“Allegra
“Well, yes—”
“So then you can’t stop now.” Charlie’s eyes glinted. “You handle the fashion stuff. Let me do the other stuff. Come on. It’ll be fun. We’ll be partners in crime. I mean, really, nothing good is happening around here.” He gestured to the empty hallways.
Emma closed her eyes and imagined the raspberry dress on Paige. Maybe Charlie’s right, she thought. After all, I did design those dresses, she reasoned. Allegra is me.
Emma snapped opened her eyes at the sound of typing—on her phone. Before she could speak or dive for the phone, Charlie pressed send.
Emma gasped. “What did you just do?” She snatched the phone away and read the sent text:
Ms. Young, I’m v. busy working on my new collection. Pls text ur questions & I will respond accordingly. All best, AB
“See?” Charlie said. “Problem solved.”
Emma widened her eyes at Charlie. “I can’t believe you just did that!”
“Can’t believe how obnoxious I was for sending a message to Paige without asking you first, or can’t believe how genius my response was?” Charlie grinned.
“Both.”
Charlie linked arms with Emma as they stepped outside. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?” he asked.
Just then, Emma’s phone vibrated in her hand. She and Charlie stopped. And then it vibrated again. And again. Three new text messages…four…five.
Emma gazed at the screen. All questions for Allegra Biscotti.
“Um, apparently, being interviewed by the editor of New York’s hottest glossy!” Emma beamed.
“And we’re off!” Charlie announced happily. “Here. Sit. We’ll bang out these answers in no time. This is wild!” He jabbed her arm playfully.
“Beyond.” Emma couldn’t help but feel her cheeks burn with excitement.
They hung their bags on the peeling railing, sat on the concrete steps of the school, and huddled over Emma’s phone.
Charlie scrolled back to the first text. “Okay, first question: ‘Where were you born and/or where did you grow up?’ Allegra’s Italian, right?”
“I don’t know about that,” Emma replied. “I mean, maybe she’s American or even a New Yorker. Paige
“Believable is boring,” Charlie countered.
“True,” Emma agreed. “And Allegra is
“Not that you memorized her review or anything,” Charlie teased.
“I think Allegra deserves a supercool, creative story.” Emma closed her eyes and tried to picture the Woman Behind the Clothes. It was the first time she’d let herself do that since coming up with the name Allegra Biscotti.
“I know what we should write!” Charlie exclaimed. He grabbed Emma’s phone. He must’ve seen the horror on Emma’s face, because he added, “Don’t worry! I’ll show it to you for approval before I send!”
“Go ahead,” she said. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was good at this stuff.
When Charlie finished typing, he handed the phone to Emma.
She read his message out loud: “I’m a citizen of the world. I’m the daughter of a U.S. diplomat. We lived in Europe, Asia, South America—you name it. I’ve dined with royalty and slept in the desert.”
Emma giggled. She loved that her alter ego was so worldly. The only place Emma had been out of the country was Canada, and that didn’t really count.
“I love it. Approved!” she said. A thrill went through her as she pressed send.
Charlie took back the phone and read the next question: “‘Who are your design influences?’” He typed and then showed the screen to Emma. “All of the biggies,” he had written.
“What? No!” Emma grabbed the phone from him. Clearly his one-answer streak was already over. “Allegra would never say ‘biggies’!” Emma deleted Charlie’s response and started again.
I live in NYC & I luv the boldness & freshness of American culture—the colors, the food, and mostly the people!
“All right, I’ll give that one to you,” Charlie said, “but I think Allegra has to name some designers to sound legit.”
Emma tapped the phone against her chin. Charlie was actually right. But how was she going to narrow down her list of favorite designers to just 160 characters or less? But really the answer was simple. When she thought about the person she most aspired to be like, only one name popped into her mind.
Coco Chanel: the ultimate classic.
“What’s next?” she asked, giving Charlie the phone.
“Okay, let’s see. ‘How would you describe your design sensibilities?’”
Emma frowned. “Can we come back to that one?”
“No! Come on, Em. You’re on a roll! This should be the easiest one for you.”
But Emma just shook her head.
“Fine. Be that way.” Charlie jumped back into the driver’s seat. “How about this?” he asked, showing her what he had just typed.
The fantastical fashion fantasies of a young woman who can’t wait 4 her big moment in the spotlight when she’s all dressed up w/EVERYWHERE 2 go!
Emma paused. Her skin was tingling, like a thousand tiny stars were dancing all over her body. “Charlie! That’s amazing and so…so true! But won’t Paige know it’s me? I mean, me, Emma?”
“Negatory,” he said, pressing send with confidence. “Next: ‘At what age did you start designing?’”
“Awesome! We don’t even have to make up an answer to that one.” Emma took the phone from his hand and started tapping away.
I spoke the language of fashion even b4 I knew how 2 talk. I’ve been adding a new word to my style vocabulary every day since. I hope 2 never stop.
The doors behind them suddenly burst open. A bunch of soccer players sporting their team uniforms appeared, juggling duffel bags and soccer balls.
Jackson Creedon was one of them.
As he passed, Emma couldn’t help but notice how strong Jackson’s legs looked in his soccer shorts—which were unfortunately made out of an awful shiny red-and-white polyester— and his black-and-white striped soccer cleats. He paused at the bottom of the steps to tie his shoe. Emma blushed and looked down at her hands, so he
