stuffed her cell back into her bag, unlocked both locks on her front door, and walked into her apartment. She was hoping that her mom was out somewhere with William. Maybe today was his day with his tutor or when his computer-graphics club met. She could use a few minutes to decompress.