the shoes she had on.
“Hey, Quincy,” said Ivy, sounding a little out of breath. “How did you even know where the sampleroom was? There’s no sign on it or anything.”
“Hah. I was wondering when one of you was going to ask me that. It’s because this isn’t my first time visiting
City Nation
,” Quincy said cheerfully as we rounded a landing and started up another flight. “About a year ago I was picked to be in the ‘Young Up-and-Coming’ layout. You know that huge picture they do every year with the forty actors under age twenty-five they think are most likely to make it big?”
“Oh, with the foldout picture? I love it when they do that!” I said. “You were in one of those?”
“Yep!” Quincy said. “And they gave us a tour. It’s all a blur, except for the sample room. We just kind of peeked in, then we had to go. I told myself that day if I ever found myself at
City Nation
again, which I was positive I wouldn’t, that I would get a better look at the sample room. And when I got my chance, I remembered more or less where it was. And the guest pass they gave me unlocked the door.”
“That’s amazing!” Ivy said. “One year later, and you’re going to be on the cover!”
“I know—it doesn’t seem real,” Quincy said. “Sometimes I still think it’s all just a really cool dream.”
“It’s open!” Dakota was exclaiming. She had reached the next landing and was holding open a door. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“You did,” Ivy said. “I’m not sure even Constantia knows as much about how this place runs as you do. Good work.”
I smiled at my friend. Whether Ivy liked someone or not, she always made a point of giving credit where it was due. It was one of the many things I really liked about her.
Directly through the door was a little alcove with shelves stacked with bottles of water and a small refrigerator and microwave on a makeshift countertop. A heavy black curtain covered a space to our left, and light streamed in behind it.
“How do we get to the studio?” I asked.
“We’re in it,” Dakota said. “Follow me.” Then she ducked around the black curtain.
Ivy pulled one corner of the curtain to the side, and together we walked through.
• chapter •
11
We were in a large, high-ceilinged room with enormous windows. At one end of the room was a white screen surrounded by large electric lights, several fans, and a bank of computers. On another wall were rack after rack of dresses, and near that were three tables covered with makeup. A group of people were standing together near the computers. More than half of them were dressed entirely in black, and all of them were talking on their cell phones.
I felt like Dorothy and her friends arriving at the palace of the Great and Terrible Oz. We’d come all this way, and for a moment nothing was happening. No one seemed to realize we had arrived. Then a slim older woman with a mass of curly gray hair tucked partly under a black newsboy cap turned and caught sight of us.
“Quincy!” she exclaimed.
And then EVERYONE was looking at us, and people were popping out from behind screens, around doorways—they seemed to be appearing out of thin air from every conceivable direction, several of them uttering an astonished “Quincy!” as they did. I saw Vicky looking around, trying to spot Quincy, while Bob switched on his camera.
In just moments, a crowd of editors, stylists, photographers, and assistants were surrounding Quincy without actually getting all that close to her.
She won’t be escaping a second time today
, I thought.
“You crazy, brilliant girls—I can’t believe you did it!”
Garamond was standing with Ivy’s mother, looking from us to Quincy with an expression of utter delight. He bounded over to us and enveloped Ivy in a hug.
“What am I missing?” Mrs. Scanlon asked. “Garamond, what did they do? Whatever it is, I think I’m extremely happy about it.”
“Dakota came in and told us what
“Hey, Quincy,” said Ivy, sounding a little out of breath. “How did you even know where the sampleroom was? There’s no sign on it or anything.”
“Hah. I was wondering when one of you was going to ask me that. It’s because this isn’t my first time visiting
City Nation
,” Quincy said cheerfully as we rounded a landing and started up another flight. “About a year ago I was picked to be in the ‘Young Up-and-Coming’ layout. You know that huge picture they do every year with the forty actors under age twenty-five they think are most likely to make it big?”
“Oh, with the foldout picture? I love it when they do that!” I said. “You were in one of those?”
“Yep!” Quincy said. “And they gave us a tour. It’s all a blur, except for the sample room. We just kind of peeked in, then we had to go. I told myself that day if I ever found myself at
City Nation
again, which I was positive I wouldn’t, that I would get a better look at the sample room. And when I got my chance, I remembered more or less where it was. And the guest pass they gave me unlocked the door.”
“That’s amazing!” Ivy said. “One year later, and you’re going to be on the cover!”
“I know—it doesn’t seem real,” Quincy said. “Sometimes I still think it’s all just a really cool dream.”
“It’s open!” Dakota was exclaiming. She had reached the next landing and was holding open a door. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“You did,” Ivy said. “I’m not sure even Constantia knows as much about how this place runs as you do. Good work.”
I smiled at my friend. Whether Ivy liked someone or not, she always made a point of giving credit where it was due. It was one of the many things I really liked about her.
Directly through the door was a little alcove with shelves stacked with bottles of water and a small refrigerator and microwave on a makeshift countertop. A heavy black curtain covered a space to our left, and light streamed in behind it.
“How do we get to the studio?” I asked.
“We’re in it,” Dakota said. “Follow me.” Then she ducked around the black curtain.
Ivy pulled one corner of the curtain to the side, and together we walked through.
• chapter •
11
We were in a large, high-ceilinged room with enormous windows. At one end of the room was a white screen surrounded by large electric lights, several fans, and a bank of computers. On another wall were rack after rack of dresses, and near that were three tables covered with makeup. A group of people were standing together near the computers. More than half of them were dressed entirely in black, and all of them were talking on their cell phones.
I felt like Dorothy and her friends arriving at the palace of the Great and Terrible Oz. We’d come all this way, and for a moment nothing was happening. No one seemed to realize we had arrived. Then a slim older woman with a mass of curly gray hair tucked partly under a black newsboy cap turned and caught sight of us.
“Quincy!” she exclaimed.
And then EVERYONE was looking at us, and people were popping out from behind screens, around doorways—they seemed to be appearing out of thin air from every conceivable direction, several of them uttering an astonished “Quincy!” as they did. I saw Vicky looking around, trying to spot Quincy, while Bob switched on his camera.
In just moments, a crowd of editors, stylists, photographers, and assistants were surrounding Quincy without actually getting all that close to her.
She won’t be escaping a second time today
, I thought.
“You crazy, brilliant girls—I can’t believe you did it!”
Garamond was standing with Ivy’s mother, looking from us to Quincy with an expression of utter delight. He bounded over to us and enveloped Ivy in a hug.
“What am I missing?” Mrs. Scanlon asked. “Garamond, what did they do? Whatever it is, I think I’m extremely happy about it.”
“Dakota came in and told us what
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