Vanessa's Fashion Face-Off (2 page)

“You have a website?” I asked, reaching for
my laptop. “Aren't you afraid someone's going to steal your designs?”

She shook her head. “The website's public, but my portfolio is in a private section, so only I can access it, but I can share it with people if they sign a privacy agreement.”

Katie took the laptop from me and started typing.

“Have you actually needed to make people sign the agreement?” I dared to ask.

She shrugged. “A couple magazines that wanted to interview me.”

“A couple . . . Interview?” The words barely made it past my lips.

Katie turned my laptop so I could see the page. “Here we go!”

My mind . . . was blown.

This was the kind of website I dreamed of having in ten years, and Katie had it now. Adorable pop music in the background, a video of her
giving fashion tips, links for interviews and podcasts she'd done . . .

In the center of it all was a dress rack that you could hover over to pull out one of her designs and look at. And her designs were good. I had half a mind to take back the top I'd shown her and say, “Kidding! My six-year-old brother made these.”

“What do you think?” she asked shyly.

“I think,” I said with a nervous smile, “that this town just got a little more interesting.”

“
A
or
B
?
A
or
B
?” Brooke was holding up two pictures, moving one close to my face, then the other, over and over. “Come on, V. Help me pick my costume!”

It was Monday morning before school, and we were sitting in the courtyard, talking about the Schwartzes' upcoming Halloween party.

“Aren't they pretty much the same?” I asked, taking the pictures from her. “They both have the logo of a hairy guy holding a butterfly net.”

“That's a lion holding a staff,” Brooke said with a frown. “It's for Chelsea FC.”

She was talking about Chelsea Football Club, her favorite European soccer team. Brooke is mildly obsessed with the sport. She's the captain of her traveling team, the Berryville Strikers.

“Sorry, a lion, then,” I said. “It's still the same outfit.”

“But different players.” She took back the photos. “How can you not know the difference between Terry and Hazard?”

“I do not know.” I shook my head. “But I hate myself every day for it.”

Brooke stuck her tongue out at me.

Beside us, Heather snickered. “Why don't you go as Sherlock Holmes?” She nudged Brooke with her toe.

Along with soccer and the newspaper, Brooke's also part of a school group called the Young Sherlocks. They study “the art of deductive reasoning,” but I'm pretty sure that means sitting around watching detective shows.

“I would if we were actually doing something,” said Brooke. “We've had nothing to investigate this fall.”

“The Case of the Boring Autumn,” I said.

“Hey!” A pixie-haired girl frowned at me as she walked by.

“Oh, sorry, Autumn! Not you!” I called after her and then winced at my friends. “Whoops.”

“She'll get over it,” Heather assured me with a pat on the shoulder.

“What are
you
going to your family's party as?” I asked her.

“I won't tell you what it is specifically,” she said. “But I will say it's inspired by my Model UN research.”

I scrunched my face thoughtfully. Heather was representing Ireland in Model UN.

“Leprechaun is too easy,” I said. “Potato?”

Heather cracked up. “What?”

I grinned and shrugged my shoulders. “Those
are the only two things I know about Ireland!”

“Well, I'm going as a person, not a plant,” she said with a smile, “which means no four-leaf clover costume, either. You'll have to wait and be surprised.”

“Back to
my
costume dilemma,” said Brooke, waving the photos in front of my nose. “
A
or
B
?”

“Why do you want to go as a soccer player, anyway?” I asked, moving her arm aside. “You're already a soccer player in real life.”

“So?”

“So Halloween is about stepping outside your comfort zone and being something no one would expect,” I said. “These?” I pointed to the two photos and shook my head.

“Says the girl who lives outside her comfort zone,” said Heather with a smirk.

Brooke pointed to her. “She's right. Every day is Halloween for you.”

“No,” I said. “Halloween for me will be—”
I stopped when I realized my best friends were leaning forward expectantly. “A surprise.”

“Mine will be too,” said Brooke.

“Only because you don't even know what you're going to be,” I teased.

A shadow loomed over the three of us, and we all craned our necks to look up at Tim.

I don't really go for sporty guys, but I had to admit, all the girls who crushed on him had good taste. He was tall with strong Greek features and a swagger that said he knew it.

“What are you doing at school on time?” asked Brooke. Her eyes widened. “Or are we all really late?” She looked at her phone.

“I'm assistant sports reporter, remember?” he said. “I had to interview one of the football players, and morning practice was the only time he could do it.”

“Aw, nice!” said Heather. “So that—”

She paused for a minute while Tim said hi
to a girl strolling past. Brooke and I rolled our eyes. It had been this way since he started working for the advice column. Most girls thought he was funny and smart, which he was, but the way they worshiped him, you'd think he could also turn Payless into Prada.

“Aaand I'm back!” he told Heather.

Heather nodded. “So that position is working out?”

“Eh.” Tim waggled his hand from side to side. “The column's great. Rescuing my gym clothes from the bottom of the pool . . . not so much.”

“What?!” Brooke, Heather, and I exclaimed at the same time.

“Someone's bullying you?” asked Brooke. “Who is it? I'll . . .”

“Talk to them so I get bullied even more?” Tim finished for her. “You sound just like Gabby.”

Gabby was Tim's twin sister, and let's just say I wouldn't want to get on her bad side. Last
month, after a guy stood her up on a date, she tried to throw a bucket of grape goo over his head. Luckily, Heather and Brooke were able to stop her and set her back on track, but who's to say what she'd do for family?

“It's really okay,” Tim assured us. “The guys just pick on me because of the attention I get from the girls.”

“Well,” said Heather with an apologetic shrug, “you kind of encourage it.”

“I know. I just wish the older guys respected me more as a sports reporter. I'm just as into it as they are.”

If a sport had a season, Tim was playing it. From what I'd heard, he was pretty good at baseball. And if his clothes kept winding up at the bottom of the pool, soon he'd be an excellent swimmer too.

“Enough about that. What were you talking about when I came over?” he asked.

“The Halloween party at my house,” said Heather. “The prize for this year's costume contest is free movie admission for a month at Cinema Town. They're one of my dad's clients,” she added.

Heather's father was an accountant, and since he couldn't keep any gifts his clients offered, he passed them along.

“Free for a month?” Tim repeated. “Consider that prize in the basket for yours truly.” He mimed a fadeaway jump shot.

“What are you going as?” asked Heather.

Brooke held up a hand. “Wait! I know this one. Tim is going as one of his fangirls, so he can remind us in third person how great he is.”

Heather and I laughed.

“No, I'll be going as someone who none of you will recognize. Because he's from a classic novel.”

“Hey, we know the only one that matters:
The Three Musketeers
,” said Brooke, grinning at
Heather and me. That had been our nickname since elementary school.

“Oh!” Heather snapped her fingers. “Are you going as the fourth Musketeer? What's his name . . . Darth Vader!”

Tim snapped his fingers back at her. “It's d'Artagnan! And no, but I like that you tried.” He pointed to me and Brooke. “You could learn a lot from her.”

“Anyway,” said Brooke, turning to me. “How was Chicago? Did you get that part for your costume? What was it again?” She blinked innocently at me.

“Nice try,” I said. “And yes, I did. Also, I learned that if you lick the window of a nice store, they will ask you to leave.”

Tim gave me a strange look. “I'm . . . I'm pretty sure that's true at any store.”

“Why were you licking the window?” asked Heather.

“Me?” I stared at her. “Really? I look like a window-licker?”

“It's always the people you least suspect,” she said with a solemn headshake, but I saw her elbow Brooke in the side.

“The first step in getting over a window-licking problem is admitting you have a window-licking problem,” chimed in Brooke.

I tried to match their serious expressions, but my cheeks started to ache from needing to smile.

“Would you stop?” I finally said with a giggle. “It wasn't me. It was my brother, and he's six.”

“Well, it sounds like you had an interesting day,” said Heather.

“I did. And . . . an interesting evening.”

“How so?” asked Tim.

I'd been debating whether to tell them about Katie since I'd felt a little intimidated by her, but I wanted their opinions.

“We have new neighbors across the street,” I
said. “And they have a daughter our age.”

“Dark hair, blue eyes, well-dressed?” asked Brooke.

“Yeah,” I said, wide-eyed. “Did I tell you about her already?”

“No,” Brooke said, pointing. “She's right behind you.”

I turned, and sure enough, Katie was strutting toward the building in the cutest blazer-and-jeans combo I had ever seen. She smiled and hurried when she saw me.

“Hey, Vanny!” she called, and waved.

“Vanny?” repeated Brooke.

I shushed her.

“A girl that cute can call Vanessa anything she likes,” said Tim out of the corner of his mouth.

I kicked him and waved at Katie.

“Hey, I didn't know you were going here!” I greeted her.

She leaned over and air-kissed me on both
cheeks. “It's the only middle school in the area, silly! Of course I'd go here.” Then she turned toward my friends. “I recognize all of you from Vanny's pictures! Brooke, Heather, and Tim, right?” She pointed to each of them in turn. “I'm Katie.”

My friends all said hello, Tim adding a handshake to his.

“So you just moved to the area?” asked Heather.

Katie nodded. “From Los Angeles. My dad's textile company just opened a new branch in Chicago, which they can't manage without him, so he whisked us all away.” She faced me. “He's actually how I got started in fashion.”

“You're into fashion too?” asked Brooke. “I'm surprised Vanessa didn't ask you to live with her.”

“Katie's a really good designer,” I told them.

“So are you!” said Katie.

“Yes, she is,” agreed Heather. “She writes fashion advice for our school paper.”

“And I'll bet she's awesome at it,” said Katie.

“But not as awesome as Katie!” I blurted. “She's been interviewed in magazines.”

What was I doing? My friends were trying to talk me up, and I was passing the praise on to someone else.

“Really?” asked Brooke. “Which magazines?”

Katie waved it away with a dismissive hand. “Nothing big. Just some local stuff, and
Vogue
.”

“
Vogue
?” asked Tim. “That's impressive!”

“The article was mainly about my dad,” she said, “and they happened to add a little piece about me when they learned I was in a different part of the business.”

The school bell rang, and we all looked at one another.

“Well, Brooke and I have to get to homeroom,” I said, waving to the others. “Katie, do
you know where you're going?”

“I think so,” she said. “I'm in Mr. Feldman's class.”

“Mine's right by his!” said Heather. “I'll walk with you and show you around.”

“Thanks,” said Katie with a grateful smile.

“Any friend of Vanessa's is a friend of mine.”

“I'll walk with you too,” said Tim. “I have . . . something to do near there.”

Brooke and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes again.

I held her arm so that we walked slower than the others, and when they'd entered the building, I stopped her.

“What do you think of Katie?” I asked.

Brooke shrugged. “She seems nice enough. Why? Is there something wrong with her? Is she someone's evil twin?” She grabbed my arm. “Is that why her parents really had to move?”

I laughed. “No, she's just . . . very impressive.”

“Yeah. You don't think that's cool?” asked Brooke.

To be honest, I wasn't sure what I thought. I guess it was more of how I felt: intimidated, inspired, excited, but mainly . . . worried, for some reason.

“No, it's cool,” I said. “Let's go inside.”

But we could barely make it through the door before bumping into a crowd.

“What's going on?” asked Brooke, hopping up and down to see over the other kids.

I was a little taller and could already see the cause of the commotion.

“Katie,” I said. “Everyone wants to meet the new girl.”

“Well, we've already met her.” Brooke linked her arm through mine. “Let's try to battle our way through this.”

As we plunged into the crowd, I caught snippets of conversation. Some was typical New Kid
Convo: “Where are you from?,” “I love California!,” and “What neighborhood are you in?”

But there was also: “I love your outfit!,” “You design your own clothes? That's cool!,” and “Want to go shopping with me sometime?”

There it was again. That worried feeling in the pit of my stomach. I would've stuck around and tried to hear more, but Brooke was practically ripping my arm out of its socket, dragging me down the hall. I supposed I'd hear all the gossip at some point in the day, anyway.

But I was wrong.

I didn't hear the gossip at some point in the day; I heard it all day. It started out as a trickle of information in homeroom.

“So that new girl, Katie, is from Los Angeles. They moved here because of her dad's job.”

By midmorning, there was a steady flow of Katie facts.

“She's got her own website. Did you see it?”

“Yeah, and apparently so has Macy's! She actually talked them into looking at her clothes.”

And by lunchtime, things had taken a bizarre turn.

“I heard the president of the United States goes to Katie for fashion advice.”

“What possible fashion advice could Katie give the president?” I asked my friends.