Emma's Not-So-Sweet Dilemma Read online

  “Oh, also, I was thinking I might do a stocking for Mr. Green.” Katie shrugged casually, as if it was no big deal. But it kind of was. Her mom had been dating a math teacher from our school for a while, and we were all very supportive of it, even if it was a little awkward for Katie. “And maybe one for his daughter, Emily, too.”

  “Hey, we’re shopping for one another this year too, right?” Alexis said brightly.

  Mia nodded. “I am, but only ’cause I think it’s fun. No one needs to get me anything.” Mia is a really good shopper, always finding unique things at great prices.

  “Oh, please! Like we’d forget about you for the holidays!” I joked.

  “I’m just saying . . .” Mia shrugged.

  “And what about . . . um, is anyone buying anything for anyone else?” asked Alexis a little too casually, looking intently at her fingernails like they suddenly contained the key to the universe.

  Mia said, “Well, I’ll get something for Ava, of course.” Ava is her best friend from when she lived full-time in the city. We all know her and have become friends with her too, through Mia.

  Katie said shyly, “I was thinking of getting something for George. I don’t have as many people to buy for as you all do, so . . .” She smiled a shy smile and folded her arms.

  “You go, girl!” said Mia.

  “So someone is buying for a boy!” said Alexis with a big grin.

  I had to crack up. “Did you have anyone in mind, Lexi?” I teased.

  She looked up innocently. “What? Me? Oh, well. I mean. I just wondered if anyone was. You know . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Matt would love anything sporty,” I said, “if that is useful information to anyone here.” I purposely looked away from Alexis.

  “Actually, I was thinking it would be fun to get something for Jake,” Mia said. “It’s fun to buy for kids at holiday time, and he’s kind of the only kid I really know.”

  “Hey, that reminds me!” said Katie, standing so she could pull something from her back pocket. She unfolded a flyer and put it on the kitchen table. “We should donate to this!”

  It was a notice for a children’s holiday party to be held at the hospital this Sunday, with refreshments, games and prizes, and a visit from Santa, who would have gifts for all the kids.

  “Cute!” I agreed. “Let’s do it!”

  Alexis was squinting at the flyer, which had a contact name at the bottom and an e-mail address. “I’ll get in touch with this Kathy Dwyer to see if she’d like us to donate cupcakes. They’ll need to be nut free, I’m sure. And festive. So we can do the Hanukkah ones we’re doing for the holiday boutique, but we’ll need to come up with another recipe for Christmas.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, and smiled, which kind of made my face feel like it was going to crack and fall off. “Hey, do you think your mom would mind if I washed this off now?” I asked Mia.

  “No,” she said, laughing. “Can’t stand it?”

  I shook my head. “It itches after a while.”

  “Occupational hazard for a model!” she teased.

  “I know. But I’d also love to get some of these tea bags on my face. No time like the present!” I said, thinking of my upcoming date with Mona.

  When I got home from Mia’s, I did the parsley paste and later went to bed with a thick layer of arnica cream on my face. It kind of stung at first, but I told myself that meant it was working, and eventually I did fall asleep.

  And lo and behold, it worked!

  When I woke up the next day, I rushed to my mirror again (a new ritual), and the bruising was visibly better! I mean, I still looked like a freak, like the victim of a boxing match with the heavyweight champion of the world. But even Jake said at breakfast, “Emmy, your black eyes are turning greenish!” and I had to thank him. That was a compliment in our house these days, after all.

  I was still dreading going to school for the first time since the Big Hit (as I had come to think of it). I knew everyone would be trying to say funny stuff all day like, “I’d hate to see the other guy” and “Did you get the license plate of the bus that hit you?” I braced myself to just smile and let it roll off my back, knowing my reaction would all depend on who said it. I braided my hair, pulled one of Sam’s newer baseball hats onto my head, and used some of Mrs. Valdes’s miracle cream to lighten up the bruising. I looked okay but still not good. Sighing, I trudged off to school.

  Needless to say, the day was filled with casual cruelty in the form of people trying to be funny, but other people were surprisingly nice. A quiet girl in my math class named Ann Roberts patted my shoulder and told me that the same thing had happened to her a few years ago, and it goes away pretty fast. One of the lunch ladies gave me extra dessert. So it all evened out in the end.

  It wasn’t until my last class of the day that someone’s arrow really hit the mark. Naturally, it was Olivia Allen who launched it. She was whispering with a friend as I was walking down the hall, and they both immediately stopped talking when I got close, exchanging knowing looks. Shortly after, I felt a nudge on my arm, and it was a note, from Olivia.

  I opened it and inside it said: Dr. Kaminow. City Hospital. He’s the best.

  I furrowed my brow, trying to figure out what it meant. Olivia made a fake sad face, trying to look sympathetic. And then as she walked away she loudly whispered, “Plastic surgeon.”

  Um.

  “For what?” I asked.

  Olivia tapped her nose. Then she whispered, “He’s a genius. Call him.”

  Shocked, my jaw dropped as if I’d been slapped. Seriously? Did I look that bad? My body tingled with embarrassment. I walked home after class, dejected. Upstairs, I washed my face and slathered it with arnica cream and googled Dr. Kaminow. I was in the midst of celebrity before and after pictures (actually, Olivia was right. Dr. Kaminow was the best) when the phone rang and Matt called upstairs that it was for me.

  Out in the hall I picked up the extension and heard Mona’s voice, a little more agitated than usual.

  “Darling. So exciting. Rosner is being quite aggressive. Apparently, he likes to wrap things up on his own timetable. Anyhoo, are you free . . . tomorrow? I will pay you double for the short notice, of course. But if you could possibly fit us in?” I could hear the hope in Mona’s voice, but I was feeling anything but pretty today.

  “Oh . . .” I stalled. “Um . . .”

  “If you are free, that is?” Mona asked brightly.

  Oh, I was free all right. I sighed. Mona is my bread and butter. All my clothing money and social life money comes from the work I do with her. Plus, she’s our steadiest cupcake customer, with a weekly order. How could I not support her in her time of need?

  “Sure. What time do you need me there? And you don’t have to pay me double, Mona,” I added, silently grateful that Alexis could not hear me right now.

  “Divine!” Mona exploded on the other end. “Just divine! I love you, you darling girl. Putting you in my will! Be here at five, please, tomorrow! Ta-ta!” she trilled, and she hung up.

  I stood in the hall, staring at the phone in my hand. “Oh boy,” I said out loud.

  Matt was coming up the stairs behind me. “Bad news?” he asked, pausing.

  I nodded. “Mona needs me for a big job tomorrow.”

  “How’s that bad news?” he asked, confused.

  I tapped my nose the same way Olivia had earlier.

  “Oh. Seriously? Get over it. No one will even notice,” he said, shaking his head in disgust and continuing on to his room.

  “Matthew, we are talking about people who work with beauty for a living. They’ll notice all right. It’s their job to make sure every little physical detail is perfect!”

  “Then maybe you need to start hanging around less snobby people,” he said. And he closed the door to his room behind him.

  “Ugh!” I yelled in frustration. I wanted to shout, “I’m a model! They’re all snobby people!” But it sounded too awful to say that out loud.
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  It was time for a tea bag compress and all the parsley I could handle. If only I had time for a quick visit with Dr. Kaminow!

  CHAPTER 5

  Gobble, Gobble

  I was so distracted at school, I could barely concentrate on what my friends were talking about at lunch, never mind classes. Thank goodness I didn’t have any tests or quizzes that day.

  “Emma! Your face is looking so much better!” Katie said kindly as we all met up at our lunch table.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I see it too, but I think if you haven’t been with me since the beginning, it still looks pretty awful.”

  Katie nodded sympathetically. “I guess,” she agreed.

  “Katie! Emma’s got a big modeling job today! We all agree she looks just fine, right?” Mia said emphatically, glaring at Katie.

  Katie looked mortified. “Oh! Right. Totally, Em. And when you put on some of that concealer and stuff from Mrs. Valdes, I’m sure it will all be invisible.”

  “I’m wearing it now,” I said, smiling.

  “Oh! Well. Maybe a reapplication?” Katie said hopefully. And we all had to laugh. It felt good, and I thought about how lucky I am to have such supportive friends.

  “Okay, business!” said Alexis.

  “What else?” I teased.

  “I spoke with Kathy Dwyer, and they’d love a cupcake donation for the party—cute and fun cupcakes, and nut free, of course.”

  “Great. When will we make them?” I asked.

  “I’ve already thought of that,” said Alexis. “When we do the Mona baking and the holiday boutique baking on Friday, we’ll do extra frosting for another batch of Hanukkah cupcakes, and we’ll make the frosting for whatever our second Christmassy-themed cupcakes are. Then we’ll just have to bake the cakes Sunday morning and then frost and deliver! Voilà!”

  “We can do it at my house,” offered Katie. “All of it. It’s fine.”

  We heaved a collective sigh of relief. Katie’s house was the only one where we could really take over, especially more than once a week. My house was just too busy, with too many people, and Alexis’s mom couldn’t stand too much mess for too long, and Mia’s house was busy too.

  “So what should we do for the Christmas cupcakes?” I asked.

  “Hmm,” said Mia.

  We were all quiet, thinking while we ate our lunch for a moment. Of course just then, Olivia walked by to hand in her empty tray. She inclined her head sympathetically at us and said, “Disfigurement is so sad. Stay strong, Emma.” Then she shook her head with big, sad eyes and kept walking.

  When she was about three paces away, we all burst out laughing.

  “Disfigurement?” Alexis snorted. “Big word, Olivia! Someone’s been playing with the thesaurus app!”

  “I love the sympathy,” agreed Mia. “So genuine.”

  “Oh no. Is it that bad?” I whispered. I thought I might cry suddenly.

  My friends turned in unison and looked at me in shock.

  “You can’t be serious!” Alexis said indignantly.

  I half-shrugged, not willing to trust my voice.

  Katie sideways hugged me, her soup spoon in her other hand. “Don’t let the turkeys get you down. That’s what my mom always says.”

  “Gobble, gobble!” agreed Mia.

  “Quack!” I said, referring to an old inside joke about letting things roll off you like water off a duck’s back.

  Then we all laughed. But deep down inside, I wondered how bad it really looked. After all, my friends were used to it by now. What would Harry Rosner think?

  It wasn’t long before I found out.

  The Special Day bridal salon was all aflutter when I arrived after school. Not that this was unusual, as they’ve had their fair share of important designers and clients come through. But this had a different energy—a negative one. Patricia, who is the manager and my favorite employee of all, kind of snapped at me to hurry when I got there, and though I didn’t see her, I could hear Mona complaining to one of the salesgirls because the rug had some fuzz on it. It was a weird vibe.

  I hurried into my usual fitting room and stopped short when I saw the dresses hanging on my rack. They were incredibly beautiful. Like beautiful fairy princess dresses for a ball (and I have seen a lot of junior bridesmaids’ dresses!). Light, delicate . . . The word “gossamer” came to mind, which Mona had told me meant really delicate, light fabric that kind of floated. Exquisite, feathery lengths of tulle draped just so, with delicate, detailed, flower rosettes holding the folds in swags and drapes. I put on the first dress on the rack and felt I had honestly never looked better in my life. It was such a flattering cut through the neckline, and just the right length. Patricia came in when I said I was ready and gasped when she saw me.

  I put my hand to my face. “I know. The nose is . . .”

  “That is the prettiest thing I have ever seen you wear!” she exclaimed, staring at the dress. “Simply breathtaking!” The words rushed out as she stepped closer to fix my hair; there seemed to be no time for pleasantries. Then she glanced at my face in the mirror, just really seeing me for the first time, and did a double take.

  “Yeah . . . ,” I said. “About the nose . . .”

  “Well, we’ve got no time to waste on that. Let’s just . . .” She kind of roughly started fixing my hair.

  “Ow!” I said, half joking, and she softened.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Emma. It’s so crazy in here this afternoon. It’s . . .”

  “Kind of a bummer!” I said lightly.

  Patricia pressed her lips together and nodded. Then she said, “Yes. That’s the word for it. Ever since Mr. Rosner arrived, there’ve been all kinds of demands. Pinker lightbulbs in the salon, tea with half and half, which he sent back because he thought we’d given him cream, turn down the music, turn up the music, and so on.” She swept my hair up and looked at it critically. “Hair down, I think,” she said. “Maybe a curl across the forehead to minimize. . . . Anyway, Mona’s been on fire since he got here. Sniping at everyone and really just out of character. I don’t know if she’s trying to impress him or what . . . ,” she whispered. “We’re all just really cranky.” She parted my hair deeply on one side, then secured it with a barrette over the other ear, so it draped dramatically over my forehead.

  “Do you have any more, um, concealer?” she asked.

  I started in surprise. “Oh! Sure. Let me just . . .” I bent down and dug through my bag and pulled out my tools. “I can—”

  “Wait. I’ll do it,” said Patricia. She draped a muslin cloth over my shoulders to protect the dress, and then she used a brush to apply some more concealer over the bruising. It felt like a lot.

  I turned to look in the mirror. It looked like a lot. “Should I maybe wipe some of this off?” I asked.

  “No, it’s dimmer in the salon than usual. Pink lightbulbs, you know?” She sighed and sat down heavily on the little stool in the dressing room. “I’m going to hide in here until you’re done with that dress. You never saw me!” she joked. “Just glide on out there and do your gorgeous thing and then come on back, and I’ll help you with the next look.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.

  “Wish me luck,” I whispered. Suddenly, I was supernervous.

  I tapped on the door to the private salon, and Mona trilled in a high, phony voice, “Come in!”

  I entered the room and saw Mona first, dressed in a very fashionable suit. As I opened the door farther, I spied a portly, older man who was dressed way too young for his age, in intentionally beat-up designer jeans, a shiny shirt that was too tight, and really dorky tinted glasses. He had gray hair that was long and slicked back over his ears, and he was gulping loudly from one of Mona’s fine teacups with a plate full of cookies in front of him and crumbs on his shirt. I guess he looked fashiony, but he also looked all wrong. I just couldn’t believe that this was the same man who had created the delicate, angelic dresses I’d found in my dressing room.

 
Mona was beaming a nervous smile. “Darling! Come meet Mr. Rosner! Harry, darling, this is Emma, my finest young model, showing you how we present our junior bridesmaids’ looks at the salon.”

  Mr. Rosner looked up and nodded, more interested in the cookie he was eating.

  “Hello,” I said quietly.

  Mona looked nervous. “Why don’t you come do your twirl and step onto the box, and we’ll see how it shows?” Mona suggested in a tight, bright voice.

  I did as she instructed, trying my hardest to be my most graceful and swanlike and worthy of the dress. I perched on the low box that Mona has people step on for hemming, and I stood with my hands folded as charmingly as I could. I smiled.

  “What happened to ya face?” Harry Rosner mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. He had a strong accent from the city, and he barely made eye contact as he spoke.

  Gosh, even in the dimness, even with him not knowing me, he saw it. Mona looked at him nervously and began to ramble in a fake-cheery voice. “There’s always a liability when you’re working with young models! Emma had an unfortunate meeting with a football over the weekend, but it will soon heal up and she’ll be back to her usual self!”

  Harry Rosner waved his hand. “She doesn’t work. Get someone else!” he barked.

  My hands and the soles of my feet went dead cold.

  “Pardon me?” said Mona.

  He swallowed and looked appraisingly at me, as if I was a side of beef he was considering for the grill. “I don’t want someone defective. Get me someone good.”

  “But, Mr. Rosner, Emma is a beautiful young lady and our top model. Surely, anyone can see past a little bruising. . . .”

  Harry Rosner stood up and approached me. It was all I could do not to run away. Mona jumped up and came to my side too. He took my chin in his hands, much as Mrs. Valdes had done on Sunday, but where she was all gentleness and care, he was rough. “She’s got a pound of makeup on here! I want natural. I want fresh. I want undamaged. If you can’t give me that . . . ,” he warned.

  I stepped down from the box and strode out of the room. I wasn’t going to stand there and let him treat me like spoiled meat, and more important, I was about to cry all over his dress.