Vanessa's Fashion Face-Off (13 page)

I laughed and leaned into his bear hug. “You're welcome. I'm glad you were brave enough to try the exhibit
and
the shirt.”

“I hate to ask,” said Gil, stepping back, “but would you be okay if I disappeared for a bit? My parents are talking to the woman who wants to buy my work.”

Tim nudged my arm. “My dad and I can give you a ride home if you need one.”

“Thanks.” I nodded and smiled at Gil. “You're off the hook!”

He grinned his dimply grin. “I'll call you tomorrow and tell you how it went.” He waved to me and Tim and then trotted off.

“He couldn't see this coming in a million years,” I told Tim, “yet he writes our horoscopes section.”

Tim snorted. “I told you those things are bogus. So, are you going to tell Brooke and Heather about your moment in the spotlight?”

“Actually,” I said with a grin, “I think I'm going to let them watch it for themselves.”

I
t was incredibly hard to keep everything a secret, but luckily, or unluckily, I had Katie to preoccupy my mind. Only a grand gesture would convince her to be my friend again. What could I do?

When I got to Heather's soon-to-be-haunted house for Musketeer Movies, I asked her the same thing, but only after promising not to walk past the front sitting room. The TV had been rolled in on a cart, and there were already drinks and boxes of Chinese food waiting for us.

“The props and decorations for the party
are spread all over the rest of the house,” she explained. “I want it to be a surprise.”

“Got it,” I said with a wink. “Now about Katie . . .”

“A grand gesture . . .” Heather plopped down on a couch. “Do you have any connections in the fashion industry that can get her career going?”

I raised an eyebrow. “If I did, you don't think I'd use them myself?”

She nodded. “Fair point. Does she have a dying family member?”

I made a face. “Geez, I hope not! Why?”

“Well, a grand gesture could be to support her during a time of crisis.” She held up a finger. “But don't create a time of crisis.”

“Please. I'm not Brooke,” I told her.

“Good to know there's only one of me,” said Brooke from the doorway.

“Hi!” Heather greeted her. “Don't go any farther than this room.”

She glanced at the curtained-off entrance to the dining room. “Dragons?”

Heather shrugged. “You never know.”

“What are we talking about?” asked Brooke, settling down to pour herself a soda.

“Huge gestures that V can do to convince Katie to be her friend,” said Heather.

Brooke nodded and slurped up the fizz at the top of her cup. “Just make sure that whatever you do doesn't affect the advice column.”

I made a face. “You sound like Mary Patrick.”

“It
is
almost Halloween,” she said. “How do you know I'm not her in disguise?” Brooke wiggled her eyebrows.

“Since we're all here,” I said, pulling out my phone. “I wanted to show you guys something that I saw on the news last night.”

Brooke and Heather stared in confusion but moved in on either side of me as I pulled up Channel Five's video links.

“The news?” asked Brooke. “You're not eighty.”

I grinned and turned up the volume. “Just watch.”

An image of the civic center appeared on the screen.

“Oh, the photo exhibit that Gil entered!” said Heather. “Is he on here?”

Brooke shushed her, and the three of us sat in silence as Allison Delaney from Channel Five News appeared in front of a row of exhibits.

My heart pounded as she walked and the camera followed, stopping just to the left of Gil. The camera turned away, and then . . .

“AAAAAAAH!” Brooke and Heather screamed the minute I appeared on-screen.

Totally worth the wait.

I paused the video and held up my arms. “Ta-da!”

“V! You're on TV!” cried Heather, pointing repeatedly at the screen.

“How did you . . .” Brooke gaped at me. “You're terrified of cameras! What were you doing there?”

“Watch.” I unpaused the playback, and the recorded version of me asked, “Why don't you want it on the news?”

In the background, recorded Tim said, “Uh . . . V?”

Brooke and Heather squealed. “Tim!”

I put a finger to my lips, and we all listened to my impassioned speech. When I glanced at Brooke and Heather, they were leaning forward, hanging on every word. As soon as the reporter signed off, Brooke hug-tackled me.

“I'm so proud of you!” she shrieked. “You got over your stage fright.”

Heather, who'd managed to calm down a bit, waited for Brooke to back away before giving me a hug of her own.

“I'm proud of you too,” she said with a squeeze.
“And as for a grand gesture to Katie? I'm pretty sure
that
was it.” She nodded to my phone.

My jaw dropped. “I didn't even think about that! It was, wasn't it?”

Brooke hooted. “Oh yeah. If Katie can't forgive you after you promoted her on the five o'clock news . . .”

“V was on the five o'clock news!” cheered Heather.

The excitement was overwhelming. “Woo-hoo!” I leaped off the couch and punched the air.

“And she jumped off furniture and didn't hurt herself!” added Brooke.

“
And
since I'm full of surprises today . . .” I reached into my bag and pulled out a receipt, handing it to Heather.

“What's that?” asked Brooke, craning her neck to see.

“A favor for Heather, since she did such a huge favor for me during the advice-off.”

Heather stared at the receipt. “A week of Irish folk dance lessons . . .” She gave me a confused look.

“I joined your class, lassie!” I said with a wink.

Heather gasped and hugged me again. “Yay!”

Brooke still looked lost. “What class?”

I made a face. “Oops. I forgot that was supposed to be a secret!” I shrugged at Heather. “Sorry.”

She waved away my apology. “It's fine. Are you really coming with me?”

“Of course! It's the least I can do,” I said.

Brooke stamped her foot. “What is happening?!”

Heather blushed and told Brooke her surprise for the Halloween party.

“I know it's silly,” she said. “But I'm really trying to immerse myself in the culture.”

“I think it's great,” Brooke assured her. “Have you learned any moves yet?”

“A couple,” Heather admitted. Then she stood and stepped back a few paces to demonstrate.

“That looks so cool,” I said as she shifted from foot to foot.

Brooke stood next to Heather and watched her movements, trying to imitate her.

I burst out laughing. “You look like you stepped in something that you're flinging across the room.”

Brooke beckoned me over. “Let's see you try.”

I joined in on Heather's other side and gave it my best shot. From the snorts of laughter all three of us made, I definitely wasn't any better.

The following afternoon, I went with Heather to her step-dancing class as promised and also enjoyed being a minor celebrity on the internet . . . in a good way. The news footage of me and Gil was quickly making its way around my classmates' social media. By Monday morning, the link address was even taped up in Locker
411 with an accompanying note:
A star is born!

So I was deeply confused when Katie refused to meet my eye every time I passed her in the hall. And I made it a point to pass her a lot.

“How can she still be mad at me?” I asked my friends at lunch.

“At this point, I'd say her loss.” Tim waved a dismissive hand. “You put in more than enough effort.”

Brooke and Heather agreed, and to keep my mind off it, I went with Heather to another step dancing practice that afternoon. While we were waiting for her mom to pick us up, Heather asked, “I know it's last minute, but can you help me work on my costume?”

I looked up from the boot I was lacing. “I thought Katie was doing that.”

Heather shrugged. “She told me something came up. And we were almost done!”

I shook my head. “There's something wrong
with that girl. But sure, I'll help.”

Heather's costume and the dance lessons were a good distraction for both of us, since we weren't getting to work on the advice column. Every day that week, I was tempted to ask Mary Patrick if I could read what Katie had turned in, but something told me that snooping wouldn't be the best way to get back on Katie's good side. Even though Tim said I should just move on, I still kind of hoped we'd be friends again.

Finally, finally, it was Saturday, and time for the Schwartzes' Halloween party!

Mom dropped me off in front of their house, which was nestled in a sea of fog. Gravestones were scattered all over the front yard, and an owl with glowing yellow eyes watched us from a tree.

“Oh my,” she said. “The Schwartzes went all out.”

I opened the car door. “Yeah, they always—”

“BRAIIINS!” A bloodied zombie popped out from behind the tree, and I leaped back into the car with a shriek.

The zombie doubled over laughing. I realized it was Heather's oldest brother, Max.

“Are you going to be okay in there, honey?” Mom asked me with an amused look.

“If I can make it to the front door,” I said, clutching my heart.

Max knocked on the car window. “Come on out. I won't eat you. . . .” With a fiendish grin he added, “Yet.”

I glanced back at Mom, as if it might be the last time I ever saw her. “If I die, bury me in Prada.”

She blew me a kiss, and I climbed out of the car.

Max pointed toward the garage. “Stop by the funeral parlor first and get your photo taken in the coffin. The later it gets, the more crowded it
gets. You might say”—he paused—“people are
dying
to get in there.”

Despite myself, I snort-laughed at his joke. “That was terrible.”

“There's plenty more where that came from.” He winked at me and disappeared behind the tree to terrify the next partygoer.

“Vanessa Jackson!” Heather's dad, dressed like a vampire, greeted me as I approached the garage. “Lovely to see you, dear. And what a pretty costume!”

He helped a guy dressed like a ninja into the coffin.

“Hi, Mr. Schwartz. Thanks! This place looks awesome.” I gestured at the decorations.

“We've had many years to perfect it,” he told me with a wink.

A guy in pirate garb stood over the coffin and took a picture of the “dead” ninja.

A door inside the garage opened, and a blast
of music came out, along with Heather, wearing her Irish folk dancing costume.

“Daddy, Mom wants to know where you put—” She stopped when she saw me, and waved. “Hi, V! You look so cute!”

I hurried over and hugged her. “You, too!”

“Well, I had an excellent tailor,” she said with a smile. “Are you going to get in the coffin?” she asked as the ninja stepped out.

“You only live once, right?” I handed her my purse and stepped into the coffin.

“Cross your wrists and lay your palms against your chest,” Mr. Schwartz said, demonstrating.

I did as he said, closing my eyes until I heard the camera click.

“Are Brooke and Tim here?” I asked Heather, letting the pirate help me to my feet.

“Tim's not here yet, but Brooke is,” she said. Then she smiled. “And I invited Gil, too.”

“You did?” I said, smoothing down my skirt
and touching my hair. “Is he here? Do I look okay?”

“Aye, ye be lookin' like a treasure!” said the pirate.

I did a double take. “Gil?”

I blushed, realizing he'd just seen me get flustered over him, and tried to play it cool.

“I mean . . . dude! Boss threads!” I said in my best surfer voice, punching him in the shoulder.

He simply smiled. “Nice save.”

I blushed some more and giggled. “I like your costume. It's definitely a good disguise.”

“And I like yours,” he said. “It's definitely you.”

“She made it herself!” chimed in Heather.

“I wouldn't expect anything less,” said Gil.

“Come on, let's go inside.” Heather grabbed us both by an arm. “Daddy, can you take pictures for a while?” She shot him a meaningful glance, and he chuckled.

“You can
count
on me,” he said, pointing to his costume. “Get it? Because I'm Count Dracula?”

Heather rolled her eyes but smiled. “Daddy, you need a new costume and new jokes. Oh! And Mom wanted to know where the Mice Cubes for the Pest Punch were.”

“The freezer,” he said, taking the camera from Gil. “But make sure people know not to eat them. I need a lawsuit like I need a hole in the head.”

“Come on!” Heather tugged us toward the door, where the music grew louder.

Inside, paper lanterns shaped like black cats and white ghosts were strung across the ceiling, and all the inside lighting had been replaced with orange bulbs. Spiderwebs gathered at every corner, and white curtains over the windows were covered in spatters of fake blood.

A dozen or so costumed kids milled around the living room, chatting or standing by the snack tables, sampling foods labeled with signs
like “HamBOO!gers” and “Devil Eggs
.
”

“You have to try the Pest Punch,” said Heather. “I made it myself!”

On our way to the drinks table, we almost collided with a guy in a deerstalker hat and cape.

“Oh, sorry!” I said. Then I squinted at him. “Brooke?”

“Well spotted, my dear Jackson.” Brooke held a magnifying glass up to her eye. “And I deduce that your costume is exceptional!”

I curtsied. “Thank you! I thought Abel wanted you to go as something girly,” I said.

She winked at me. “There was a change of plans. Isn't that right, Watson?” She stepped aside so I could see Abel.

He was wearing a butler's uniform. “Quite,” he said, with a cheesy grin.

“Wait. The guy who founded Young Sherlocks has to play Watson?” Heather asked.

“We're gonna switch costumes halfway
through the party,” Brooke assured her. “The Case of the Stolen Identity. I guarantee nobody else at the party is doing it. We might even win the contest!”

“I was skeptical at first,” admitted Abel. “But it's actually a clever plan. And you know Brooke can be pretty persuasive.”

He put an arm around her, and she winked at me. The real Brooke had prevailed.

“I still don't get it. How is he Watson, exactly?” asked Gil.

“I'm in disguise,” said Abel. “Red herring?”

He held out a tray with a single strip of dried fish on it.