The Bling Queen Page 5

  “Real nice,” I whisper as I get up to gather them, but Deirdre ignores me. I sit back down and pass the rest of the sheets to the person behind me, who just happens to be Rocco Votello. I feel myself glaring at the top of his head, just because he’s the one who caused this entire mess.

  “As you can see here,” Ms. Castleby begins, “I’ve outlined what your assignment is in relation to your business plan projects. Over the weekend I’d like each of you to come up with a business idea that you think is needed—in your home, this school, our town, the world, whatever you prefer. You’ll have time early next week to talk and brainstorm your ideas in small groups—everything from the concept itself to marketing to pricing and anything else that you think applies to your business. And then on Friday you’ll each present your pitch to your classmates. Of course, this is a simple approach to business planning—real entrepreneurs take more than a week to pull their ideas together—and this project doesn’t include all of the necessary business elements, like creating a budget and whatnot. But that math stuff isn’t really Language-Arts-related anyway, right?”

  “Thank goodness,” I whisper for Deirdre’s benefit, before remembering that she seems to have put a sound barrier up between our desks.

  “Now, I’m sure you have questions, so let’s hear them. Read over the sheets in front of you for a couple of minutes, and then we’ll discuss together,” Ms. Castleby says. “I’m just going to organize your journal pile while you read. We seem to have a Leaning Tower of Pisa situation going on back there.”

  I try to concentrate on the words written on the paper in front of me, but my head feels swampy from the day. I consider asking Ms. Castleby if I can be excused to go to the Lost and Found, but I don’t really feel like dealing with Mrs. Latara again. Plus, I’m almost 100 percent sure my ring won’t be there.

  I try to think of something I can write on a note to Deirdre—something that will make her laugh so that we can smooth over this entire situation. But my mind draws a blank, and I suddenly don’t know what to say to the person with whom I have never run out of things to talk about before.

  After all, it’s kind of hard to be best friends with someone who’s not speaking to you.

  Usually by the time I get home on Fridays, I am giddy with happiness to have a whole weekend in front of me. But today I mope. I mope in the front door and greet Mimi in the living room. I mope with her to Toby’s bus stop. I mope next to them on the way home. And then I try to mope into my basement bedroom to be mopey all by myself.

  “Just a second there, Tessie,” Mimi calls after me. “You’re looking awfully lemony today.”

  “Lemony?” Toby calls as he grabs a handful of cereal out of its box, spilling at least seven kernels onto the floor in the process. “She’s not even yellow!” He laughs loudly at his own joke, as if it’s the funniest thing that’s ever been said.

  “Toby, how about you give your sister and me some girl time for a few minutes?” Mimi suggests.

  “Can I ride my scooter?” Toby asks.

  “Stay on the driveway only,” Mimi instructs.

  “And wear your jacket,” I call after him as he bounces out the back door, trailing cereal crumbs behind him. Mimi takes a seat at the kitchen table and pats the chair next to her.

  “Tell Mimi all your troubles,” she says, and I think about where to start.

  “Well, you know I lost my ring,” I begin.

  “Oh no!” Mimi exclaims, as if she hasn’t heard this before. “Which one? I know how you love your rings.”

  “The one with the infinity symbol,” I tell her again. It’s no use reminding her that we went to Threads yesterday to look for a new one. That will only make her feel bad.

  “You’re upset that you lost your ring? I’ll buy you a new one,” Mimi says. “Here, we can go into town right now. Grab your coat.” She begins to rise from her seat.

  “No, Mimi, it’s fine,” I say, placing my own hand on top of hers gently. “Let’s talk about something else. There’s this project I have to do for school, and I could use your ideas.”

  “Okay, then,” Mimi says, taking her seat again. “What is this project?”

  “We have to come up with a business idea—a business we think is needed, and that we could maybe do ourselves,” I explain. “We don’t actually have to start running the business, but we have to come up with a solid plan and pitch it to our class next Friday.”

  “I love this!” Mimi exclaims. “Is this for that class you like? With your favorite teacher?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “For Language Arts. Ms. Castleby.” It always surprises me what Mimi seems to remember, and then what she doesn’t. How does she remember about my favorite teacher, but she can’t recall that we went to Threads yesterday?

  “Tell me more,” Mimi continues, snapping me back to attention. “What are you thinking of doing?”

  “Well,” I begin. “At first I thought I could try to revamp the Lost and Found system at our school, because it’s atrocious. But that doesn’t really seem like much of a business. I mean, the best I could come up with is charging people to return their things, like a reward, so that people actually want to help others find their stuff. But that doesn’t seem like a great idea.”

  “But it’s not a terrible idea,” Mimi says kindly. “I bet you could turn it into something that makes more sense for you. Think big, though. What would you do as your dream job, if you could do anything in the world?”

  “Design accessories,” I answer instantly, without even thinking. “Actually, there’s this contest that my favorite fashion site is sponsoring. You enter by sending your design idea for a brand-new accessory item. I think I want to enter.”

  “You should definitely enter,” Mimi tells me. “What’s your idea?”

  “Okay. . . . Tell me if this sounds dumb,” I say, lifting my Tess necklace off my chest with one finger, and pointing with my other hand at Mimi’s dangling earrings. “I was thinking of nameplate earrings. I mean, these necklaces have been around for a while, but I’ve never seen names on earrings.”

  “I like it,” Mimi says. “I think that could be lovely.”

  “Plus,” I continue, feeling encouraged, “instead of just having the names written horizontally, like normal, what if they hung down, one letter on top of the other? So for my name, the T would be closest to my earlobe, with the E, S, and S, hanging below it. That would make the earrings dangly.”

  “Ooh, I like that even more,” Mimi says. “You know my feelings on dangling earrings.”

  I laugh at this. “I certainly do,” I say. “So maybe I could do two things at once—a design of these earrings for the contest, and then a business plan to sell them?”

  “Sounds like a great place to start,” Mimi says. “Feeling better now?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Much. Thanks.” I kiss Mimi on the cheek as I stand to head to my room and get started.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Mimi says. “Now I’m going to go make sure your brother hasn’t killed all the grass outside with that scooter of his.” Mimi and I head off in different directions, and I bound down the basement steps, feeling much more positive about everything than I did all day. Maybe I could even call Deirdre now and settle this argument once and for all. She can’t possibly hold this grudge against Bree and me forever.

  I retrieve my phone and press Deirdre’s name, and it rings four times with no answer. I hang up without leaving a message and pull a pad of paper off my desk. I bring the paper and my gel pens to my purple couch and settle down to begin sketching, burying my silent phone deep into the cushions and out of my mind.

  Chapter 9

  By the following morning I have plenty of sketches of my Miscellaneous Moxie bling contest entry, but not a single returned call or text from Deirdre. She’s still not speaking to Bree, either, but Bree is convinced she will get over it by the time the weekend wraps up. I hope she’s right. The three of us have definitely had spats before, but they’ve never
lasted all that long. Maybe a few days, max. So Deirdre has to forgive us soon. . . .

  Right?

  When I open the basement door to pad into the kitchen for breakfast, I hear a faint tap against the wood. I peer around and find a necklace hanging off the doorknob—a solid gold chain with a plain heart-shaped charm dangling from the middle. I lift it off the knob and peer at it curiously before continuing into the kitchen. Mom is standing over the stove, scrambling eggs, and Mimi sits at the table, thumbing through the newspaper while sipping coffee.

  “What is this?” I say as a greeting.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Mom responds. “What is what?”

  “This.” I hold the locket up in the air so they both can see.

  “Oh, that,” Mimi says. “That’s for you, Tessie.”

  “Um, thank you,” I begin, confused, and I look back and forth between the two of them. Mom is staring at Mimi like she also has no idea what Mimi is talking about. “What is it?”

  “It’s a locket, silly,” Mimi tells me. “Bring it here. I’ll show you.” I walk over to the table, and Mimi takes the necklace from me. With her red-painted thumbnails, she pries open the heart, revealing the inside. A black-and-white picture is resting on either side of the heart, one more faded than the other, and I peer in for a closer look.

  “Is that you?” I ask, pointing to a blurry image of a girl who looks about my age.

  “Indeed,” Mimi states. “And this is my grandmother—your, let’s see now . . . your great-great-grandmother. She gave this locket to me. And now I give it to you.” She hands the chain back to me, the heart still dangling open. “You know, also to cheer you up about the . . .” Mimi points to her own pinkie finger but doesn’t say “infinity ring” out loud so that Mom doesn’t catch on.

  “Wow, thank you,” I say, looking quickly at Mom to see if she is going to put an end to this, chalking it up to one of Mimi’s “episodes.” But Mom merely tilts her head quizzically at both of us.

  “I guess that little heirloom skipped a generation, huh?” she asks Mimi, but there is a smile on the edges of her lips, teasing.

  “Grandmother to granddaughter, dear,” Mimi states. “We should probably update those pictures though.” Mimi points to the inside of the locket. “To you and me, Tessie.”

  “I think I’ll leave it with you two for now,” I say, shutting the heart with a click and draping the chain around my neck. I run over to the hallway mirror and examine my reflection, and then I jog back down the basement stairs to retrieve something. I clasp my Tess necklace around my neck, and it hangs about an inch above the top of the heart—the perfect necklace layer. I return to the kitchen and model the combination for Mimi and Mom, asking what they think.

  “Divine,” Mimi states, nodding with satisfaction. “They look pretty together.”

  “They do,” Mom says. “But, Tess, maybe you should give the locket to me for safekeeping.” She holds out her hand.

  “Why? I want to wear it,” I say.

  “You know that’s a family heirloom,” Mom explains. “If you lose it, you can’t just pop down to Threads and get another one. And with your track record . . .” Mom trails off, but her message is clear.

  “I don’t lose stuff,” I say, more grateful than ever that Mom hasn’t found out about the lost infinity ring yet. “I mean, I don’t lose any more stuff than normal people lose.”

  “With the number of trips I’ve made with you to Threads to replace some must-have accessory you misplaced, I beg to differ, my dear,” Mom says.

  “That only happened, like, three times,” I say. “And I was younger then. I’m more responsible now. More . . . conscientious.” I give Mom a big grin at this word, hoping she’ll get my point, and she smirks in return.

  “That grade on your last social studies test would indicate something else,” Mom says. “I really think you should leave the locket with me, and I’ll give it back to you for Hayden’s wedding next week. For now it should be a special-occasion accessory only.”

  “No, please,” I beg. “I want to wear it today, and every day. I promise I won’t lose it. Really. I hate to lose stuff. Please. Mimi?”

  “Keep it on, Tessie,” Mimi says. “It suits you.”

  Mom sighs. “You two make quite the dynamic duo, you know that?” she says. “If that’s your decision, Tess, fine. But just know that if that locket goes missing, the consequences are going to be a lot more severe than not getting to go to a jewelry exhibition.”

  “So you’re definitely going to take me to that, right?” I say, happy for an opportunity to change the subject. “It’s only a few weeks away.”

  “Like I said before, we’ll see,” Mom says. “Let’s see how you do over the next month with your schoolwork, and around the house. Maybe if you started spending less time organizing your accessory shelves and more time on real work . . .”

  “But fashion is—” I begin, but then I stop myself. “Okay,” I answer instead. “I’ll prove that I deserve to go.” It’s no use arguing with Mom when she thinks she’s right, so better to just tell her what she wants to hear.

  “Now why don’t you run and brush your teeth and all that before your brother and father wake up. Remember, you, me, and Mimi are heading to Uncle Peter’s and Aunt Rebecca’s right after breakfast. Last-minute fittings for the wedding and whatnot.”

  “You mean to Ava’s,” I correct her. “Can’t wait.” I run out of the kitchen to get ready quickly. Ava is only a year and a half older than me, and besides Bree and Deirdre, she’s really my best friend, even though she’s also my cousin. After all, I’ve technically known her the longest.

  Plus, when half of your best friend circle isn’t speaking to you, it’s pretty comforting to have a best cousin for backup.

  I am out of the backseat and up Ava’s driveway before Mom has even turned off the car’s engine. I punch the code for the garage door into the side panel, and I wait for the door to rise.

  That’s how you know you’re close to someone—when you not only enter their house through the garage, but you also punch in the code yourself. I’m not sure even Mom and Mimi know the code, but I do. Ava taught it to me years ago, for just these kinds of moments.

  “Tess, did you just let yourself in?” Mom calls after me, but I am through the garage and knocking on the inner door before I can answer her. I open it myself and walk past the laundry room and into the kitchen. I quickly greet Uncle Peter and Aunt Rebecca, then I dart up the stairs to Ava’s bedroom.

  Ava and I wiggle the tips of our fingers against each other’s, which has been our “secret” greeting since I was almost seven and she was eight. Her older brother, Anderson, used to make fun of us about it, and he even taught it to Toby so they could mimic us anytime we all get together. But Toby is home with Dad, and Anderson is off at college now, so we’re safe to act like elementary schoolers if we want to.

  “Did you finish it yet?” I ask, flopping down face-forward onto Ava’s bed, where it seems like a thousand pieces of fabric are strewn across her pillow. Aunt Rebecca is an amazing seamstress, and Ava seems to have inherited her mom’s talent for sewing. Aunt Rebecca mostly makes short jackets, and Ava sticks to scarves. But everything they create is lovely.

  “Almost, but I want to fit it on her first,” Ava says, lifting one end of a gorgeous new scarf and holding it up in the air. “Do you think Mimi will like it?”

  “No, she’ll love it,” I say. “Does it match the jacket your mom is making for her?”

  “Yep,” Ava says. “Well, it’s not an exact match, because that would be monotonous, but it has the same themes in it.” I nod my head and remember one of the reasons I enjoy Ava so much: she’s the only one who really seems to care about fashion the same way I do. Of course, she mostly cares about scarves right now (Aunt Rebecca says she’s going through her “Scarf Period”), and I like all sorts of accessories, but still. Ava gets it, more than Deirdre or Bree ever will.

  “It’s beautiful,”
I assure her. “Did you make one for yourself, too? For the wedding?”

  “Nah,” Ava says. “I got a new dress, and it’s really intricate up here.” She gestures just under her neck and around her shoulders. “So I don’t want to hide it with any scarf nonsense.”

  “Ooh, let me see it,” I say. “I got a new dress for the wedding too. It’s blue, which you know is only my third-favorite color, but whatever.” I sit up straight on the bed with my legs crossed, watching Ava walk toward her closet.

  “Wait, it’s blue?” Ava asks. “What color blue?”

  “Um, I don’t know,” I say. “Give me some options.”

  “Baby blue, sky blue, navy blue, teal, turquoise, cornflower blue, neon blue,” Ava lists them off the top of her head—proof of how much time she spends studying fabric colors.

  I think for a second. “It’s like a mid-blue, almost purple-like,” I say. “But not—what’s the color?—periwinkle. It’s not that purple. But it has a purple sheen to it.” I think this is a pretty accurate description. “I got it at Threads—you know that store I’ve brought you to? Mom bought it for me, since Hayden’s wedding is a special occasion and all that.” Hayden and Harper are our older cousins, the daughters of Mom’s and Uncle Peter’s other brother. They’re identical twins, and to this day Ava and I can almost never tell them apart, even when we’re with them. Harper could very easily walk down the aisle next weekend instead of Hayden, and we wouldn’t know the difference.

  “Is it this color?” Ava asks, whipping a plastic-enclosed dress out of her closet. “Cornflower blue?” The dress has a crisscross pattern, like the top of a pie, right under the collar, and it’s fitted tightly in the waist, before flaring out at the bottom.

  It is also the exact same color as the dress I bought for the wedding.

  “Wow, yes!” I exclaim. “That color is pretty much identical to mine! Funny, huh? I guess Hayden and Harper won’t be the only twins at the wedding.”