“Yeah, who was that? Your face is white,” said Carina.
“That was
Celebrity Secrets
,” she said, stunned. “That gross tabloid. They have my number. How do they have my cell number?” Hudson tossed the phone
into her bag like it was suddenly covered in germs. “Ugh! Who would give it to them?”
“All they have to do is offer someone a hundred bucks,” Carina said. “They could have gotten it from anyone.”
Hudson’s green eyes searched the ceiling as she shook her head. “Great. Now I’m going to have to change my number.”
“Well, what’d they want?” Lizzie asked.
Hudson looked down at the floor. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Come on, C, we have to go to Spanish.”
As her friends headed off down the hall, Lizzie walked to the lockers. She knew from the look on Hudson’s face that there
was more to that call from the tabloid, but for some reason, Hudson wasn’t telling.
Lizzie popped into Mr. Barlow’s empty office to drop off her newly revised story—she’d changed a few things around the night
before—and then, instead of going to the library to study, she went to the coat closet and threw on her peacoat. After the
Todd bombshell, she needed some fresh air.
It was a chilly, damp late October morning, the kind that promised rain but refused to deliver. She crossed Fifth and walked
into the park, squeezing her wool scarf tighter around her neck against the wind. Above her, the half-naked branches reached
into the sky like dark gnarled fingers, as their last few leaves fluttered to the ground. She gazed at the craggy skyline
of the Upper West Side across the park, and remembered the day when she ran into Todd on the street. It had only been six
weeks ago, but now it felt like two years. She’d been so excited about him then, and so devastated when things hadn’t worked
out. Little had she known then that it would all be for the best.
As she neared the reservoir, Lizzie spied a figure sitting alone on one of the benches. She wore a camel-colored car coat
over the Chadwick kilt, and a knit hat with devil horns. But she was bent over, and her tiny shoulders were shaking, and Lizzie
instantly knew that speaking to her was the right thing to do.
“Ava?” she said, when she was standing in front of her.
Ava looked up. Her normally huge eyes had shrunken into tiny slits from crying. “Hey,” she said, sniffling.
Lizzie had never seen Ava this upset—not even close. Maybe when you were used to getting what you wanted from guys, she thought,
it felt even worse when they betrayed you. “Are you okay?” she asked gently, sitting down next to her on the bench.
Ava wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I’m fine,” she said in a raspy voice.
“I heard about Todd,” Lizzie said. “I’m so sorry.”
Ava drew herself up, and pulled one wet curl away from her face. “It was Thayer Quinlan. She goes to Pomfret.
Total
slut.”
Lizzie nodded as if this were fact.
“I was supposed to go to this party Saturday night but I didn’t feel well,” Ava went on. “So Todd was gonna come by my place
after. And he didn’t. And at, like, midnight, I get this text from Jackie Woodhouse that he was all over Thayer at this party,
and that they went into the maid’s room for, like, two hours. Can you believe it? The
maid’s room
.” Disgusted, she kicked at the bench underneath her.
“So what did you say to him?” Lizzie asked.
“Just that it was over,” Ava said evenly, her eyes on the reservoir. She pulled her coat closed with one pink hand. “The crazy
thing is, I wanted to end it a couple weeks ago. Things were starting to get kind of boring and I told him I needed some space,
but we had a big fight and he freaked out. And then he does this.” Ava fought another sob. “He’s such a head case.”
He certainly was, Lizzie thought as she watched a jogger in a maroon sweatsuit huff past them on the reservoir track. “I think
Todd’s a pretty messed-up guy, ” she announced.
Ava gave her a measured look, as if she wasn’t quite sure she believed this. “I thought you guys were so buddy-buddy.”
“We’re not,” Lizzie said. “I mean, we were, a long time ago. But now we just have to do that stupid English project together.”
“Well, please don’t say anything to him,” Ava said, wiping her eyes again. “Really. Please don’t.”
“Of course not. You’re gonna be okay, Ava,” Lizzie said, patting her arm. “You’re so much better off without him. I’m sure
he feels like a colossal dumbass.”
Ava stood up. “Now I just have to look at him for the next three and a half years,” she said ruefully.
You and me both
, Lizzie thought.
A soft drizzle started to fall as they walked back to school. The sky had turned a dark, gloomy gray, as if it, too, were
utterly depressed about the state of events.
“You know, I think it’s really cool what’s happened to you,” Ava suddenly said as they crossed Fifth Avenue. “You know, with
the modeling and everything. I think you totally deserve it.”
“Thanks.”
“And hey, Ilona’s having a Halloween party tomorrow night,” Ava said, when they reached the school lobby. “You and Carina
and Hudson should come.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
They trudged up the stairs. Maybe there was something good about all this Todd drama, after all, Lizzie thought. Maybe she
and Ava might finally, actually, be friends.
“Okay, we’d love to,” she said.
Ava left Lizzie at the door to the library. “Well, thanks for listening,” she said. “And yeah, don’t say anything.”
“I won’t.”
Ava smiled weakly and then walked away. This time her kilt didn’t swing back and forth with flirty confidence—it barely moved.
Her trademark swagger had become a slouch, all because of some stupid guy.
Poor Ava,
Lizzie thought.
In the library, Lizzie saw that she had another missed call from Andrea. And a text.
Have you gotten my msgs?? Need to talk to you!
Between the fight with her mom and Todd’s blow-off yesterday, Andrea’s call had completely slipped her mind. She stepped outside
the library and listened to the message.
“Hey, Lizzie, I have a job I want to talk to you about,” Andrea’s chipper voice said. “Can you call me back, please?”
She needed to tell Andrea about Martin Meloy. But she couldn’t help but feel like she was cheating on her. After all, Andrea
had been the first one to notice her. Would she be upset if she started working with someone else? Lizzie texted her back.
Sorry I’ve been MIA
.
Walking into class now
.
I’ll call you later!
She just needed a little more time to figure out how to explain everything. Which she would. Eventually.
Work life. School life. Friend life. Suddenly all of these parts felt separate and too large to carry all at once. And figuring
out which Lizzie she had to be for each one was starting to get confusing.
There was only one thing more amazing than your first fitting with a famous fashion designer, Lizzie thought later that day,
nestled in between Carina and Hudson on the gold couch in Martin’s salon. And that was having your best friends there to share
it with you.
“Oh my God, I
worship
that dress,” Hudson said, pointing at a page in the lookbook of his last collection. “I actually tried to get it but it was
sold out everywhere but, like, Singapore.”
The photo showed a model on the runway wearing a leather dress that could only be called Goth Swiss Miss. At the bottom of
the skirt, just above the hem, the leather had been cut out in the shape of flowers and filled in with pink velvet.
“It looks like a cross between a waitress at a German restaurant and an extra in a Marilyn Manson video,” Carina sniffed.
Hudson let out a dramatic sigh. “As usual, you just do
not
understand fashion,” she murmured.
“So, what exactly does a muse do?” Lizzie asked Hudson. “No one’s given me the job description.”
“Well… you inspire him,” Hudson said.
“But just make sure you don’t inspire him to make something like
that
,” Carina said, pointing to the models’ headpieces in the photos, which looked like cut-up Slinkys topped with blue flowers.
“And where is he? I thought he said to be here at four.”
“He’s a
designer
,” Hudson said, excitedly flipping the page. “He’s probably in the middle of a creative moment.”
Carina wrinkled her nose. “Or in the middle of something illegal.”
“Oh Lizzie, I am
so
sorry!”
Martin Meloy rushed into the salon, wearing a pinstriped blazer, purple jeans, and a shrunken top hat that made him look like
the Mad Hatter. “I just couldn’t get off the phone with Victoria Beckham. Sometimes she can be
so
tiresome. Oh! I see you brought some friends.”
“This is Carina Jurgensen and Hudson Jones.”
“Hello, ladies,” Martin said graciously, pretending to tip his hat. “It’s a distinct pleasure.”
“I just want to say,” Hudson gushed, “that I am a huuuge fan.”
“Well, thank you. And I see you also have very good taste,” he said, nodding toward the photo of the leather dress in Hudson’s
lap. “Would you like to try it on?”
Hudson’s mouth fell open. “Uh, sure,” she said.
“Christi-ahn?” Martin yelled toward the door. “Can you bring out the Leather Milkmaid?”
A tiny, petite girl with a blond pageboy and ruby red lips ran into the room with the Leather Milkmaid on a hanger and laid
it in Hudson’s lap.
“There we are,” Martin said. “I think it’ll look smashing on you. And if it fits, it’s yours.”
“R-r-reeally?” Hudson stuttered.
Then Martin turned his eager gaze on Carina. “And you, my dear. Anything I can offer you?”
Carina regarded him coolly as she played with her necklace. “No, I’m okay. Fashion’s not really my thing.”
Martin squinted at her neck. “What about accessories? Maybe
that’s
your thing?” He turned toward the hallway and bellowed, “Annalise? Jewelry, please!”
A moment later Annalise ran into the room carrying a tray laden with gold and silver necklaces, bracelets, and earrings.
“On the coffee table,” Martin commanded.
Annalise placed it directly in front of Carina on the purple glass table as Carina scooted closer. “I didn’t know you did
jewelry,” she murmured, already devouring the tray with her eyes.
“Go ahead. Pick out your favorite piece,” Martin said. “My little gift to you.”
“Uh… thank you,” Carina murmured, picking up a chunky gold charm bracelet. She gave Lizzie a disbelieving look as she slipped
it onto her wrist.
“All right, Lizzie, up, up, up,” Martin said, briskly clapping his hands. “We have some work to do.”
Lizzie got to her feet. “See you guys in a couple minutes.” She left her friends completely engrossed with their new gifts
and trailed Martin down the hall. “That was so nice of you.”
Martin waved the compliment aside. “My pleasure. That’s Holla Jones’s daughter, right? And Karl Jurgensen’s?”
“Ye-es,” Lizzie said carefully. She wondered if Martin had just been that generous for a reason. “You know, we’re not really
red-carpet types.”
Martin chuckled and patted her shoulder. “Darling, please. I just
saw
you on the red carpet. And you’ll be on it again—for
me
. Did I mention that I have a few store openings coming up? Oh, here we are. This is the
atelier
.”
He steered her into a large design studio painted a bright magenta. Long worktables and dress forms were clustered here and
there, and along the walls were more curved, velvet couches and footstools, interspersed with several floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
And in the center of the room was a rack of clothing on satin hangers.
“These are the very first pieces of the spring collection,” he announced in a reverent whisper, presenting them with a sweep
of his hand. “Let’s see how they look on you, and then we can make changes. If we need to.” He touched the row of delicate
silk dresses, tops, and skirts in shades of lilac and dusty pink. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Absolutely,” Lizzie said, but somehow she got the feeling that Martin expected her to say more. What exactly were you supposed
to say to a designer about his clothes?
“All right, then.” He gazed lovingly at the clothes one more time. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes. Have fun.”
He made a half-bow and closed the door.
Lizzie kicked off her shoes and approached the rack with little, worshipful half-steps, as if it were an altar.
How ironic
, she thought.
I would never ever even try these on in a store but now I’m going to be wearing them in ads
. It was all too surreal.
There was a knock at the door, and then Hudson peeked her head into the room. “Oh my God,” she whispered, looking around.
“Can I come in?”
“Yes!” Lizzie whispered, waving them in.
She and Carina entered the room and shut the door. “This is just like
Project Runway
but a million times nicer,” Carina observed, looking around.
“Are
these
the clothes?” Hudson made a straight shot for the clothing rack. “Holy manoli, Summers. These are
gorge
.”
“What should I try first?” Lizzie asked.
Hudson pulled out a sleeveless lilac sheath, with tiny narrow spaghetti straps, a drop waist, and a hem of flouncy tulle.
“This one,” she said. “Definitely.”
Sleeveless still wasn’t Lizzie’s favorite style, but she didn’t care anymore about her arms. Andrea had helped her get over
that.
Lizzie stepped out of her kilt and tights, leaving them in a tangle on the ground, while Hudson climbed up on a chair. “Ready?”
she asked, holding the unzipped dress over Lizzie’s head.
“Ready.”
Hudson let the silk dress fall over Lizzie’s arms—until Lizzie felt it come to a screeching halt at her shoulders.
“Huh,” Hudson said. “It’s not going down. Carina? Can you pull it down from the bottom?”
Lizzie felt Carina tug on the hem. “It’s not moving,” she said.