Being Audrey Hepburn by Mitchell Kriegman Page B

humiliation, unemployment, and jail to pull an Audrey Hepburn con job on a bunch of socialites and your sad little pop star.” Jess sat down on the chaise lounge, looking annoyed. “And what would you gain if you pulled this off?”
    I paused.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Dude, I think it’s cool and everything, but where does it go? Do you want to become some kind of professional poser at parties for a career?”
    She was right. I didn’t have a plan or goal—other than to get to that record party to see what it would be like to hang out with Tabitha Eden for one more night. I craved one more sip of starlight. But how much of a plan did Cinderella have when she went to the ball at the prince’s castle, anyway?
    “I’m sorry, Jess. I’m just miserable,” I said. “I feel like my life is hurtling down a mountain at a thousand miles an hour and the destination is all wrong. Last night at the Met in Audrey’s dress, something happened. I know I was a complete fraud, but there was a spark of something inside me that I just can’t let go of. It wasn’t just the dress that fit me perfectly; it was the whole feeling that there was this other person inside me. It’s different for you. You’ve always known what you were meant to be. But I’ve been clueless until now. Last night I could feel it. I could taste it. But if you don’t help me, I’ll never be able to touch it. I don’t know how, but I feel like it could change my life forever.”
    A sad, puzzled expression crossed Jess’s eyes.
    “You know it’s not like you can just put on a dress and waltz into some world you don’t belong in,” she said. “Don’t you think they’ll check up on you and wonder who you are? Where you came from? What you’re doing there? These are blue bloods. They hang with blue bloods.”
    I didn’t know what to say. It was too painful to think about being stuck where I was. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. When I opened my eyes, Jess had picked up the Dior and was holding it up to her body, looking in the mirror. She inspected a tattered piece of the hem.
    “We probably found these dresses just in time,” she said.
    “Yeah, nothing lasts forever,” I added wistfully, watching her turn the Dior inside out, running her fingers along the stitching.
    “My profs would consider your suggestion blasphemy,” she said. “Taking a pair of scissors to a vintage Dior or reworking a Cassini is crazy.”
    “Aw, come on, we don’t have to treat these dresses as history. It’s the perfect combo of everything you know and what you want to do,” I said. “Besides, the dresses are mine. Nan gave them to me.”
    I hated that I sounded like a child saying that, but I could see her mind was working a million miles a minute.
    “That’s breaking a lot of rules,” Jess said.
    “Yeah, we don’t want to break any rules,” I said. Hidden in the corner of her mouth was a budding smile dying to come out, and I knew I had a chance.
    “Well, I guess everyone gets to do some idiotic thing before going to college.”
    “You’re the best friend ever,” I said, throwing my arms around her and squeezing her tightly, trying to ignore that she’d just said the word “college.”
    “Don’t you forget it,” she said.
    “It’ll be our little project,” I added. “We’ll call it Being Audrey Hepburn.”
    She should have said no, but she didn’t.

16
    I needed a secret identity.
    “Lisbeth Dulac.” I figured that would work. It was Nan’s maiden name, so it seemed like less of a lie, better than picking a random name out of a phone book.
    Sliding the closet door closed, I retreated to the privacy of my tiny childhood refuge. Tabitha’s record party was three days away, and I needed more than just luck and Nan’s old dresses.
    Phase 1, Jess and I agreed, was to create a Facebook page. It was the quickest way to invent a present and a past, something that could be googled, proving that the new “me” existed. I wasn’t a