Olivia Bennett - The Allegra Biscotti Collection

When she finished, Emma felt like she had just run a hundred miles. Or spent the last two weeks working night and day on three brand-new garments while attending high school.

Her dad leaned forward and pressed his palms flat against her worktable. “Why didn’t you tell us? That’s what I don’t understand.”

Emma looked up at the ceiling. She hated that the twinkle was gone from her father’s eyes. What was worse was that Emma knew that she was responsible for that.

“The whole thing just seemed to happen so fast,” she explained. “I’d do one thing and think that was it. But then Paige would ask for something else, and then something else…and the lie kept getting bigger and bigger somehow. I didn’t know how to stop without ruining everything .”

Her mother cleared her throat. That wasn’t a good sign, Emma knew, so she braced herself.

“You know that I don’t deal with lying, whatsoever, under any circumstance,” her mother began, “especially lying to your parents.”

“I agree. The lying thing is a really big deal,” her dad said, looking directly into Emma’s eyes. “I can maybe see how this spun out of control, but lying is not cool with us—at all. We need to be able to trust you.”

“I get it,” Emma said. And the funny thing was that she really did . “I’m so sorry. I really am. You can trust me.”

“I hope so.” Her mother paused, debating what to say next.

Emma couldn’t chance it. She knew a punishment was heading her way—that was Prada-black-dress obvious. She had to step up, to show them that Allegra Biscotti was more than some random name she’d made up. That Allegra was a designer with talent. That Allegra was her . “Can I show you what I’m making?”

“I would hope so,” her mom said. “Especially after all the effort you’ve made not to show us.”

“Can I see, too?” William asked.

Emma had almost forgotten Will was there. He had been so quiet the whole time. “Definitely. Come over here.”

Emma explained the inspiration, pointing to the pages from Night below the Surface and then the sketches she created for her own designs. She held up the lining fabrics, so her mother could see how they would eventually work with the dress, the jacket, and the vest. She showed them the garments in progress displayed on the three dress forms.

“Emma! They’re stunning,” Her mother gave her arm an enthusiastic squeeze. “They’re like pieces of art! I honestly can’t get over what you’ve accomplished in such a short time. I’m amazed! Truly.”

Emma suddenly felt uncomfortable, unsure how to react to her mother’s warm praise. She wasn’t used to getting it on anything other than her grades. And even then, it wasn’t especially the gushing kind because Emma was just doing what her mother already expected of her.

“I had some help,” she said.

Her mother shook her head strongly. “Don’t give away the credit. Emma, these were your visions. And not only did you dream up these amazing things, you brought them to life. You are the source. Creative vision is a rare and wonderful thing.”

Emma was relieved that her mother was finally seeing what she had been trying to explain to her for so long.

“Now I’m a little stuck with what we should do about this whole situation.” Her mom and dad exchanged looks, as if speaking a secret silent language. Then they walked outside the filing-cabinet walls and into the hallway for a private discussion. Emma couldn’t guess what the verdict would be.

“Um…hi?” Charlie tentatively entered the studio with a large brown bag of turkey sandwiches in his hand. A glance at her conferring parents, Emma’s stricken face, and the fact that Marjorie had taken off told him all he needed to know. “I hate it when I miss the previews,” he whispered. “And something tells me the movie already started.”

Finally Emma’s parents returned, a consensus reached. “We’ll let you finish and deliver to Paige Young what you promised,” her dad said, “provided you do your homework tomorrow and go to school on Monday. But then on Tuesday, things have to go back to normal. No more sneaking around, going behind our backs, and ditching your schoolwork. And no lying.”

“Totally,” Emma said.

“And as punishment, no nights out with friends for the next month. School and then working for me in the afternoon and then home for homework—and that’s it.”

Emma didn’t care if she never left her house again for the next year, if it meant she could finish her pieces.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She leaped toward her parents, grabbing them both in a hug. “Now I just hope I make the deadline. Even with Marjorie’s help, I don’t know if I can get everything done by Monday.”

“You’ll get it done, Cookie. No one knows their way around a sewing machine like Marjorie. And no one is a better designer than you, or should I say, Allegra.” Her dad’s eye twinkle was back.

“Why don’t I go out to the front and get Marjorie?” her mother said. “Seems like you two have a long day ahead of you.”

Her dad returned to Laceland at six o’clock that night. “Hey, Cookie. I saw Marjorie in the lobby. She looked wiped out. She said Charlie took off, too.”

“Yeah, he needed to get home,” Emma mumbled through several straight pins sticking out of the corner of her mouth. “We got through a lot, but I still have more to do. Thanks for coming back.”

“No problem. Your mom and I didn’t have any big plans for tonight. And I have some things I need to organize around here for tomorrow anyway. I’ll order up some pizza for us.”

Three hours and two large slices of veggie pizza later, Emma finally had constructed all the linings. She felt as if she’d hiked to the summit of a mountain. She needed to stretch her leg, which she worried might permanently vibrate from so many hours pressed to the sewing-machine pedal.

As she walked through the warehouse, she heard her dad grunting and groaning. Then something slammed to the floor.

She raced around the corner. “Dad? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, rubbing his lower back. “Just moving some of these boxes. Or trying to.”

“Do you need help?” she asked.

“Nah, I got it. You keep working on your stuff. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go.”

“Okay.” She took the long way back to her work space, making the most of her stretch break. Back at her sewing machine, just as she was about to press down on the pedal again, she heard a buzz and looked up. It was her phone, buried deep inside her bag on the worktable.

She pulled it out. Two missed calls and four text messages—all from Holly. That’s strange, Emma thought. I guess I didn’t hear the phone with the machine running.

Wanted 2 make sure u have Kayla’s address. I’ll b there early so come whenevs! Can’t wait 2 c ur costume! U wont believe mine! xoH

R u coming? Everyone’s here already & totally in costume, including JC, but dont want 2 ruin the surprise. Come soon! xoH

Em! Why rn’t u picking up ur cell? Where r u?

Fine. Don’t come. C if I care.

Emma sunk her head into her hands. She had forgotten all about Kayla’s Halloween party…and Jackson!

She looked down at the clock on her phone. 9:17 p.m. There’s still time, Emma thought, whipping around in her chair. I can still figure out a costume and get over to Kayla’s. She began to stand and then stopped.