The Allegra Biscotti Collection

Marjorie grabbed the fabric shears, gripping them tightly in her delicate hands.

Emma peered toward the darkened hall, but she couldn’t see anything in the dim light. Her breath caught in her throat. She reached into her bag, quickly wrapping her fingers around her cell phone.

Flipping it open, she began to dial. 9…the keypad tone rang out loudly in the eerie silence, causing her to cringe. 1… the footsteps stopped.

“Who’s there?” a deep voice called.

Emma stopped dialing. She knew that voice.

In the light of the opening to Emma’s work space, her father appeared. Her mother and William stood behind him.

“Emma!” her father cried, alarmed. Then his eyes darted to Marjorie, gripping the scissors like a dagger. “Marjorie?”

“What…what’re you guys doing here?” Emma blurted out, a jumble of relief and panic.

“What are you doing here?” her mother demanded, the furrow lines in her forehead deepening with every word. “You’re supposed to be at home studying.”

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Emma said lamely. She was too overwhelmed to create even more lies.

“That’s obvious,” her dad said in a measured tone. Emma could see he was just as angry as her mom. It didn’t happen often but when it did…it wasn’t good. “I had something to do here. In my office. But I think right now you’re the one with explaining to do.”

Marjorie stood up to leave. “I think I’ll just go, uh, do something else.”

Emma saw a look pass between Marjorie and Noah as she slid by the Roses on her way out of the work space. She had no idea what that look meant, but she was too nervous to worry about that right now.

“What’s going on here?” her dad demanded. “This isn’t like you, sneaking around behind our backs like this.”

Her dad, her mom, and even William stared at her, waiting. For once, William wasn’t smirking. He actually looked kind of scared.

There was no way she couldn’t tell them now. She knew that. She took a deep breath and began to explain —everything.

“Dad, do you remember Paige Young?” she began.

As Emma continued, Noah and Joan exchanged many concerned glances, but to Emma’s surprise, sometimes they smiled ever so slightly when she described the high points— Paige putting Allegra in her blog, Madison picking up the post, the interview on the Madison website, and then, of course, the request for Allegra’s pieces to be photographed for the actual pages of the most influential magazine in the fashion industry.

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.”