All That Glitters (15 page)

Another model with a black bob and a surly but beautiful face chimed in behind us. “
Oui
. My word is morphology,” she said, although with her French accent, it sounded like
morp-oh-lo-gie
. “I will look like crazy person if I have to say that on the runway.”

“Silence,” Jade said, holding up a finger at us. “I found the word for you,
chérie
,” she said to me. “I don't know why I didn't think of this immediately. You will be:
essence
. What do you think?”

I looked at the models to my left and shrugged sympathetically. “Essence” was certainly better than “morphology.”

“Essence,” I repeated, nodding at Jade. “I think I can handle that.”

As Jade dismissed us for the night, I tried not to take the surly model too seriously when she raised her eyebrows at me and said, “Well, you may be zee only one who can.”

Plan C: Generosity

“Essence?” SSB giggled from inside her closet the next day. “She seriously wants you to belt out the word ‘essence' at the end of the catwalk on Thursday?”

“I think so,” I shrugged, kicking off my shoes and climbing onto SBB's bed.

My double-date with Alex, Camille, and Xander was tomorrow, the fashion show was in two days, Virgil was in three, and I was spending my last night “off” prepping SBB for her big night.

“Doesn't she know models are meant to be seen and not heard?” SBB asked.

I nodded. “Unfortunately, the models seem to agree with you.”

SBB emerged from her closet with her jaw dropped open. “Are we talking model mutiny here?” she squeaked. “The only show I ever did with Valentino
had a similar episode. It was then and there that I decided never to listen to anyone who called me a diva.” She wagged her finger at me as if I were arguing with her. “There is nothing worse than a model on a tirade. They can go from zero to ‘I quit' in less time than it takes to say the word ‘essence.'”

“Well, hopefully it doesn't get to that point,” I called out to SBB, who had disappeared back into her closet. “There seems to be drama everywhere these days. Apparently someone stole three thousand dollars out of the Thoney trust—and it sounds like it's definitely one of the students.”

“Huh,” SBB called from the closet. “You wouldn't think anyone at Thoney would
need
to steal.”

“I know, right?”

“Now, what am I looking for in here?” she said.

“Plan B,” I reminded her. “And then Plan C.”

I'd seen the amazing green dress SBB had picked out last week at Nanette Lepore for JR's premiere on Thursday, but since she was the eternal over-preparer, she ended up buying not one, but two more options—just in case Ashleigh Ann Martin tried to pull a fast one on her on the red carpet.

There were some shuffling sounds from the closet, and then SBB slunk out in a fitted pink strapless gown very reminiscent of Cameron Diaz at the Oscars.

“Are you trying to be one of JR's Angels in that?” I joked.

“Very punny, Flan,” she said, spinning around in front of her three-way mirror. “Is this Ashleigh Ann envy-worthy enough?”

“Absolutely. Either one would be perfect,” I said. I tried to imagine the scene on Thursday night—me, hiding out in the limo, with spare couture in both of my hands. It was hard to believe that by the time SBB would be smiling for the paparazzi, I would have just finished my own modeling jaunt downtown. I stifled a yawn at the thought of all this running around. I was definitely going to go into hibernation this weekend. In fact, I wondered whether I could squeeze in a quick nap before we started in on the Shakespeare SBB had promised to go over with me tonight….

“Flan,” SBB snapped in my face, bringing me back to reality. “I said, can you please remind me where you're going to be stationed on Thursday?”

I tried to jog my memory. I had so many places to remember to be this week.

“Um, where you told me to be stationed—across the street from the Paris Theatre, right, in front of F.A.O. Schwarz?” Then, I started to rehearse the lines I'd been fed to keep SBB as levelheaded as
possible. “I've got the portable steam presser and your aromatherapy relaxing oils in case you have to do a hectic costume change.”

SBB closed her eyes and looked slightly calmer.

“I'll be Bassanio to your Antonio,” I said, trying another tack.

“Whoa!” SBB exclaimed, springing up. “Did you just say what I think you just said?”

I laughed and nodded. “I'm as shocked as you are,” I said. “I think I just made my first successful allusion to
The Merchant of Venice
. I can't believe this stuff is actually starting to make sense to me.” I fingered the locket SBB had given me with the
All that glisters
quote engraved on it. “Probably has something to do with this good luck charm.”

SBB stuck a bare shoulder out of the closet. “No,” she said. “It has much more to do with the fact that you underestimate how smart you are. I knew you'd pick up Shakespeare quickly. It's just like reading subtitles. After a while—”

“Stop right there—” I said.

“I'm just trying to explain—”

“No,” I said to my friend, who had emerged from her closet a third time in the most beautiful slate-colored tulle and organdy puff dress I'd ever seen. “I mean, stop and spin around so I can see how
incredible that dress is. You look like you just hopped out of a fairy tale.”

“This one?” SBB scrunched up her face. “You really like it? Omigod, Shay literally dragged me to Zac Posen the other day after you left. She forced me to buy it. Threats were made.” SBB played Oscar-worthy victim so well. “Eventually, I was just so sick of arguing with her that I took it. But I'm not really sure it's so me.”

She looked down and fingered the mass of soft fabric billowing out around her.

“It's so beautiful,” I breathed.

“Well, Gloria has always liked the way I look in slate,” SBB mused. Then, again, she wagged the finger at me. “
Not
that I'm bending over backward to impress
her
, just so we're quite clear.”

I put my hands up in surrender. “We're clear. I'm just saying I love the dress.”

SBB looked in the mirror, and then back at me, and then in the mirror again.

“Level with me, Flan,” SBB said, sitting down next to me on the bed. “I've got these two other dresses for Thursday, right?”

“Right.” I nodded.

“And say AAM does show up in the same one as me, and I have to run and change.” She inhaled
deeply and let it out, as if predicting the worst. “Well, it's not like once I change, AAM's going to have the same exact Plan B and race to her limo, too. I mean, our war has been waging for a long time, but I really don't think she's vindictive enough to go there, do you?”

I shook my head. “You're probably right.”

“Two dresses are enough, then. And anyway, if Gloria does come through and grace us all with her presence, there's a small chance I might be feeling daughterly, and so I'd want to hang with her and Jake together and not be spending all my time steaming gowns and aromatherapying in the limo with you.” She looked up at me. “No offense. That sounds fun for another night, maybe—”

“None taken, SBB.” I laughed, waiting to see where she was going with this. “You should definitely spend time with Gloria and JR together.”

“We'll see about that. But my point is, Flannie, in a roundabout way … I've got this beautiful dress from Zac that you seem to like a whole lot. And you've got this very posh event on Friday night in which you must hold up your status as Virgil Host while simultaneously monopolizing the eyes of the Prince of New York.”

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?” I said, feeling a grin spread across my face.

“I'm saying that you're the one who needs to look like you just hopped out of a fairy tale.” SBB leaned over me so I could help her unzip the dress. Then she slipped out of it and stood there in her Betsey Johnson lingerie. She handed me the dress. “Take my Plan C to Virgil as a thank you for all your help with my mania this week. I won't take no for an answer!”

Holding the dress in front of me as I stood before the mirror, it was almost like magic: the field hockey clothes I was wearing seemed to disappear, and I did feel the whole fairy tale vibe coursing through me.

“You're my fairy godmother, SBB,” I said. “I don't know what to say.”

“And you're mine, Princess Flannie,” she said, putting her arms around me. “So just say yes!”

The Essence of Awful

“What do you think of this color?” Camille asked me Wednesday in the bathroom right after last period. She was looking in the mirror at her top lip, which was a glossy pomegranate shade, unlike her bottom lip, which was matte berry. In keeping with this unexplained new makeup theme, her left eyelid was charcoal and smoky, while her right lid was gold and shimmery, with an eggplant smudge of Urban Decay crayon lining the lashes.

“Um, I think it's a good thing that I already know you and love you,” I teased, tugging her long braid. “Otherwise I might mistake you for Cruella De Vil. What makeup memo did I miss? Did we change theme day to Wednesday this week?”

She tugged my ponytail back. “Flan, it's called
options
! How else am I supposed to know whether I should dress the girl-next-door part or do the
glamorous arm candy thing for my date with Xander?”

“Simultaneously,” Morgan laughed. “Maybe you should go just like this—that way Xander will get an idea of your range. Like you're capable of being
every
possible type of girl out there.”

My stomach twisted up in a knot. Camille did look hilarious, but under all that crazy makeup was a girl whose heart was about to be broken when I gave her the news that I'd been putting off telling her about since I got Jade's voicemail this afternoon.

Jade had scheduled a final, essential (“And you are the essence of essential,
chérie
”) rehearsal for this evening, which I was not allowed to miss. I was going to have to postpone our double date—again.

Camille noticed my face and hers fell. “I thought you liked this liner when I bought it last week.”

“I do—I love the eggplant,” I said, biting my lip. “It's not the liner, Camille, and for the eightieth time, Xander's been in love with you for like five years. I think he already approves of what you look like, no matter what color your lips are. But I have some bad news.”

Her half-purple, half-pink lips tightened.

“You're bailing on me
again
?”

“Hey,” I said, getting slightly defensive. “It only
happened one other time. You make it sound like I'm a career flake. It's just that this week is so crazy. You should just be happy that I haven't scared you with Jade's threatening voicemail on speaker.”

Camille shook her head, and I started to realize that this wasn't just something I could keep apologizing my way out of. I was going to have to prove it. She had liked Xander for such a long time—this was a huge deal for her.

“Camille, I promise, this insanity will all be over soon. Things will go right back to the way they're supposed to be.”

“Yeah, well,” Camille said, slinging her graphic Anthropologie tote over her shoulder. “You let me know when that happens, and I'll see if I'm free to hang out.” She didn't say it meanly, just kind of sadly, and then she walked out of the bathroom.

Morgan started to follow Camille, but just before she got to the door, she turned around and took off her headphones. “We were all so psyched when you won Virgil Host, Flan. Don't be a one-hit wonder, okay?”

I felt terrible. I wanted to collapse in one of the stalls so I could pull myself together. But just when I thought I was alone, I heard a toilet flush, and Ramsey walked out of one of the stalls.

“That didn't sound too great,” she said.

“Oh, God,” I said, clapping my hand to my forehead. “Ramsey, am I the worst person in the school? I feel terrible. It's just—”

Ramsey stood with her hands on her hips and her feet spread apart—the stance she used just before she gave us a major rallying speech on the field.

“Don't be dramatic,” she said. “It's not like you stole the treasury money or anything. You over-scheduled. Just make sure you consider your batting average. You're still a rookie at Thoney, you know? We've only had one week with you—and we like you a whole lot—but one or two strikeouts without a solid hitting record, well, it can really drag down your stats.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Ramsey. You're right.”

“Of course I'm right. Now go do your fashion thing so we can get you back on the team ASAP. We need your offense for the game against Spence.” She started walking toward the door and called back at me, “Hope you've been practicing that hip check.”

I laughed to myself and thought about Alex. Luckily, hip check practice was one area where I hadn't been slacking. I'd sent Alex a text about tonight just after I'd heard from Jade. I checked my
phone but hadn't heard back from him yet. Hmm. I'd have to give him a call later tonight after rehearsal. I definitely didn't want to risk lowering my stats with him.

Twenty minutes later, I was just barely on time to Jade's rehearsal—and still completely consumed with guilt. I hadn't heard from Alex, which made me worry that he totally hated me. But because I was almost late, I was also worried about Jade hating me. So I panted up the stairs and barged into the drill hall, where a row of thirty brooding French models looked up from their stylists' chairs at me.

“Fashionably late is not fashionable in the world of actual fashion, sis,” I heard Feb call out to me through her headset. “Come on, let's get you changed.”