Supermodels 3 - Having It All - Calhoun, B.B.

"Okay, Naira," said Susan, poking her head out of the dressing room. "We're ready for you."
Susan was the makeup person for the Colorlush eye-shadow shoot I was doing. She was very tall and thin with a long, auburn braid swinging over her shoulder.
"Great," I said. I put my package of pastel colored loose-leaf paper carefully inside my purple notebook and laid it on a folding chair nearby.
It was September, my second month in New York, and I'd been booked to do a job for Colorlush eye shadow. I get a lot of work doing ads and magazine layouts where eyes are the focus. Eye shadow, mascara, eyeliner—you name it. Once I even did an ad for a line of designer eyeglasses.
Jill Murray, the hooker for new models over at Ford, says that's probably because my blue-green eyes are so unusual with my dark complexion and hair. My mother's eyes were the same color. She died of cancer seven years ago, when I was nine. I still miss her a lot, but when I look in the mirror I see her eyes, and I know that in a way she's still with me.
So it really bugs me when people think I'm wearing colored contacts. I don't understand why anyone wears them anyway. My mother always told me that you should be proud of whatever nature gave you, instead of trying to change it. Take my feet, for example. They're on the large side. My little brothers, Jameel and Yusef, used to call me "Flipper Feet." In other words, I'll never get a job as a shoe model. But the thing is, my feet are me, and I wouldn't change them even if I could.
I walked into the makeup room, where Susan was standing talking to a woman with shoulder-length, wavy brown hair wearing a long beige linen sleeveless dress and holding a tiny white shopping bag with the Colorlush logo on it.
"Naira, this is Audrey Webb, the art director for the shoot," said Susan. "She's
going to be picking the eye-shadow color we'll use on you today."
"Hi," I said.
"Hello, Naira," said Audrey.
Susan handed me a cotton kimono to wear. That way, after my hair and makeup were done I could just slip on the clothes for the shoot.
"Thanks," I said.
I pulled off my brown paisley vest and cream colored T-shirt and put on the kimono. Then I sat down on the high stool opposite the mirror.
"Okay," said Audrey, "let's see what we're going to have Susan put on you." She reached into the bag. "Now, the hot colors this spring are going to be the pastels." She looked at me and squinted a little. "You know, Susan, I really think I'd like to see a pale lavender on her."
"Okay," said Susan, nodding.
"Let's give this a try," said Audrey, handing Susan a blue marbleized compact. "Come let me know when you're finished." She walked out of the room.
I looked down and saw Susan's huge red makeup case open on the table in front of me.
I couldn't help noticing that even though the case had zillions of small compartments for organizing things, the makeup was all jumbled together. It kind of reminded me of the way my housemate Cassandra keeps her cabinet shelf in the bathroom of our apartment. That's one thing about Cassandra— she's not exactly organized. In fact, we couldn't be more different that way.
I thought it was strange that a makeup artist would keep her makeup like that, but amazingly, a lot of them do. And Susan seemed to know exactly where everything was. She reached right into the jumble of bottles, cases, and brushes and pulled out a tube of facial moisturizer.
"Okay, Naira, close your eyes," she said, dabbing some of the moisturizer on her hands.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as she spread the cream over my face, gently massaging my forehead, my cheekbones, and around my temples. That's my favorite part of getting my makeup done. Not all the makeup artists do it, but it's really great when you get one who does.
Next, Susan mixed together a couple of foundations to match my skin tone. She smoothed the mixture evenly onto my face and topped it off with a light dusting of powder.
Then she picked up the cake of lavender Colorlush shadow and carefully applied some to my eyelids, adding a stroke of darker gray shadow to the bones right under my eyebrows to bring out my eyes even more. Finally, after a little eyeliner, some mascara, and eyebrow pencil, my eyes were finished.
"Now, we're going to keep your lips a little pale," she said, picking up a rosy beige lip liner.
"Why's that?" I asked.
"So they won't detract from the eye shadow," she explained. "In a shoot like this, the eye shadow is the product, and we don't want anything to come out stronger than the product."
I nodded. That made sense. I've always liked to know the reasons behind things. My father says that on my first shoot, when I was ten, I nearly drove the whole crew nuts with my questions. It was just after my mother
died, and I'd been discovered by a Chicago modeling agency. After that, I began modeling pretty regularly.
Susan finished my makeup and stepped back to look at me.
"Great," she said. "Now let me go get Audrey and see what she thinks."
A few moments later, Susan returned with Audrey, who looked at me and pursed her lips.
"You know," said Audrey, "I hate to say this, but now that I see it I actually think that lavender detracts from her eye color."
I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what she was about to say.
She shook her head. "No, I definitely don't like it. I'm sorry, Susan, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to do her over with another color." She reached back into her bag. "This warm peach should do more to highlight her eyes, and it'll be lovely with her skin tone, too."
I tried my best not to show my impatience. I knew that changing my eye shadow meant redoing all my makeup, and I wasn't exactly looking forward to going through it all again,
but I also knew it would be unprofessional of me to complain.
Audrey left the room again, and Susan looked at me and shrugged.
"Well, here we go again," she said, taking out a wad of tissues and a tube of makeup remover.
Twenty minutes later, Susan had removed and re-applied my makeup, this time with the peach shadow. And once I saw it, I had to agree that it was a much better choice for me than the lavender had been. The peachy color really did bring out my eyes.
Luckily, Audrey liked it too.
"Perfect," she said, smiling. "Sorry to put you both through all that, but we had to get it just right."
"That's okay," I said.
"All right," Audrey said to Susan. "Let's get her hair done." She turned to me. "And then I'd like you to put this on. The shots are going to be pretty tight, so it may not even show very much at all, but put it on anyway, just in case."
She handed me a black silk shirt with a scoop neck and little buttons down the back.
Since the photographs for this shoot were all going to be head shots, I could stay in my own faded jeans.
Next Susan started on my hair. She picked up a tiny electric curling iron.
"Wow," I said. "I've never seen such a small one of those."
"It's really perfect for hair like yours," she said, wrapping a strand of my long dark brown hair around the wand. "A small wand like this keeps the curl tighter."
I saw what she meant. After she had finished, my face was surrounded with tiny delicate ringlets.
"Perfect. Scott will love it," she said. Scott Jones was the photographer for the shoot. "I'll go see if he's ready for you."
A few moments later, she returned.
"Sorry, Naira," she said. "They're still fixing the lights. It'll be at least another five minutes."
"That's okay," I said, hopping down from the stool. I headed out of the dressing room and picked up my notebook.
Photo shoots can be a pain because there's so much sitting around. Believe me, glamour
is just a small part of modeling. The rest is waiting.
You wait for the lights to be set, for the stylist to choose the clothes, for the makeup and hair people to be ready for you. Sometimes it seems as though there's more waiting than anything else. That's why I always try to bring some kind of project to do when I go on a shoot.
I'd been using a lot of my free time at photo shoots to write postcards to Jameel, Yusef, and Kyra back home. They have a pretty big collection of New York postcards from me. In my first month here I sent them cards of all the tourist spots—the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, the Circle Line Boat Tour. Then I began to look for more unusual cards. My favorite one has a picture of an old man selling pretzels from a cart. New York is filled with pretzel carts.
Today's project, though, was organizing my school supplies. Tomorrow I would be starting eleventh grade at the High School for Performing Students (HSPS), in New York. Ford Models had arranged for me and three of the other models with whom I share an
apartment—Kerri, Cassandra, and Paige—to go to HSPS.
My other two roommates, Katerina and Pia, are attending the American Institute for Foreign Students. That's because Katerina's from Russia and Pia's from Italy, and the Institute is a place where foreign students can go to school and work on their English at the same time. Actually, Cassandra's native language isn't English, either. She's from Brazil, where Portuguese is spoken, but her English is great. Cassandra had her own talk show in Brazil, and she interviewed a lot of up-and-coming American actors and celebrities.
I didn't really know that much about HSPS at first, except that it's a special school for teenagers who work professronctHy as musicians, actors, dancers, and models. The schedule is flexible, so students can leave school to work when they have to.
My old school in Chicago, Guilford Academy, was tough about missing classes. It was a public school, but it only accepted certain students. A student had to have a pretty high average to get in, and then the teachers
expected you to work hard once you were there. I've always done well in school, though, probably because I like it. I hoped that HSPS had a good science department. I take rny science classes pretty seriously, since I'm planning on becoming a doctor someday.
I opened my loose-leaf notebook and clipped in the colored dividers I'd just bought. Then I picked up the pack of loose-leaf paper. I'd had to go to a few stores here in New York before I found the colored paper I like. I always organize my school subjects by color— a yellow divider and yellow paper for math, green for history, and so on. And I always save my favorite color, purple, for whatever science class I'm taking. That way papers from different classes never get mixed up.
Just then, Scott Jones, the photographer, walked over to me. He had on a pale denim shirt and a pair of jeans.
"Okay, Naira," he said. "Are you ready?"
"You bet," I answered. I'd been ready for eons.
"Great," he said.
I followed him out into the main studio, where he and his assistant, an Asian guy with
a little ponytail, had set up some lights around a small stool in front Of the white seamless. Seamless is this big paper that conies in rolls. Photographers often use it when they want a plain background for their photos.
"Have a seat on the stool, please, Naira," said Scott, stepping behind his camera.
"Okay," I said, sitting down.
"I'm going to take some Polaroids first," he told me.
I nodded. Sometimes photographers use a Polaroid camera to take some instant pictures when the shoot begins. That way they can be sure everything looks okay before they go ahead and start shooting with their regular cameras.
Scott took a couple of Polaroids. Then he looked them over with Audrey and Susan.
"Hey, Jim," he called to his assistant. "We need some adjustment on the lights."
Jim fiddled around with the lights.
"Okay, now, Naira," said Scott, taking his place behind the camera, "just look right into the camera lens, as if you're looking at an old friend you know very well."
I took a deep breath, let it out, and turned
to face the camera with a smile. Now this was modeling.
"Nice," said Scott, clicking away. "Beautiful. Try a bit more serious. Good. Just a little smile? Right. Now tilt your head a little more, please. Great." He stopped and turned to Susan. "Can we do something about that one strand of hair on the left, please? It's sticking up a little."
"Sure." Susan hurried over to me and fixed my hair. "How's that?"
"Great," said Scott, peering through the camera again.        __
"Hold on" said Audrey. "The eye shadow needs a little touch-up on her left eye."  
Susan came back and applied more of the peach shadow.	
"Yes, that's good," said Audjtey.
"Okay, Naira, let's go," said Scott.
"Hold on a sec," called Jim. "I think one of these lights may have moved."
A few moments later, we were ready to roll again.
"Okay, Naira, we're on," said Scott.
I turned to look into the lens again, doing my best to recapture, the position I had been in before. But I must have been a little off.
"Don't tilt your head quite so much," Scott instructed me. "And that little smile again. Okay, perfect."
The next hour went by quickly. Scott shot several rolls of film, and we stopped for occasional touch-ups to my hair and makeup.
Finally, Scott looked up from his camera and grinned.
"Lovely work, Naira," he said. "You're a real pro."
"Thanks," I said, standing up and stretching.
I washed off my makeup in the bathroom and changed back into my vest and T-shirt. Then I packed up my loose-leaf notebook and
paper. I took out the little black metal file box I always carry in my bag. Thebox is part of my method for organizing all the modeling appointments I have. There are sections of index cards inside for all my modeling stuff—
bookings,   go-sees,  tests,   fittings,   meetings with Jill Murray or Eileen Ford, whatever.
I removed an index card from the box and wrote the date, along with Scott Jones's name and a short description of the job on the top lines. I added Audreys, Susan's, and Jim's
names and a line about each of them and what they'd done. Then I walked over to where Scott and Jim were rolling up the white seamless.
"Excuse me, Scott?" I said.
"Yes, Naira?" he answered, looking up.
"I was just wondering," I said. "Do you by any chance have an extra one of those Polaroids you took? I'd kind of like to keep one for my files."
"Sure," he said. He walked over to a table that was covered with photographs, rolls of film, and cameras. "Here you go."
"Thanks," I said, looking down at the picture. I took out the tiny stapler I always carry with me and attached the photo to the index card. If Ford ever booked me to work with Scott Jones again, I'd know exactly when he had shot me before and for what. I filed the card in the box behind the divider that was labeled BOOKINGS.
"Wow," said Scott. "You certainly are organized."
"Yeah," I said, grinning. "That's what everyone always says."
"You must be a pretty good student," said Scott. "Where do you go to school?"
"Actually, I'm starting at HSPS tomorrow," I told him.
He nodded. "A lot of the models go there, right?"
I nodded. "They have a flexible schedule, so you can work during the day if you need to."
"Well, I'm sure you'll do very well," said Scott. "I've heard it's a pretty good school."
"I hope so," I said.
"Good luck on your first day," he called as I headed toward the door.
"Thanks," I called back.
I walked out the door and down the stairs. I was looking forward to starting school again. Of course, I knew everything would be different from my school in Chicago. But I was ready for it!
"We've got a beautiful day out there already! It's sixty-five degrees at six forty-five sharp on this beautiful September morning—"
I opened my eyes and turned off the clock
radio.
"Mmmmm, good idea," mumbled Kerri.
She rolled over in her bed across the room. "Put it on snooze."
"I don't think this clock has one," I told her
as I sat up.
And even if it did, I didn't know where it was. I'm not a "snooze alarm" kind of person. When I wake up, I start thinking about whatever I have to do that day. And once I've done that, there's no way I can go back to sleep.
And this morning I had even more on my mind than usual. The first day at a new school—I couldn't understand how Kerri
could just lie there like that. But I guess it's just as my mother used to say: "People are like snowflakes—each one of them is unique." It's hard to remember that though. Sometimes I think that if everyone did things my way they'd all get a lot more done, and they'd all be a lot happier.
Kerri and I are really different in a bunch of ways. To start with, Kerri's totally laid back and relaxed. Don't get me wrong—it's not like she doesn't get excited about things. Actually she's a really cheerful and enthusiastic person, especially when it comes to her two loves, modeling and physical fitness. In some ways this is great, and it does make her easy to share a room with. Someone else might have had her own ideas about how to keep our clothes stored, but Kerri pretty much agreed to use my system of closet organizers right away.
I got up quietly and went over to the chair at the foot of my bed. There were the clothes that I'd picked out the night before—tan linen overalls, a white T-shirt, and my tan clogs. Then I realized that everyone else would be up soon too. If I didn't hurry I would be in for a long wait for the bathroom.
I quickly pulled on my purple bathrobe and stepped out into the hallway.
But someone else had beaten me to it. The bathroom door was closed, and I could hear water running. 1 stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do. There was a second bathroom by Pia and Katerina's room in the back, but it had only a bathtub and no shower. I know some people love baths, but I think that they take too long. I also think it's disgusting to soak in your own dirt.
But it turned out that I didn't have to use the other bathroom after all. The door opened, and Paige stepped out into the hallway. She was wearing a pink terry cloth robe and fuzzy pink slippers. Her long, curly red hair was tied into a thick knot on top of her head. I think Paige is really nice, and she's pretty smart, too. Sometimes she seems kind of young, though. Maybe it's just because she's always so worried about what people think of her.
"Oh, hi," Paige said. "Were you waiting? I'm sorry. I thought everyone was still asleep."
"It's okay," I told her. "I just got here."
"Hey," said Paige. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," I answered. "Shoot."
"Are you nervous?" she asked.
"Nervous?" I repeated. "Oh, you mean about school today?"
"Yeah," said Paige, looking a little embarrassed.
"I guess I'm a little nervous," I told her. "But mostly I'm excited. Why? Are you worried about it?"
Paige nodded. "I couldn't sleep," she confided. She wrinkled her nose unhappily. "It's just, I don't know, back in Nebraska I went to school with kids I'd known all my life. I guess I feel weird about meeting new people."
"But that's practically all you've been doing since you got to New York," I pointed out. "I mean, think about it. As a model you meet new people all the time—photographers, makeup and hair people, other models. Besides, you already know me, Kerri, and Cassandra, right? So it's almost like starting out with three ready-made friends."
"Yeah," said Paige, smiling. "Well, I hope you're right. Thanks, Naira."
"Sure " I said. I shook my head as I headed into the bathroom. Paige was probably trying
to figure out what to say to make the teachers like her. My mother always used to tell me, "Do your best, be yourself, and if someone's not happy, then it's his problem." That made sense to me.
Fifteen minutes later, I'd showered and brushed my teeth. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I saw Pia standing in the hall. She was wearing a white granny gown, and her short dark hair was pulled off her face with a headband.
"It's all yours," I said, waving toward the open bathroom door.
Confused, Pia looked at me. As I said, she's from Italy, and her English isn't always that great, especially when it comes to slang.
"I mean, go ahead, you can use the bathroom now," I said.
"Ah, si, thank you." Her smile lit up her whole face.
Back in the bedroom, Kerri was awake and lying on the floor between our beds, doing her morning leg lifts. She still wore the green football jersey she'd slept in.
"Forty-nine, fifty," she puffed, lowering her legs to the floor. She breathed out as she let
her body go limp. Then she took a deep breath in and bounced up. She blew a long strand of blond hair off her face. "Well, I guess that's all I have time for now. Leg lifts really wake me up!"
I shook my head in amazement. Kerri's always exercising. And it shows—she's in great shape. What I think is really incredible is that she's so modest about her looks and her athletic ability. As far as I can tell, she exercises just because she gets a kick out of it. As I said—it's that snowflake thing!
Just then there was a knock on the door.
"Hi," said Cassandra, peeking in.
"Hey, Cass," said Kerri as she put on her bathrobe. "Come on in."
"Okay, you guys," said Cassandra, grinning. "Which one of these do you think I should wear?"
She had on her short black silk robe, and there were two hangers in her hands. The first one held a skimpy red minidress with a flounced skirt. On the second hanger was a black catsuit with a low-cut back.
"Wow, I don't know, Cass," said Kerri. "What do you think, Ni?"
Actually, neither one of them looked to me like the right kind of thing to wear to school. Although maybe that was the way kids dressed in Rio de Janeiro, the city in Brazil where Cassandra's from. In the month or so since I'd known her, I'd never seen Cassandra in something that wasn't either short or tight.
I shrugged. "Wear whichever one's more comfortable."
Cassandra made a face and shook her head. Her dark hair tumbled into her face. She tucked the short waves back impatiently.
"Comfortable?" she said. "Oh, I don't care about that. I want to know which one will make more of an impression."
"Believe me, making an impression is the last thing you need to worry about with either one of those outfits," I said.
"Oh, good," said Cassandra, smiling. Unlike Kerri, she wasn't too modest. And she snapped up compliments as if they were candy. Still, she could be a lot of fun sometimes. You just had to be in the right mood.
Cassandra looked at the two outfits. "Maybe I'll wear the dress, then." She squinted out the window at the sky above the East
River. "It looks like it's going to be pretty warm today." She turned back to Kerri and me and grinned. "Thanks, guys," she said. "See you at breakfast."
After she'd gone, I looked out the window too.
"I don't see how she thought she could tell how warm it's going to be just by glancing outside," I said to Kerri.
"Oh, the weather probably doesn't even have anything to do with it," she said, her green eyes twinkling. "You know Cass. If she really wants to wear that red dress, a blizzard wouldn't stop her."
Fifteen minutes later, Kerri and I were ready. I had on my overalls, and Kerri wore her red SURF'S UP! T-shirt with black leggings and red high-tops. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and tied with a red bandanna.
We walked out to the dining area, where Paige was already eating breakfast and reading a book. She looked cute in her flowered dress with little heart-shaped buttons running down the front. When we came in, Paige glanced up and put down her book.
"Hi," she said. "You guys look great."
"Hey, so do you," said Kerri.
Just then Mrs. Hill, the woman who takes care of us and acts as our chaperon, came in from the kitchen.
"Good morning, girls," she said. "I'm cooking eggs for anyone who's interested. And there's the usual choices of fruit, cereal, and toast."
"I think I'll go for the cereal," said Kerri.
"Eggs, please," I said to Mrs. Hill. "And some whole wheat toast. Do you need any help in the kitchen?"
Mrs. Hill smiled. "No thanks, Naira, but I appreciate your offer." She headed back to the kitchen, her apron fluttering.
I always like to start the day with a hearty breakfast. Eating a good breakfast before a full day is like fueling up the gas tank of a car before taking a long trip. I thought of the huge breakfasts my dad liked to make on Sunday mornings. During the week, my family was too busy to sit down to a real breakfast together. Then on Saturdays I had my jazz dance class at the community center, and Jameel, Yusef, and Kyra usually ran off to play with their friends. But on Sundays my
dad always insisted that the whole family eat breakfast together. I had to admit, I did miss it.
I sat down next to Paige, and Kerri took the seat opposite mine. Just then, Pia came into the room wearing a gorgeous sleeveless patchwork dress.
"Buon giorno ragazze" she said. "Good morning, everyone."
"Hi, Pia," I said. "Love your dress."
"Oh, thank you," she said. "I made it myself."
"I should have known," I said with a smile. Pia's got an incredible fashion sense. She makes a lot of her own clothes, mostly patchwork creations. If she weren't pursuing her modeling career, she'd probably be in art school studying fashion design or even working for a famous designer. She's that good.
"It's neat," said Paige admiringly. "I love all those different textures and colors together."
"Actually, they are the pieces from old clothes," said Pia. "I worked the most hard on the back part"—she spun around to show us the intricate patchwork on the back of the dress—"but when I had my long hair, this was always, how you say, coperto, covered up."
Pia's hair had been cut short at a test with a photographer a few weeks before. Her long, dark hair had been beautiful, but the new cut showed off her features more and gave her a more chic look.
Mrs. Hill came through the door with a plate of eggs, which she set down in front of me.
"Where are those other two?" she said, putting her hands on her hips. "If they don't get out here soon, they'll be late."
"Well," said Paige, "when I left our room to get breakfast, Cassandra was trying to decide between a miniskirt and a pair of striped leggings."
"I thought she was going to wear the red dress," said Kerri.
"Oh, that was earlier," said Paige. "She's been through at least four other outfits since then."
I shook my head. I could understand that someone would want to look her best on the first day of school, but Cassandra would have been better off picking out her clothes the night before, as I had. Of course, then she might never have gotten to sleep!
"Well, she'd better hurry if she wants any
breakfast," said Mrs. Hill. She turned to Pia. "And what about Katerina? Is she still in your room?"
Pia shook her head. "I believe that my roommate has been in the back bathroom for the past one-half hour."
"Oh, well, that is certainly long enough," huffed Mrs. Hill.
Paige stood up quickly. "I'll go check on her."
Paige is the closest thing Katerina has to a friend here. Katerina's quiet, and she pretty much keeps to herself. I think most of us aren't sure if she's a snob, or just shy. Just when I'm sure she's shy, then she goes and does something snobby.
Paige hurried down the hall, and Mrs. Hill looked at her watch.
"It's already eight o'clock," said Mrs. Hill. "You girls are going to have to get a lot more organized in the future if you expect to get to school on time."
I thought of my backpack, ready to go since yesterday. Just then Cassandra arrived. She wasn't wearing any of the outfits she had been considering when she talked to Kerri and me. Instead, she had on a cropped
white tank top and black stretch jeans.
"Hi, everyone," she said, breezing into the room. She grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table.
"I'm sorry, Cassandra, I was going to offer you some eggs," said Mrs. Hill. "But it doesn't look like there's enough time now."
"That's okay," said Cassandra. She waved her apple. "This is fine."
Mrs. Hill frowned. "I'd like to see you eat more than that for breakfast."
"Please don't worry about me, Mrs. Hill," Cassandra said. She reached for another apple. "I'll take a spare with me to school. Okay?"
Just then Paige walked into the room with Katerina. Katerina had on a pleated blue plaid skirt and a white blouse. Her curly light brown hair was tied back with a piece of white lace. Her normally pale skin looked paler than ever, and she was biting on her lower lip. Definitely shy today, I thought.
"I'm afraid you're not going to have time for breakfast now either," Mrs. Hill said. She sighed.
"Pajolsta, please," said Katerina. "I do not think I am feeling very hungry this morning."
"You're probably hungry, but you just don't realize it," said Paige. "Believe me, I was so nervous I didn't feel like eating anything, but after one bite, I realized I was really hungry."
"Yeah, you should probably at least take something with you for later, Katerina," I said. "You'll need your strength to get through the day."
"All right, that's it," said Mrs. Hill. "Everyone wait here just a moment."
She walked into the kitchen and came out with a plate of steaming brown muffins.
"Everybody take one," she said. "They're my special five-grain banana muffins. I was saving them to offer you all as a snack when you got home from school, but it looks as if you need them more now. Go on—no one leaves the house without a muffin in her hand."
She handed the plate to Kerri, who grabbed a muffin and passed them on to Cassandra. When the plate got to me, I thought about reminding Mrs. Hill that I'd already had a big breakfast. Then the hot muffins smelled so delicious that I decided to take one anyway. Besides, I knew that if Mrs.
Hill had made them they were guaranteed to be healthy and delicious.
Just then, the intercom from the lobby buzzed. 1 knew it must be Carla and Janet, the two assistants from Ford Models who would take us to our new schools. A little shiver of excitement went down my spine.
"Okay, girls," said Mrs. Hill, taking the empty muffin plate from Paige. "You're off. Good luck to you all, and have a great day!"
"Puxa, wow!" exclaimed Cassandra as she gazed around. She looked ready to plunge into the crowd of students in front of us.
"I didn't know it would be so crowded," Paige whispered. She looked ready to run back home.
"Me neither," said Kerri. "How are we going to figure out where we're supposed to go?" She turned to Cassandra. "I wish you hadn't told Carla we'd be okay without her."
"Don't be silly," said Cassandra. "We'll be fine. Besides, who wants to look like they brought a baby-sitter with them? I didn't even have that when I started school for the first time."
"That's because you had a tutor, Cassandra," I said, looking around. "There must be
some kind of a system. We just have to find out what it is."
The four of us were standing in the open lobby area of the four-story stone building that housed HSPS. All around us were other kids—most were standing in groups talking and laughing, others were walking by quickly, and some were leaning against the walls writing on little yellow cards.
They didn't look all that different from the people I'd gone to school with at the Guilford Academy, back in Chicago. Except for the way they were dressed, that is. The styles here were a lot funkier—and probably a lot more expensive—than what I was used to. Maybe it was because HSPS has so many students who are actors and models.
At home, people dressed more casually— jeans, sweat shirts, stuff like that. Here guys had on bright colors, vests, suspenders, even hats. There were a couple of guys in ties, and other guys in ripped jeans. Girls wore everything from tight micro-miniskirts to gauzy harem pants. I saw several girls in baby-doll dresses and combat boots; a lot of girls had on those over-the-knee socks; and one girl had on a tuxedo. As it turned out,
Cassandra in her cropped top and stretch jeans didn't look out of place at all. No wonder she was so excited—she looked as though she belonged.
"Hey," said Paige suddenly. She pointed. "Over there. Maybe that's where we go."
She pointed across the room, beyond a crowd of students. On the wall above a long table was a sign: PICK UP REGISTRATION CARDS HERE.
"Sounds like a good starting place to me," I agreed.
"I hope you guys are right," said Kerri. "I don't want to spend my day wandering around tne lobby."
We crossed the room, threading our way through the crowd. Finally we joined a line of students waiting in front of the table.
"Pzmz, wow," said Cassandra again, under her breath. Her lashes fluttered a bit. "Look at all these cute guys."
Just as she said it, I felt something under my clog. Then there was a loud voice in my ear. "Ouch! Watch it!"
I turned around and saw a tall guy in a purple baseball cap turned backward, like half the guys in the lobby. He was African-
American, like me, and his skin was a smooth dark brown. He had really huge brown, almond-shaped eyes with curly lashes. In one of his ears was a tiny gold hoop earring.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, taking a step backward.
"Hey, no problem," he said. "I've got another one." He grinned at me. He had beautiful white teeth. Maybe he did toothpaste ads or something.
"Another one?" I repeated. What on earth was he talking about?
"Yeah," he said, his grin growing even bigger. "Another foot."
"Oh," I said. "I get it."
"Hi," said Cassandra. She struck a pose, then held out her hand and smiled this huge smile. "I'm Cassandra Contiago."
"Hi," said the guy, shaking her hand. "I'm Chris. Chris Hall." He turned to me. "And let me guess—you must be... twinkle toes, right?"
I looked at him. "I said I was sorry—"
"Hey, I was just kidding" he said. "Lighten up a little, okay? So what is your name, then?"
"Naira," I told him. "Naira Taylor." Then I smiled. "My little brothers call me Flipper
Feet, and you've just found out why."
Chris laughed.
"And this is Paige Sanders and Kerri Gold," I added.
"Pleased to meet you all," said Chris. "You guys must be new 'cause I don't remember seeing any of you around before. And if I'm right, then you're all in big trouble."
"What did we do wrong?" Paige asked worriedly.
We must all have looked a little nervous, even Cassandra, because Chris laughed. "I'm just kidding," he said. "It's not that serious. It's just that you're standing on the wrong line."
"What?" I said. "But the sign says—"
"I know, I know," he said. "But this is where returning students pick up their cards. New students have to go to the Student Records Office on the third floor to get theirs."
"Well, it would have been nice if they'd put that on the sign," I muttered.
"Third floor, huh?" said Kerri, looking around.
"Right," said Chris. "The stairs are right
over there." He pointed to a black door to the right of the table.
"Thanks," said Paige.
"Yeah, thanks," 1 said.
"No problem," said Chris, grinning again. He looked at me. "Maybe I'll catch you later."
"Hey, Ni," said Kerri, as we all headed up the stairs. "I think he liked you."
"What are you talking about?" I said. "We hardly said ten words to each other."
"Yes, but it was what was happening between the words that counted," said Cassandra. That's one nice thing about Cassandra—she can be happy when other people get attention too.
"What happened between the words was that 1 stepped on his foot," I pointed out.
Paige laughed. "He did seem to be paying more attention to you than to the rest of us."
"He's probably just being friendly, so it doesn't mean anything," I said.
"Well," said Paige, "it seems like more than just friendliness to me."
"Whatever," I answered, shrugging.
Don't get me wrong—it wasn't that Chris wasn't good-looking. In fact, he was definitely
pretty cute, even gorgeous. But I hadn't really noticed him looking at me or anything. Well, maybe a little bit. Besides, the last thing I had time to think about was guys. At that moment, getting settled into school was the most important thing to me, and nothing, not even an incredibly cute guy, was going to stop me from doing just that.
We trooped up to the third floor and found the Student Records Office. The great thing about registering on the third floor was that there were no lines to wait on, as there had been in the lobby. A secretary with a gray bun and glasses looked up each of our names on a computer. Then she handed us each a yellow registration card and a course list.
"The first thing you need to do is meet with your adviser and discuss your schedule," she said. "The advisers' offices are down the hall. The name of your adviser is on the top right corner of your registration card."
An adviser, I thought. That sounds great. It would probably be nice to have someone who knew all about HSPS to give me advice and help me figure things out. I looked at my card.
"Leona Mastronardi," I read out loud.
"Hey, that's my adviser too" said Kerri.
"Mine says Marcia Kaplan," said Paige.
"And I've got Edward Hammer," said Cassandra.
We made our way down the hall, peering at the labels on the wooden doors as we went. First Paige and then Cassandra found their advisers' offices. Kerri and I went on down the hall until we got to the door that said
LEONA MASTRONARD1, ADVISING.
"You can go ahead," I said to Kerri. "I want to look over the course list a little first."
"Great. Thanks, Ni," she said.
I sat on a wooden bench in the hallway and looked over the list of courses the secretary had given me. The science department looked pretty good. Not only were chemistry, biology, and physics on the list but also advanced placement biology and introductory psychology.
Psychology, I thought. That would be cool. I've always been kind of interested in observing people's behavior. If I became a doctor I'd need to know what was going on in people's heads, as well as in their bodies, in order to make better diagnoses. On the other hand, I could also go for the advanced placement
biology. I'd already taken biology at the academy, and an advanced class would probably be a good idea for someone who planned to go to med school. It would look more serious.
The rest of the list was pretty straightforward. There were math, history, and English courses, as well as Spanish, French, and Russian classes in the language department. Russian sounded interesting—and I supposed if I took it, Katerina might help me with my homework—but I decided I should probably stick to Spanish, after all. I had already had two years of Spanish at the academy, and two years before that in junior high. If I kept at it I might even be fluent someday. Knowing a second language would be a big plus when I finally became a doctor.
Just then the door to Leona Mastronardi's office opened, and Kerri came out, a big smile on her face.
"She's really nice, Ni," she whispered to me. "You'll like her."
"Great," I said, standing up from the bench.
"Hey, I'll catch you later," said Kerri. "Right now I'm going to"—she consulted a
schedule card in her hand—"French."
"Okay, Kerri," I said. "See you."
I rapped twice on the door and walked in. Inside the office, a young woman with shoulder-length brown hair and wearing a cream-colored blouse sat behind a desk.
"Hi," I said. "I'm Naira Taylor. I think you're supposed to be my adviser."
"Ah, yes, Naira, come in," said the woman. "I'm Ms. Mastronardi. Please, have a seat."
She pointed to the chair opposite her desk, and I sat down.
"Give me a second—I've got to find your file." She flipped through a pile of file folders on her desk, pulled one out, and opened it.
"You're new to HSPS this year, I see," she said, looking over the contents of the folder.
"That's right," I said. "I just moved to New York from Chicago."
"Welcome to the Big Apple," she said. "So, it says here that you're with Ford Models. Do you know Kerri Gold? She was just in here. She's another new advisee of mine this year."
"Actually, Kerri's my roommate," I told her.
"Oh, good," she said, smiling. "Well, tell me, have you been working a great deal for Ford?"
"Well, I just moved here, so I've only been with Ford a month or so," I explained. "I did some modeling back in Chicago, too, but I'm getting a lot more work now that I'm in New York."
She nodded. "Here's something that you might want to think about, Naira. I don't know if you're aware of it, but we have an extended program here at HSPS for those of our students who are particularly busy with their engagements outside of school."
"An extended program?" I repeated.
"Yes," said Ms. Mastronardi. She looked down at her file. "In your case, it would mean taking two to three academic classes a semester, and extending your graduation date by three semesters."
"Oh, no," I said quickly. "I don't think I'm interested in doing that."
"Well," she said, "some people do find it difficult to maintain a full academic schedule and work at the same time. Especially if they work long hours or frequently have to miss classes."
"I can handle it," I told her. "Really, I'm very organized."
"Yes," she said, glancing at something in
the folder. "Looking at your grades from Guilford, I'd say you're probably right, Naira. This is a very impressive record you've got here."
"Thanks," 1 said.
"Still, just keep the extended program in mind. You never know what your life here is going to be like until you try it. Now, I see that you've already had two years of high school Spanish, so that completes your language requirement."
"Actually," I said, "I think I'd like to keep taking Spanish, if that's okay."
"Why, certainly," she said, looking a little surprised. "Although I was going to suggest that you take advantage of the break in your schedule to try something a little less demanding, such as one of our performing arts classes."
"Performing arts?" I said.
"Yes," said Ms. Mastronardi. "We have quite an extensive program. You'll find all the courses on the other side of the list, there."
I turned over the course list and was amazed at what I saw. I hadn't even realized that there were courses listed on the back. HSPS seemed to offer everything from vocal
training to comedic acting to tap dance. But it made sense now that I thought about it. Many of the students at HSPS were in the performing arts.
"Wow," I said, reading down the list. "Jazz dance. I took that last year at the community center near where I lived."
"Then that might be a good choice for you," said Ms. Mastronardi.
I thought a moment.
"Can't I do jazz dance and Spanish?" I asked.
"I suppose," said Ms. Mastronardi. "But you'll still have to take the regular core curriculum of English, math, history, and science as well."
"I understand," I said, nodding.
Ms. Mastronardi looked at my file again.
"Generally I only approve programs of five courses," she said. "But once in a while if a student with a proven academic record wants to take on a sixth, nonacademic course I'll give it my okay."
"As I said, Ms. Mastronardi, I know I can handle it," I said. "Last year in Chicago I took five courses in school, as well as jazz outside of school, and I did just fine. And as far
as work goes, I'm used to modeling and going to school at the same time."
"All right, then, Naira," she said. "I'll approve your program on one condition."
"What's that?" I asked.
"I want you to promise me that if things get to be too much for you—if the course load you've taken on proves to be too heavy with your work schedule—then you'll make an appointment with me right away so we can make some changes," she said.
"Sure, Ms. Mastronardi," I said. "No problem."
But I knew I'd never have to make that appointment. After all, I'd been modeling for years, and I'd always managed to be one of the top students in my class. Besides, if there was one thing I'd never been, it was a quitter.
"I wonder why Eileen Ford wants to meet with all of us," said Paige. She pulled open one of the double doors to the Ford Models red brick townhouse.
"I hope it's something good," said Cassandra, patting her hair into place.
As the six of us walked into the reception area, I smoothed down my long, purple-striped knit dress and tucked a stray curl behind one ear. When we'd gotten back from our first day of school, Mrs. Hill had given us the message that Eileen wanted to meet with us. As soon as we heard, I went to my room and changed my clothes. I wanted to look my best when we went to Ford. It makes sense, after all—looking good is my job. Not that that's the only thing there is to modeling, but
you can't deny that it's probably the most important.
As we climbed the staircase to the second floor, I wondered why Eileen had asked to see us all. It was very unusual. I mean, Eileen meets with each of us individually once in a while, to check up and see how things are going. But until now she'd never wanted to meet with all six of us at once.
When we got to the second floor, the first person we saw was Jill Murray. Her desk is right outside Eileen's office.
"Hello, girls," she said, smiling when she saw us. "Go right on in. Eileen is expecting you."
Eileen's office has great atmosphere. It's in a country style, with the furniture in pale wood with flowered calico cushions and accents. It makes you feel at home right away, even if it's not like your own home at all.
Eileen stood up from her seat behind her desk.
"Welcome, everyone, welcome," she said, her face lighting up. "Please, come in and have a seat."
Pia, Cassandra, and Paige made their way to the flowered couch at the opposite end of
the office. Katerina perched on the edge of a wooden chair nearby. There weren't enough chairs, so Kerri and I ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch. Eileen moved away from her desk and sat down on her favorite flowered armchair opposite the couch.
"Why don't we start out with a little tea?" she said. She reached for the pink flowered teapot on the low table in front of her as we all nodded.
I smiled. Eileen always has tea in her office. She must have about a million flavors. When I first came to New York and met with her, she served me some delicious hibiscus tea. She said it was a good flavor for changes, like the ones I was having to adjust to by moving to New York.
"Well, tell me, girls, how is everything going?" Eileen asked as she poured tea into a pink and white china cup. "You all started school today, isn't that right?"
"We sure did," said Kerri.
"And how was the first day at the High School for Performing Students?" Eileen asked.
"Well, I love it so far," Kerri said. "My ad-
viser and my teachers seem pretty nice. And I like a lot of the kids in my classes."
I had to agree. Ms. Mastronardi had been great. I'd only been to history, math, and English so far, but the teachers had all seemed interesting and excited about what they were teaching. That's the kind of teacher I love. I mean, I know that I can do well even with a boring teacher, but it's a lot less fun. I wasn't quite sure about the other students yet. I'd really been focusing on getting used to new classes and figuring out my schedule.
"Yes," Cassandra was saying. "It's so great to go to a school where everyone understands that you have a professional career to think about too."
"That's for sure," said Kerri. "The extended plan is the best. Did you know that I have to take only three courses a semester? I'll end up graduating a little late, but as far as I'm concerned, it's way worth it."
I looked at Kerri. We hadn't really talked since registration that morning, and I was surprised. I knew Kerri had done okay in school before, so I couldn't understand why she'd decided to do HSPS's extended plan.
"That seems like very sound thinking to
/i a
me, Kerri," said Eileen. "And what about the rest of you? Any concerns about balancing school and work?"
"The teachers at the institute are very, how you say, simpatichi, understanding," said Pia. "They agree to give to Katerina and to me any extra too...toot..."
"Tutoring," Katerina put in quietly.
"Ah, yes, tutoring, that is it," said Pia. "Any extra tutoring that we need if we must miss classes to work."
"Wonderful," said Eileen.
"I don't think I'll have too many problems either," said Cassandra. "I'm not on the extended plan, but HSPS is going to let me skip the language requirement since I'm already fluent in Portuguese. So that means I'll be taking only four courses."
"Very good. And you, Paige?" asked Eileen. "What's your course load like?"
"I took French back at my high school in Nebraska," said Paige. "So I don't have to worry about a fifth course, either."
Eileen looked at me. "How about you, Naira? How's your schedule?"
"Actually, I'm taking five academics," I told her.
Her eyebrows went up. "Weren't they able to work out anything else for you at the school, dear?"
"It's not the school," I told her. "I want to take all those classes. Don't worry, I know I can handle it. I had a heavy schedule back in Chicago, too." I added quickly. "I really work better if I have a lot of things to do. I like being busy."
I didn't tell her that one of the academics I was taking was advanced biology, or that I'd also be taking a dance class. From the expression on Eileen's face, I got the feeling she wouldn't think it was such a good idea. And she would probably be right if she was talking about most people. But I knew myself pretty well, and I knew that as long as I kept organized I'd have no problems at all.
"Mmmmm," said Kerri, taking a sip of her tea. "This is delicious. What kind is it?"
"You like it?" asked Eileen. "It's raspberry." Her eyes twinkled. "The perfect flavor for hearing good news."
"Good news?" said Cassandra, leaning forward on the couch.
"That's right," said Eileen, passing out the last of the teacups. "Which is why I called you
SI
all here today." She looked around the room and smiled. "A couple of days ago I had a call from a reporter from Sauce magazine who was interested in doing a story on teenage models. So I told her I knew of six girls who I thought would be just perfect for her story."
"Oh, wow," said Kerri. "You mean us?"
"That's right," said Eileen. "I explained to the reporter—her name is Carolyn Winters— that you were all sharing an apartment and attending schools in New York. She thought it would make a great story. And so did her editor at Sauce. In fact, they liked it so much that they've decided to do a big photo spread as well."
"Chefantastico, that's great!" said Pia.
I thought so too. Sauce is one of my favorite magazines. It always has unusual fashion spreads and great music reviews, and there are interesting stories about teenagers.
"What will we have to do for the story?" asked Paige.
"Well, they've decided to shoot the photo spread at well-known locations around New York. Carolyn Winters will be coming to the apartment to observe you all in your daily lives," said Eileen. "And, of course, she'll
want to interview all of you."
"Interview?" Katerina repeated quietly. "But what will we be saying to her?"
Eileen smiled. "Just be yourselves, and give Ms. Winters your complete cooperation. I'm sure it will be a great story."
"Wow," said Kerri. "It's a good thing Naira's organized our room."
"Oh, no," exclaimed Cassandra. "It'll take me hours to clean up, maybe even days."
"No kidding," I said. Then Cassandra looked so upset that I added, "I'll help you, if you like."
"Oh, thank you, Naira," Cassandra said. "That would be great."
"Now, now, I'm sure everyone will have a clean room by the time Ms. Winters comes by," said Eileen. She held up the pot of raspberry tea. "Who would like some more?"
The next morning, my first class was jazz dance. In the locker room on the second floor of the school, I changed into my black spaghetti-strap leotard and purple sweat pants. Then I walked into the dance studio, which was an airy room with several large windows and a wooden floor.
The studio was already filled with students in their dance gear, lying on the floor and standing at the barre against the wall, stretching out their muscles. I noticed that some of them looked as though they'd had years of dance training. But that made sense, I realized. After all, a few of them might be professional dancers, and dance is a good background to have if you're an actor or even a model. It helps you move gracefully and improves your posture.
I took a place on the floor and began to stretch. Slowly I felt myself relaxing. One of the things I'd really liked about taking jazz dance back in Chicago was that it gave me a chance to completely forget about everything else. My mother used to say that you need to give your mind a break sometimes, and when your body's busy, your mind empties out. She had started me dancing when I was little, teaching me short routines and showing me how to feel the music.
A few moments later, a tall, wiry woman walked into the classroom. She had smooth, coffee-colored skin, and her muscles rippled as she moved. Her hair was braided into a bunch of tiny cornrows with beads and pulled
into a ponytail. She was wearing a mustard-colored, scoop-necked leotard with a short multicolored cloth tied around her waist.
"Hello, people," she said. "I'm Belinda Peters, and this is jazz dance." She clapped her hands twice. "Now, let's have everyone in the center, please."
I took a spot in the middle of the room, in the third row, behind a small blond girl in a hot pink leotard and black tights.
"All right, folks," said Ms. Peters, clapping her hands again. "Let's begin."
She went over to the stereo system on the wall and popped in a CD. A slow pulsing drumbeat filled the room, and Ms. Peters led us through a series of warm-ups, starting with our necks and shoulders and working down to our feet.
"Very nice," said Ms. Peters, as the music died down. "Now, I'd like two separate groups. Let me have the experienced dancers on the floor first, please. The rest of you can take a seat."
I joined the group of kids sitting down against the back wall. I watched as the others spread out in the center of the room. I wasn't surprised to see the blond girl who had been
in front of me among them. From the way she moved through the warm-up sequences I'd already guessed that she'd danced quite a bit before.
"All right now," said Ms. Peters, looking back at the group of us against the wall. "You folks watch closely, because you'll be doing it next."
She popped in a new CD, and an upbeat song came over the speakers. She demonstrated a series of steps and began to work through them with the group. As they went through the routine, I repeated each of the steps silently to myself, memorizing the combination.
"Okay," said Ms. Peters, clapping her hands. "Very nice. Second group, now, please."
I stood up and walked to the center of the room with the rest of the students in my group. I took a spot in the second row, between a guy with brown hair who was wearing gray sweat pants and a white T-shirt and a girl with a long braid down her back.
Ms. Peters went through the series of steps again, first half time, then up to tempo. I found I didn't really need to watch her, because I'd already been through the routine
so many times in my head when I was watching the first group. I found I was easing from one step to the next as if I'd known the routine my whole life.
Suddenly, I caught Ms. Peters's eye in the mirror. She seemed to be watching me in particular. I wondered why she'd singled me out. I didn't think I was getting any of the steps wrong.
When the class was over Ms. Peters came toward me as I was leaving the studio.
"You're new here, aren't you?" she said. I nodded. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Naira Taylor," I answered.
"Nice work today, Naira," she said, smiling.
"Thanks," I said.
"But you know you were in the wrong group," said Ms. Peters.
I looked at her. "Excuse me?"
"Didn't you hear me say I wanted the experienced dancers in the first group?" she asked.
"Sure," I told her. "But I'm not really an experienced dancer."
She raised her eyebrows. "Don't tell me you haven't had any training at all?"
"Well," I said, "my mother taught me some
stuff when I was little, then last year I took a real jazz class. That was back in Chicago, where I'm from."
"Really?" she said. "Well, your mother did a good job. Starting early to hear the rhythms can be very important. Still, with only a year of formal training, you've impressed me."
"Thanks," I said, feeling proud.
Ms. Peters looked thoughtful for a moment. "Look, Naira, from what I saw today, I'd say you have potential. Your technique needs a little cleaning up, but that's just a matter of practice. Basically, you've got it."
"You really think so?" I asked.
"Definitely," said Ms. Peters. "I'd be very pleased if you would join Dance Club."
"Dance Club?" I repeated.
"I'm the faculty adviser," she explained. "A bunch of our best dancers just graduated last year, so we really need some new members. I know you haven't had a lot of training, but I see very good things in you, and I'd be happy to work with you individually."
"Gee, Ms. Peters, that's really nice—" I began.
"Wonderful," she said, cutting me off with a smile. "Then I'll see you today after school."
"After school?" I said.
"Yes, that's when Dance Club meets. Right here, every Tuesday." She smiled at me again. "Naira, I know you'll be a very welcome addition to the club."
As I walked to the locker room I had to admit that I was pretty flattered by the whole thing. I hadn't planned on joining Dance Club, but then I hadn't really thought I was that good at dance. It was just something I enjoyed. Now that Ms. Peters had suggested it, I thought it would be good for me to do more with dancing. After all, I like to be really good at the things I do, even if they're just for fun. And the club would give me a chance to improve my dancing and to get to know some HSPS students outside of classes. Besides, it also sounded as if Ms. Peters really needed new members for the club. How had she put it? That I'd be a very welcome addition.
Well, I was certain that Dance Club would be a very welcome addition for me, too.
That night I lay on my bed, my biology textbook in front of me. I had read the same paragraph on cell structure again and again, but the information didn't seem to be sinking
in.
I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me until I yawned. Then I realized that I must be tired. After all, it had been a full day at school. Mr. Mendez, the history teacher, had assigned a big paper due next week, and Ms. Peters had given us a thorough workout in Dance Club. She'd also said something about a performance at the end of the semester.
By the time Dance Club had finished, I barely made it back to the apartment in time for dinner. And now I had the rest of my biology reading, as well as my math homework, to do. And I wanted to start outlining my
history paper as soon as possible, especially since I would be leaving school early the next afternoon for a modeling appointment. Jill Murray had arranged a go-see for me at the studio of Diana Evans, the photographer who does all the ads for the designer Jackie Jones.
Just then there was a knock on my bedroom door.
"Naira," called Paige's voice through the door. "Telephone for you."
"Okay, here I come," I said, sitting up on my bed.
The door opened, and Paige stuck her head in. "I think it's your dad."
"Thanks," I said, standing up.
I hurried down the hall, past the dining table, where Cassandra was sitting leafing through a magazine. I stepped over Kerri, who was doing pushups on the living room rug, and made my way to the telephone table by the white couch.
"Hello?" I said, picking up the receiver.
"Jewel, is that you?" Jewel is my dad's pet name for me. He says he started calling me that when I was little because I was so bright.
"Hi, Dad, how are you?" I said.
"Fine, just fine," he said. "I just got in from
work, and I thought I'd give you a call and see how you were doing."
"You just got home?" I said. My dad owns and manages a video arcade. I looked at my watch. Nine thirty, which made it eight thirty Chicago time.
"I know, I know," he said. "But a lot of the summer help is gone now, and I've got some new employees to train."
"Well, maybe you could let someone else train them," I said. "You know, so you could be home to eat dinner with Jameel, Yusef, and Kyra."
"Oh, the kids already ate," he said. "Josephine made them something."
I shook my head. My cousin Josephine was baby-sitting my brothers and sister in the afternoons now that I was away. She was a student at Northwestern University and needed to make a little money. My brothers and sister love her, but I know they'd have preferred eating with my dad.
"Yeah," he went on. "They all had spaghetti or something."
"Lasagna!" I heard Kyra's voice correct him in the background.
"Is Kyra there too?" I asked, a little con-
cerned. When I'd lived at home, I always made sure that on school nights Kyra was in her bath by eight thirty so she could be ready for bed by nine.
"She sure is," said my father. I could tell that he'd completely misunderstood why I was asking. "She's dying to say hello. Hold on
a sec."
"Hi, Naira." My sister's excited voice came over the phone lines.
"Hi, Kyra, sweetie. How are you?"
"Okay," she said. "Naira, are you still in New York City?"
I felt a little ache in my heart. I missed Kyra, and I knew she missed me, too.
"Yeah, I am." I said. "Remember, Kyra, I told you I was going to be here for a while, right? But I'm going to try to come back and visit soon. And maybe someday Dad'11 even bring you and the boys to visit me."
"Yeah, I remember," she said, sounding a little sad. Then she brightened. "Hey, Naira, is there maybe going to be a postcard tomorrow? 'Cause me and Jameel and Yusef are putting them all up on the wall near the kitchen table." She giggled. "That way we can pretend we're eating breakfast in New York."
I thought a moment. The last postcard I'd sent them was of a man walking about fifteen dogs of all different sizes and colors on a city street. I'd mailed it four days ago, two days before school started.
"Did you get the one with the dogs?" I asked.
"Yeah, that was funny," said Kyra, giggling again. "We got it yesterday. Is there going to be one tomorrow, do you think, Naira?"
My heart sunk a little. I'd been sending postcards just about every other day. But the last couple of days had been busier than usual, what with school starting and everything.
"No, I don't think so," I said to Kyra. "But I'll try to send you another one real soon, I promise. Now, why don't you let me say hi to Jameel and Yusef."
"But they're not here," she said. "They're playing ball."
"Still?" I asked, incredulous. There was this really nice courtyard in our building with a playground and a basketball court. After dinner my brothers liked to play basketball there with the other kids in the building. But I'd always made sure they were upstairs before
dark. "Kyra, let me talk to Daddy."
"I think he's in the shower now" she said. "I can hear the water."
I sighed. I was getting the feeling that things were not running very smoothly there without me.
"Okay, Kyra, listen to me," I sa^id. "Have you had your bath yet?"
"No," she answered.
"Okay, well, you can skip it tonight," I said. "But I want you to go change into your pajamas right away. And then go and knock on the bathroom door and tell Daddy that it's time for the boys to come inside and for you to go to bed, all right?"
"Okay," said Kyra.
"Now, don't forget," I said. "Do it as soon as we hang up the phone."
"Okay," said Kyra again. "But don't you forget either, Naira, okay?"
"Forget what, honey?"
"The postcard?' she said.
"Oh, right," I said. "Of course. You got it. Now, you take care, Kyra, and give Daddy and the boys big hugs for me."
"Okay, Naira," she said. "Bye-bye."
"Bye."
I hung up the telephone and let out a sigh.
Paige looked up from the book she was reading in the white armchair across from the couch. "Is everything okay, Naira?" she asked gently.
"Yeah," I said. "I guess so. It's just my dad. I'm afraid that he's at work so much that he never gets to spend any time with my little brothers and sister."
"Sounds like my father," said Cassandra from her spot at the dining room table. "He was always so busy with his business deals and his investments that sometimes I felt like he didn't even know I was there." She laughed a little. "In fact, I wonder if my parents have noticed yet that I've moved out of the apartment."
Paige shook her head. "I can't imagine having parents like that. My mom's just the opposite. At home she always wanted to know exactly where I was going and when I'd be back."
"I guess I'm lucky," said Kerri, sitting cross-legged on the rug. "My mom's always been like a good friend to me. I can talk to her about anything. It's great because she's interested in what's going on in my life,
but she doesn't interfere, either."
"I know my mom would be like that, too, if she were still around," I said, my throat tightening.
No one said anything for a moment. Then Paige cleared her throat.
"I guess your little sister must really look up to you," she said quietly.
"It's hard for her to have me gone," I said. I shook my head. "And on top of everything else, I haven't sent her and the boys a postcard in four days."
"Four days!" said Cassandra in mock horror. "Ta brincando, you must be kidding! You mean our Naira let herself get off schedule?"
"Hey," I said. "It may sound silly, but those postcards mean a lot to them. Kyra said they're putting them all up on a wall in the kitchen."
"I know, I know," said Cassandra. "I was just joking. I think it is very sweet of you to take so much time for them. Anyway, don't worry about it, Naira. I'm sure you'll have everything under control in no time at all."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," I said, thinking of the mountain of homework that was still waiting in my room.
The next day at lunchtime I walked into the cafeteria of HSPS with my tray and looked around. The room was filled with kids, sitting together at tables, talking and laughing. I wondered where I should sit.
Then I spotted Paige sitting at a table near a corner, eating her lunch and reading a book. She was wearing a cotton dress with a lace collar, and she had on a matching headband. When she first came to New York, she'd tried to look and be more sophisticated, which had been kind of funny, especially when she wore Pia's platform sandals. Then she'd almost lost her boyfriend, Jordan, because of this act. I'd been relieved when Paige realized that she was happier being herself, and so was Jordan.
I made my way through the maze of tables and put down my tray next to hers.
"Oh, hi, Naira," she said, looking up and closing her book.
"Hi," I said, and sat down. I pointed to the book in her hand. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"No, that's okay," she said, putting the book down on the table. "I was just reading this book that Jordan gave me."
I looked at the book. It had a picture of a horse on the cover, and the title was In the Kingdom of the Field. "Sounds interesting," I said.
"It is," she said, starting to peel an orange. "It's a true story about this woman who becomes a country veterinarian. That's what Jordan's thinking of doing too. After college, though, he'd have to go to veterinary school, and it's really hard to get in."
"Yeah," I said, taking a bite of my turkey sandwich. "I'm hoping to go to medical school."
"Really?" said Paige. "I didn't know you wanted to be a doctor."
I nodded. "It's what I've wanted to do ever since I can remember," I said. I laughed. "When I was really little, I used to pretend all my stuffed animals were my patients. And
then after my mother got sick with cancer, well, I knew I wanted to try and help people like her get well."
"Oh, Naira," Paige said. "That's—"
Just then there was the sound of silverware clinking against a glass. Slowly, everyone in the cafeteria quieted down.
"I guess someone's going to make an announcement," said Paige. "Hey, isn't that Chris, the guy we met the first day?"
I looked up and saw Chris Hall standing on a chair. He was wearing a rainbow-striped T-shirt and baggy overalls. He didn't have his baseball cap on, so you could see the tiny dreadlocks all over his head.
"Yeah, that's him," I said.
"Hey, can I have everyone's attention, please?" called Chris, his voice booming across the room.
I saw Cassandra and Kerri making their way toward us with their trays. Cassandra was dressed to kill, as usual, in a tight black minidress and platform shoes. Kerri waved. She had on a pink tank top and jeans. I quickly waved back.
"This'll only take a minute, folks," I heard Chris say as the voices died down. "I just want
to make sure that you all know about the new extracurricular club here at HSPS. It's called REACH, which stands for 'Responsible Efforts and Action Can Help.' Our goal is to try and do what we can to clean up this mess of a world we live in."
I leaned forward. This sounded kind of interesting.
"Now, I know you're all busy with lots of other activities and stuff," Chris went on. "But I'd really appreciate it if you took a moment to just think about joining REACH. We've got a lot of great projects planned, from recycling drives and cleaning up the environment to tutoring kids who really need our help." He paused. "I mean, hey, if we don't do it, who will?"
"Naira, isn't that your friend from the other day?" asked Kerri, putting down her tray. She and Cassandra had just arrived at our table.
"Yeah, hang on just a sec," I said. "I want to hear what he's saying."
But Chris had finished talking and was sitting down again.
"Are you thinking of joining that club, Naira?" asked Paige.
"Oooh, what club?" asked Cassandra, leaning forward.
"Weren't you listening, Cass?" asked Kerri. "It's called REACH, and it's for the environment or something."
"Oh," said Cassandra, looking disappointed. "That doesn't sound so exciting."
"It's more than just the environment," I said. "It sounds like they're going to do a lot of important projects to help people as well."
"It really does sound like a good thing. I'll think about joining too," said Paige. She looked at Kerri and Cassandra. "What about you guys?"
Cassandra wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so," she said. "I'm really not the type."
"I'd love to join," said Kerri, "but I'm really trying to keep my schedule flexible for modeling assignments and stuff."
I thought it was a pretty lame excuse; after all, Kerri was on HSPS's extended program. So that should give her plenty of free time, right?
My mother used to say that if you're in a position to help people you should, because you never know when you are going to need help yourself. If everybody volunteered for the
kind of stuff Chris was talking about, the world would be a better place. And sometimes pitching in isn't a matter of time at all. Like when I convinced my father to get a new video game, Earth Alert, for the arcade. It's a really fun game, but it teaches people about the environment, too, while they're playing. And a portion of the money that goes into the game is donated to an environmental organization.
"Well, I'm joining," I said. I stood up. "In fact, I think I'll go talk to Chris about it right now."
"Mind if I come with you?" asked Paige. "I'd like to hear about it too."
"Cool, let's go," I said. I shot Cassandra and Kerri a quick look. "I think it's great that you want to do your part to help out, Paige."
We made our way through the lunchroom to Chris's table. He was sitting with a bunch of other kids, guys and girls, who were all talking and joking together loudly. The girl sitting next to Chris was leaning against him in a familiar way. She was petite with curly brown hair and big blue eyes. There, I thought, I knew he wasn't interested in me after all. She was probably his girlfriend. Not
that I really cared—after all, I wasn't exactly looking for a boyfriend.
Chris looked up from the table and noticed Paige and me.
"Hey!" he said, giving us a huge smile. "How're you doing?"
The girl next to him glanced up at us. She looked a little annoyed.
"Naira, right?" he said. "And, don't tell me—Pam?"
"Paige," Paige corrected quietly.
"Oh, right, Paige," he said, a little sheepishly. "So, what's up with you guys?"
"Actually, we wanted to talk to you about REACH," I said.
"Oh, wow," he said. "You want to join? 'Cause we could really use you, you know." He looked excited. "Our first project is to organize a dinner for the homeless."
"That sounds like a great idea," I said.
I'd noticed that New York, like Chicago, seemed to have a lot of homeless people. Seeing them always made me feel bad, and now I'd actually have a chance to do something to help them out.
"Where's the dinner going to be?" I asked.
"I think we can get permission from the
church across the street to set it up in the basement there," said Chris. "And we can get some of the stores and restaurants in the neighborhood to donate food for it."
"That sounds good," I said, nodding. "Maybe we could also do a food drive right here at school—you know, have a day when everyone brings a can of something to school with them."
"Excellent!" said Chris, his brown eyes shining with excitement. The girl beside him hadn't said a word yet. She just kept looking from Paige to me with her eyes narrowed.
"So, when does the club meet?" asked Paige.
"On Thursdays after school," said Chris. He grinned again. "So, how about it? Are you guys in?"
I thought a moment. I already had Dance Club on Tuesdays after school. Joining REACH would mean that there would be two days a week when I would get home late. But, then again, this was really important.
"Sure," 1 answered.
"Me too," said Paige.
"Cool" said Chris. "I'll see you tomorrow after school, then."
"Okay, great," I said. "Bye."
When Paige and I returned to our table, Cassandra and Kerri were gone.
"Gee, that was kind of a fast lunch," Paige remarked.
"Yeah, I guess I made them feel kind of bad about not joining REACH," I said.
"You were a bit hard on them. But you were right, Naira," said Paige. "People should try to pitch in. Still, we're all different people. Not everyone can contribute in the same way. Who knows—maybe if Cassandra ends up having a TV show she'll focus on real issues sometimes. To tell you the truth, it wouldn't surprise me^ You don't really know her that well, Naira, and I think you underestimate her." She glanced at her watch. "Oooh, actually, I have to get going too. I'm supposed to meet with my adviser in five minutes."
"Okay," I said, sitting down again. "I'll catch you later."
I used the next ten minutes to finish my turkey sandwich and go over my appointment book. I don't know what I'd do without my appointment book. It's got a calendar section with a page for each day, pockets to store important papers, and an address book at the
back. The calendar was starting to look very foil.
I looked over the next few days. In addition to my go-see that afternoon, there was the first shoot for the Sauce article, which had been scheduled for Friday morning. I also wrote down the REACH meeting for Thursday afternoon. I was pretty sure I'd have the time free.
When I was finished, I picked up my tray and headed toward the door of the cafeteria. Suddenly I heard a voice behind me.
"Hey, Naira."
I turned around. It was Chris. He was alone.
"Hi," I said.
"Listen," he said. "It sounds to me like you've got some really good ideas for REACH. You know, the food drive and all that."
"Oh, well, thanks," I said. "I just think it's a really important cause."
"Me too," said Chris. "Sometimes it's hard to convince people to take some time out to help other people a little. Everybody's so involved with themselves. Like that group I was sitting with back there. I mean, sure, they're my friends and everything, but some-
times I think all they care about is their acting careers."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," I said, thinking of Cassandra in particular. "Are you an actor?"
He nodded. "Musical theater, actually. What about you?"
"I'm with Ford Models," I said.
"I should have guessed," said Chris, nodding again. "Hey, listen, what do you say we go talk about this food drive idea of yours a little more? Maybe we could go out for a bite or something after school."
"Sorry, but I can't," I said. "I've got a modeling appointment. But I'll be at that REACH meeting tomorrow."
"Okay, then," said Chris. "I guess I'll see you there."
"Okay," I said, turning to go. "See you."
"Naira," said Chris.
"Yeah?" I turned toward him.
"I'm really glad you decided to join REACH," he said. "I think we might really be able to make a difference."
I smiled at him.
"Me too, Chris," I said.
Later that afternoon I knocked on the door of Diana Evans's studio.
The lock made a clicking sound, then the door opened and a young man with red hair peered out. "Hi, can I help you with something?" he asked.
"I'm supposed to see Ms. Evans," I said. I adjusted my portfolio of photographs under my arm. "I'm Naira Taylor."
"Oh, sure," said the man. "Jill Murray from Ford called and said you'd be over. Come on in, Naira."
He showed me into a waiting room with a green leather couch and a round glass coffee table. In the center of the coffee table was a geometric crystal vase with an enormous, spiky orange flower in it. Along all four walls of the room were photographs of models in
chrome frames, each one with Diana Evans's signature "D-E" logo in the lower right corner. I recognized a few of the photos from ads I'd seen in magazines featuring the clothes of the designer Jackie Jones.
The redheaded man went out through a side door, and I smoothed down my purple knit minidress. Go-sees are always a little strange, because they're not like a booking, where you know you have a specific job to do. A go-see doesn't guarantee anything—it's just a chance to make a client or photographer familiar with you so that they'll consider using you in future shoots. That's why they're called go-sees, because you go see the person and kind of let them know who you are.
I try not to let go-sees get me nervous, though. The way I see it, it doesn't do any good to get all worked up about things. After all, my job at a go-see is to just try to present myself in the best way possible and then hope that the person likes what they see of me and my book.
Just then the side door opened, and the redheaded man came back.
"You can go on in and see Ms. Evans now," he said, smiling and holding the door for me.
"Thanks," I answered.
I stood up, took a deep breath, and let it out. I find that this always helps me relax. I walked through the door.
The first thing I noticed about Diana Evans's studio was how messy it was. It was surprising, especially after the neat-looking waiting room with the exotic flower and carefully framed photographs. The walls of this room were covered with photographs, drawings, clippings from magazines, and scribbled notes. Cameras, lenses, rolls of film, and more photographs were strewn on every available surface—the shelves along the walls, the tabletops, even the chairs.
Standing in the middle of it all was a woman that I knew must be Diana Evans. She was tall and thin, with a mass of dark brown curls on top of her head. She was wearing a pair of baggy black sweat pants, a gray sweat shirt, and high-top black sneakers. I noticed that one of her sneakers had a red lace and the other one had a white lace, and that the red lace had come untied.
"Hi," she said, walking toward me and extending her hand. "Naira, right? Nice to meet you."
"Hi," I said, shaking her hand and trying not to look at her untied sneaker. "Nice to meet you, too."
"Well, why don't I have a look at your book?" she said. "Jill's told me some great things about you."
I handed her my portfolio and watched in amazement as she made her way to a tattered armchair in the corner and sat down—right on top of some film and a photograph.
"Whoops," she said, smiling good-naturedly and pulling the slightly crushed photo out from under her. She shook her head. "Oh, well, that happens sometimes."
I'm sure it does, in this wreck of a place, I wanted to say. But of course I kept my mouth shut. It is not a good idea to insult the photographer on a go-see. Still, I was having trouble believing that this disorganized woman was actually the well-known photographer Diana Evans. From what I'd seen so far, I thought it was amazing that she ever got anything accomplished in this studio. But I'd seen her work, and it really was breathtaking.
"Please," she said, waving vaguely. "Sit."
I looked around. Where, exactly, did she think I was going to be able to sit? Finally, I
cleared a stack of photographs and papers off a metal folding chair nearby and sat down.
I watched as she opened my book. The first photograph was a shot of my face and shoulders. It was taken at the Supermodel of the World Contest, in the pool of the Ocean Plaza Hotel on the island of Luzia. In it, I look refreshed and happy, as if I'd just had a cool dip in a mountain lake. Really, though, I had been standing about waist-deep in a warm pool when the shot was taken. It had literally been a hundred degrees out that day, and the stylist and the makeup artist had to keep spraying my face. Somehow, though, I managed to keep a relaxed smile on my face. Now that it was over, I had to admit that the picture had turned out pretty well. In fact, it was one of my favorites.
"Mmmmm, nice," said Ms. Evans, turning the pages of my book. "This is great," she said, stopping at a close-up of me in a floppy straw hat. "Who took it?"
"Marian Colby," I told her.
She raised her eyebrows.
"He's a Chicago photographer," I explained. "That's where I'm from originally." I knew it was important to let her know that I'd
worked in New York, so I pointed to the photo on the opposite page. It was a magazine tear sheet that showed me in a red parka and white earmuffs. "That one was taken by Simone Grey for Style magazine."
The Style winter jacket shoot had been one of my first jobs in New York. Kerri, Paige, Cassandra, Pia, and Katerina had been booked for it too. Those pictures had actually been shot in August, when New York is incredibly hot and humid, but you couldn't tell at all. That's an amazing thing about photographs; they can make things look totally different from the way they really were when the photo was taken. But people who see them usually think they're seeing the real thing.
Diana Evans closed my book.
"Well, Naira," she said. "Thanks for letting me take a look at these. I don't think I have anything for you right now, but I'll be keeping you in mind. You have a very interesting look. Do you have a comp card?"
"Sure," I said. "In the front pocket of my book."
Composite cards are printed up by Ford with a model's name, height, hair and eye
color, and a couple of photographs. They come in handy for leaving with photographers and clients. That way, people have something to help them remember you after you leave. It's a little like my card system for remembering the modeling appointments I've had.
"All right, Naira," she said, taking out one of my cards and handing me my book. "Thanks again for coming by. I'll be in touch when I have something that seems right for you."
But I had my doubts. In fact, it didn't even seem likely that Diana Evans would be able to keep track of my comp card. Sure enough, as I was making my way toward the door I saw her put my card on top of a pile of papers on a chair.
Oh, well, I thought as I left the room. Maybe she'll think of me the next time she tries to sit there.
"Hey, Naira, wait up!"
It was the following afternoon, and as I turned from my locker, I saw Chris down the hall. He waved and jogged toward me through the crowd of kids.
"You're coming to the REACH meeting right now, aren't you?" he asked.
"Sure," I said. I reached into my locker for my biology textbook. I looked around. "Have you seen Paige?"
"Yeah, there she is, over there," said Chris, pointing over my head down the hall. He put two fingers in his mouth and let out a high whistle. "Hey, Paige! Over here!"
Paige's eyes searched the crowd until she saw us. Then she smiled and made her way over to where we were standing.
"Hi, Naira. Hi, Chris," she said. "Listen, I'm really glad I caught you guys. I wanted to tell you that I'm going to be a few minutes late for the meeting."
"Is everything okay?" I asked her.
"Yeah, it's just that I have to meet with my biology teacher." She wrinkled her nose unhappily. "We had a pop quiz today, and I did pretty badly. It's only the fourth day of school—I can't believe we already had a pop quiz!"
Chris nodded sympathetically. "Mrs. Mc-Kinnon is famous for them."
"She hasn't given my class any pop quizzes yet" I said.
"Don't worry," said Chris. "She will."
"You know, I'd be happy to help you out with biology anytime, Paige," I volunteered.
Paige smiled. "Thanks a lot, Naira. That would be great. Well, I guess I'll catch you guys later at the meeting. Room 208, right?"
"That's it," said Chris. He looked at his watch. "Come on, Naira, we'd better get going."
But as we started down the hall, we were stopped by someone calling Chris's name. I turned and recognized the girl with the curly brown hair that he'd been sitting with at lunch yesterday.
She was wearing a red silk shirt tied at the waist and black short-shorts with a pair of black combat boots. They were exactly the kind of shoes that would make my feet look like something out of a Frankenstein movie, but on her tiny feet they looked incredibly cute.
"Hi," she said, looking right at Chris and ignoring me completely. She put her hand on his arm and pulled him a little away. I wasn't sure if I should leave or not, so I pretended to look through my notebook.
"Listen," I heard the girl say. "The gang's
all headed over to the Silver Spoon for ice cream. How about it?"
Chris shook his head. "You know I can't. There's a REACH meeting now."
The girl shrugged. "So? You can cut out, can't you? I mean, you're the founder, or the president or something, right?"
Chris sighed. "That's exactly why I have to be there."
The girl rolled her eyes.
"Okay, fine," she said, turning away with a little flounce. "Have it your way." She walked off, tossing her head.
"Yeah, if I did have it my way, it'd probably be the first time," Chris muttered under his breath as he turned back to me.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said. "It's just that sometimes Sabrina is pretty selfish. And she's probably jealous that I'm talking to you."
"Sabrina," I said. "So, she's your girlfriend, huh?"
He shrugged. "Sort of. Hey, let's get going and you can tell me your ideas for the school food drive. Like do you think we should make it just cans, or should we let people bring boxed stuff, too?"
Chris and I walked down the hall, working out the details of the food drive. We decided that it would be best to make a list of exactly the items we could use, and then make up some posters asking people to bring in those things on the day of the food drive. We chose the following Friday as the day for the drive, the day before the dinner at the church. That way, we still had more than over a week to publicize the food drive.
When we got to Room 208, there were about ten other people there. I recognized two girls from my math class and a guy from advanced biology.
"Excellent," said Chris, surveying the room. "This is a really great turnout, guys. Thanks for coming."
I had to admit, I was kind of surprised. I would have thought that in a school the size of HSPS there'd be more people who wanted to join something like REACH. Even Dance Club had more members! But I guess that a lot of people try to avoid things that are depressing, such as homeless people or animal shelters. Maybe they don't realize that unless they try to make a difference, things are never going to change. I knew I didn't want to
spend my life avoiding things that made me uncomfortable.
"Okay, everyone, here's the scoop," said Chris. He hopped up on one of the desks. "As most of you know, the club's first project is to make and serve a dinner for the homeless in the basement of St. Anne's across the street."
"What's the dinner going to be?" asked one of the girls from my math class.
"Good question," said Chris. "Ideally, it should be something that we can make a lot of, and also that's nutritious and tastes good."
"Tall order," commented a guy with long hair and freckles.
"How about a pasta dish?" I suggested. "We could make a chunky tomato sauce with lots of healthy vegetables in it."
"Great," said Chris. "By the way, everybody, this is Naira. She came up with a great idea for holding a food drive here at school to get food donations for the dinner. So, I guess we should ask for boxes of pasta."
"I'm going to write this down," I said. I pulled my organizer date book out of my backpack and turned to the section with the pad of paper. FOOD DRIVE, I wrote. 1—PASTA.
"Okay, what else do we need?" said Chris.
"Spaghetti sauce, I guess."
"Actually, it's really easy to make your own sauce," I said. "And it tastes so much better. All we need is olive oil, tomato paste, canned tomatoes, and seasoning."
I saw Paige come in and take a seat in the back of the room.
"Sounds good," agreed Chris. "Now, I say we ask the students to bring only the non-perishables—you know, the stuff in boxes and cans, like the pasta, tomato paste, oil."
"What about the vegetables?" asked a girl with short blond hair. "Where are we going to get those from?"
"From the stores and restaurants in the neighborhood," said Chris. "Between now and next Saturday, each of us should go around to as many places as we can to get pledges for vegetables. Then on Saturday morning I'll pick up the stuff with anyone else who wants to help."
"I'll come with you, Chris," I volunteered.
"Great," he said. "And can you be in charge of the food drive, too, Naira? Since it was your idea and everything?"
"No problem," I said.
Chris beamed. "You guys," he said, looking
happily around the room. "I can tell that this is going to be a great year for REACH. And this dinner is just going to be the beginning."
That night, I sat up at the dining room table, outlining my history paper that was due the following Thursday. The apartment was quiet because everyone else had gone to bed— which was where I wanted to be too.
It had been a long day. After the REACH meeting, Paige had gone with me to my favorite card store to look for a postcard that I could send to Kyra and the boys. But the store had just closed. I was lucky to find a souvenir stand nearby that sold postcards. There really weren't any interesting cards, though, so I had to settle for one with an aerial picture of Central Park.
By the time I'd eaten dinner and done my homework that was due the next day, it was after eleven. But I knew I'd better start outlining my history paper or I'd be in big trouble next week. So there I was, hunched over the dining room table, staring at the words swimming on the page of the notebook in front of me.
Just then I heard a sound, and the hall light went on. I looked up and saw Mrs. Hill in her bathrobe.
"Naira, what are you still doing up, honey?" she asked, a concerned look on her face.
"Homework," I answered with a yawn. I waved toward the notebook.
Mrs. Hill pressed her lips together and shook her head. "It's awfully late," she said. "Can't it wait?"
"I suppose," I answered. Sighing, I closed my notebook. Then I flipped open my appointment book and pulled out the postcard of Central Park. "There is one more thing I have to do before I go to bed."
She frowned.
"It'll only take a minute," I assured her. "I've just got to send this postcard to Kyra. She's counting on me."
"All right, then, dear," she said, turning back down the hall. "But do try to get to bed soon. You know you have that shoot in the morning."
Oh, right, I said to myself. I'd nearly forgotten. Jill Murray had scheduled the first shoot for the Sauce article the following
morning. Where was it again? I opened my appointment book to check—the Central Park carousel, at eight o'clock.
I flipped over the postcard, but I was so tired I could barely think straight. Finally, I scribbled a quick note:
Dear K, J, and 7—
How are you? This is Central Park, where I'll be going for a shoot tomorrow morning. I'll write again soon. Love to Dad.
—N
I sat back and read what I'd written, forcing my eyes to stay open a bit longer. It wasn't the most interesting postcard in the world. But, I thought, stifling another yawn, it'll just have to do.
"And it's a great day out there today. Fifty-five degrees at six twenty-five, and not a cloud in the sky—"
I groaned, rolled over, and fumbled with the buttons on the clock radio, desperately trying to turn it off. How could it possibly be morning already? It seemed as though I had just gotten into bed.
Finally, I located the off button. I lay on my back and looked up at the ceiling. Or tried to look up at the ceiling, that is. My eyelids felt as if they were glued shut. All I wanted to do was roll over and fall back to sleep. I'll just lie here for one more minute, I thought.
The next thing I knew, someone was shaking my shoulder, and I could hear Kerri's voice in my ear.
"Ni, don't you think you should get up
now? The car will be here soon to take us to the shoot."
I rolled over and looked at her.
"What time is it?" I asked groggily.
"Ten after seven," she said.
I sat upright in bed. "Oh, my gosh! You mean I only have twenty minutes to get ready?"
"Sorry," she said. "I tried to wake you up earlier, but you wouldn't budge. I know that when I'm like that, it's because I really need the sleep. So I thought I'd give you a little more time." She grinned. "Actually, I kind of overslept too. It made me realize how much I count on you to always get me up on time."
I shook my head. It just wasn't like me to oversleep. I leaped out of bed and grabbed my robe. If I hurried, I'd be able to take a quick shower and get dressed before the car arrived to take us to the shoot.
"Okay, Naira!" called Will Nichols, the photographer for the Sauce shoot, from his spot between two carousel horses. We were at the carousel in Central Park. It was beautiful in the park. Some of the leaves on the trees were just starting to take on autumn colors, and
the morning sunlight filtered through them, making patterns across the ground.
It was nine o'clock, and the six of us were dressed in brightly colored T-shirts and blue jeans and perched on horses on the carousel, which was moving. We'd only been working for an hour, but already I was feeling pretty tired.
I leaned toward Will from my black and white speckled horse, trying to hear what he was saying. But I couldn't make out the rest of it above the music of the carousel.
"Excuse me?" I said.
"I said, try holding your arms up in the air," he shouted. "You know, like you're having fun."
"Oh, okay." I gripped the carousel horse beneath me with my legs, let go of the reins, and raised my hands above my head. "Like this?"
"Right," said Will, snapping away with his camera. "Good."
I struggled to keep my arms in the air and look cheerful, which wasn't easy, since my hands felt like hundred-pound weights.
After a few moments, Will paused.
"Okay,   let's   stop   everything   a   minute
for touch-ups, please!" he called.
The music faded away. As soon as the carousel came to a stop, Francine, the makeup artist, and Carl, the stylist, made their way through the horses toward us.
Francine brushed some blush onto Pia's cheeks. Pia was sitting in front of me on a caramel-colored horse.
"Straighten her hair out a little, too, if you can," Will called. "And get some powder on Kerri's nose." He looked around. "Now, Paige."
"Yes?" Paige said meekly from her black horse behind me.
"Let me ask you something," said Will. "Are you by any chance a horseback rider?"
"Um, sure," she answered. "I ride all the time. I mean, I used to, back in Nebraska."
"All right, then," said Will. "What I need you to do is to forget everything you know about horses right now."
Paige looked confused. "Excuse me?"
"What I mean is, don't try to sit on this horse as though you're actually horseback riding," Will explained. "We want you to look relaxed. Don't worry, there's no way this horse is going to get out of control.
Lean forward a bit if you can."
"Urn, okay," said Paige, adjusting her position.
"Much better," said Will.
I shook my head. Who would have guessed that the one person here who actually knew how to ride a horse would end up having to change what she was doing?
"All right, then," said Will, turning to the rest of us. "Everybody ready?"
"You may bet on it!" I heard Katerina say from her horse behind mine.
I turned around to look at her. That was sort of a strange thing for Katerina to say, I thought. Her English had always been kind of formal before.
Her face reddened. "Is this not an American expression?" she asked.
"Uh, yeah, I guess," I said. I mean, it was close. And I didn't want to hurt her feelings.
"Okay, then, let's go!" called Will.
As the ride started up again, I couldn't help thinking of my bed back in my room. I'm never much good on a morning shoot unless I've had a full eight hours of sleep. I'd felt better after my shower this morning, but my late night was catching up with me now.
Don't get me wrong—I wasn't falling off the carousel horse or anything. But I knew I wasn't doing my best.
Fortunately, the shoot didn't go on too much longer. In fact, we were finished in time for me to make my 11:10 advanced biology class. Unfortunately, though, today was the day that Mrs. McKinnon decided to spring her first pop quiz on us. Actually, I'd done today's reading in advance, two days ago. I'd meant to go over it again last night. But then with the REACH meeting, my regular homework, my history outline, and even the postcard, I just hadn't gotten around to it.
I think I did all right on the quiz anyway, but it bugged me to know that I could have done even better if I'd been prepared. And science is usually pretty easy for me.
All of a sudden I was starting to feel that nothing was easy anymore.
"Ms. Winters is here," Pia shouted the next afternoon, which was Saturday.
Earlier in the morning there had been a shoot for the Sauce article by the fountain in front of Lincoln Center, a giant performing arts center near midtown Manhattan. The
shoot had gone well, partly because I'd made sure to get to bed early the night before.
All I'd done last night was help Cassandra and Paige clean up their room. Of course, that meant putting off my history outline again. In fact, I hadn't even started any of my homework yet. Back in Chicago, I'd always tried to get my homework done on Friday night so I didn't have to think about it all weekend. But now I'd have to spend the rest of the weekend catching up.
When Pia called out, Paige and I were in the living room. I was reading over my biology notes, and Paige was reading a book for English. We put away our work and stood up as Pia led Ms. Winters into the room.
Ms. Winters was young, with shiny black hair cut in a chin-length bob. She had on bright red lipstick and black-rimmed glasses. She wore a great men's-style suit—gray pinstriped pants with cuffs, a matching jacket with a white handkerchief in the pocket, and a white button-down shirt.
After Paige and I had introduced ourselves, she told us with a wide smile, "Call me Carolyn."
"Oh, and I did not say my name to you at
all," said Pia. "I am Pia Giovanni. Let me tell you that Sauce is a wonderful magazine. Ah, and here is my roommate, Katerina, coming down the hall."
Katerina shook Carolyn's hand. "I am pleased to meet you," she said politely, nodding her head.
Just then Kerri burst in through the front door. "Am I late?" she asked. "I just went to the health club for a quick aerobics class, and it went on a bit longer than I expected."
"Don't worry, I just got here myself," Carolyn said to Kerri.
"I'm Kerri Gold," Kerri said. "Are you Ms. Winters? I really am sorry I'm late."
"Call me Carolyn," she said.
"You're not the last one," I told Kerri. "Where's Cassandra?"
"Here I am," Cassandra called, coming out of her bedroom. She was blowing on her fingers, which she'd polished a shiny red.
Mrs. Hill came out of the kitchen. "What's all this commotion?" she asked. Then she saw Carolyn.
"Oh, you must be Carolyn Winters, the Sauce reporter," Mrs. Hill said. "I'd almost
forgotten you were coming! I'm Mrs. Hill, the girls' house mother."
"Carolyn, please, and it's nice to meet you, Mrs. Hill," said Carolyn, shaking Mrs. Hill's outstretched hand. "I may have a few questions for you as well as the girls, if you don't mind, that is."
"That sounds fine to me," Mrs. Hill said. "Now, why don't you all give Carolyn a tour of the apartment while I get together a little snack for us all?"
After showing Carolyn Winters around, we all settled in the living room for the interview. Mrs. Hill served tall glasses of iced tea and a plate of oatmeal cookies. Then Carolyn pulled out a small notepad.
"All right, first things first," she said. "Why don't I make sure I have all of your names correct."
There was a moment of silence. Cassandra was the first one to speak up.
"Cassandra Contiago. That's C-O-N-T-I-A-G-O," she said, leaning forward on the white couch. She crossed her legs and straightened her red minidress. "It's a Brazilian name. I'm from Rio, you know. I did a lot of
modeling down there before I came to New York. In fact, I had my very own TV show, Qual o lance? We covered absolutely everything—fashion, music, movies, celebrities, trends..."
"Really," said Carolyn, scribbling on her pad. "How interesting—"
"Oh, yes," said Cassandra, cutting her off. "It was great. Actually, I'm something of a celebrity myself down there. The show had quite a following, you know."
"Okay, great. Thanks, Cassandra," said Carolyn, putting down her pen. Cassandra looked a little disappointed. "Now, what about the rest of you?" Carolyn turned to Katerina, who was wearing a flowing blue-and-white flowered skirt and a scoop-necked blue shirt that showed off her incredible posture. "Why don't you tell me your whole name again and where you're from?"
"Katerina Doeskev, D-O-E-S-K-E-V," she answered, lifting her chin slightly. "I am from Moscow."
"Oh, Russia, how interesting," said Carolyn, writing. "And is this your first time in the United States, Katerina?"
Katerina nodded. "Da, yes, it is the first
time. But I like it here very much in America. I am seeing now that all things American are much better than in Russia."
I looked at her in surprise. I'd always assumed that Katerina was probably a little homesick. After all, she was living in a foreign country where all the ways and customs must be completely different from what she was used to.
"You don't miss Russia at all?" asked Carolyn.
Katerina shook her head from side to side. "Way no!" she said emphatically.
We all looked at her, and her cheeks turned a little pink. I smiled to myself. I realized that what she had probably meant to say was "No way."
Carolyn turned to Paige. "What about you? Do you miss home? And tell me your name again?"
"I'm Paige Sanders, and well..." Paige paused, looking a little nervous. "I do miss home" she admitted. "I mean, I really like it here in New York, and I love modeling, but I think about my family and all my friends back in Nebraska a lot."
"Me  too,"   I  volunteered.   Paige  looked
relieved. "My name's Naira Taylor, and my family's in Chicago," I went on. "Sometimes I can't believe how far away that seems."
"Yeah, but you're so good about keeping in touch with them, Ni," Kerri put in. "Naira's sent her little brothers and sister about a million postcards," she explained to Carolyn.
"That's so sweet that you take the time to do that," said Carolyn.
"I know it means a lot to them," I said. I paused. "My mom's not around—she died when I was nine—so I kind of ended up being more like a mother than a sister to them."
Carolyn nodded. "That's an awful lot of responsibility for a young girl to take on," she said. "It must have been quite a burden for you."
I shrugged. I'd never really thought of it that way before.
"Certamente, of course I also think often of my family in Italy," said Pia. "But there is so much here in America that I am discovering. Like the store I found only yesterday, near the institute. It sells many different items, but everything in the store is the price of only one dollar. Look!" She held up her feet. Her white high-tops were laced with several fuzzy red
pipe cleaners instead of laces. "I have bought an entire package of these red things for only one dollar."
"Oh, what a cute idea," said Carolyn, looking at the laces. "You're Pia Giovanna?"
"Giovanni," said Pia, "with an i."
"Pia's got tons of great ideas when it comes to fashion," Paige said a little wistfully.
"Yeah," I agreed. "She always looks totally put together."
"Alora, well, I hope someday to become a designer," explained Pia.
"Oh, really?" said Carolyn, writing on her pad. "How about the rest of you? Any of you have ambitions beyond modeling?"
"I'd really like to have my own television show here in the United States," said Cassandra.
"I used to want to be a competitive swimmer," said Kerri. "But now I'm really into modeling."
"Sempre, always Kerri is exercising," said Pia. "You saw her just come back from the gym. If she does not go there every day she makes the apartment her gym."
"Yeah," said Cassandra. "It makes me tired just watching her."
"It's really important to stay in shape if you want to model," said Kerri. "Besides, exercise can be relaxing in a particular way."
"Really exhausting, you mean," said Cassandra.
I opened my mouth to disagree when Carolyn interrupted.
"Just a sec, let me catch up," she said, writing furiously. She turned to Kerri. "You're Kerri Gold, right?"
Kerri nodded, and Carolyn wrote a little more while we waited.
"Okay, where were we?" she asked when she'd finished writing. "I think you were about to say something, Naira."
"Yeah," I answered. "I just wanted to say that I agree with Kerri about exercise being relaxing. I take a jazz dance class at school, and for me it's a nice break from academics."
"You're in Dance Club, too, aren't you, Naira?" said Paige.
I nodded.
"Are you thinking of a second career in dance, Naira?" asked Carolyn.
"Oh, no," I said. "I'd really like to be a doctor. I want to do something that matters,
you know, something that makes a difference in people's lives."
"Yeah, Naira's really into that volunteer stuff," said Cassandra. "She and Paige joined some club at school."
"It's called REACH," said Paige. She turned to me. "What does it stand for again?"
'"Responsible Efforts and Action Can Help,'" I recited. "It's a sort of volunteer group—for different worthy causes. We're giving a dinner for the homeless at a church next weekend."
"Really," said Carolyn, writing on her pad.
Twenty minutes later, the interview was over. Carolyn had written down a bunch of information about our modeling careers, families, schools, and personal lives. Then she'd asked Mrs. Hill about the house rules, such as signing in long-distance phone calls and always letting her know where we are.
"Thanks, everybody," Carolyn said as she stood up to go. "You've given me some wonderful insights into the world of modeling. I'm certain this is going to be a very interesting article for the magazine."
Everyone said good-bye, and Pia and Paige
helped Mrs. Hill clear away the iced-tea glasses. Katerina went back to her room, and Cassandra and Kerri hurried off to go shopping. I planned to head straight to my room and start my homework, but first I walked Carolyn to the door.
As I was closing the door behind her, she turned back to me.
"Naira?"
I opened the door again. "Yes?" I asked. "Did you forget something?"
"No," she answered. "I just want you to know that I'm very impressed by all the activities you're involved in. And by the way that you seem to be able to manage them all so well. I think you'll be a wonderful example for our young readers."
"Oh, well, thanks," I said. I'd never really thought of myself that way before.
Carolyn shook her head. "It's pretty incredible—modeling, keeping in touch with your family, going to school, dancing, volunteering..." She sighed. "Actually, I wonder how you keep up with it all."
I shrugged. "I guess I'm just really organized."
Carolyn smiled. "Well, it is wonderful. And
whatever you end up doing, I wish you a lot of luck."
"Thanks," I said.
Then Carolyn waved and walked down the hall.
As Iclosed the door behind her, her words came back to me: "I wonder how you keep up with it all." I realized I was beginning to wonder the exact same thing.
Ill
I  heard a voice behind me.  "Well,  hello, Naira."
I looked up from my locker and saw Ms. Mastronardi standing in the hall.
"Hi," I said, pulling my red leotard and black tights out of my bag. It was Monday morning, and I was just about to head to the dressing room to get ready for jazz dance, my last class before lunch.
"How's everything going?" Ms. Mastronardi asked. "Are you coming along all right with your busy schedule?"
"Oh, um, I'm doing okay, I guess," I said, tucking my dance clothes under one arm. "I'm sorry I haven't been by your office. I've had a lot of stuff to do."
"That's   fine,   Naira,"  she  said.   "Just  as long as you  remember that I'm there for
you anytime you need me."
"I'll remember, Ms. Mastronardi," I said. "Thanks." I hurried off toward the dressing room, hoping that I wouldn't be late.
"All right, people. Let's do it!" said Ms. Peters above the music. I'd gotten to the dance studio just as Ms. Peters had started the warm-up routine.
"And-a-one, and-a-two, and-a-one-two-t/zree-four," Ms. Peters called, tapping her hands against her thighs in time to the beat.
The class went through the step, a tap with the toe, followed by two thrusts with the right hip and a lunge.
Ms. Peters shook her head. "No, that's not it. You've got to move your hip on the three. Naira, you've got it. Everyone, watch Naira for a moment, please."
I looked around in surprise. Was I really the only one who had gotten the step right? It hadn't seemed that hard to me. In fact, I hadn't even really been counting, just sort of following the music.
"Go on, Naira," said Ms. Peters. "Demonstrate the step for the class, please."
I took a deep breath and let it out. Then I
listened for the beat of the music. Glancing at myself once quickly in the mirror at the front of the room, I began. Tap with the toe, two thrusts, and lunge.
"Perfect." Ms. Peters beamed. "Now, let's all try it one more time. From the top."
"But, Ms. Peters," said a tall girl in a blue tie-dyed leotard. "Class is over now."
Ms. Peters looked at her watch and made a slightly annoyed face.
"So it is," she said. She clapped her hands. "All right, people, see you tomorrow."
In the dressing room, I changed into my red jeans and striped T-shirt again. Then I took my hair out of the ponytail I'd put it in for the class. I was starved!
As I walked out into the hall, the small blond girl I'd noticed last week came toward me. She was still in her sleeveless black unitard and fuzzy pink leg warmers with a gray sweat shirt tied around her waist. Her blond hair was pulled up in a bun on the top of her head.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Sara. You're in Dance Club with me, right?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'm Naira Taylor."
"You were really good today," Sara said.
"Thanks," I answered.
"Hey, listen, do you think maybe you could show me that step one more time?" she asked. "You know, the one we were just doing?"
I looked at her in surprise. I thought Sara was one of the best dancers in the class. It would have made much more sense if I'd been asking her for help.
She must have read my expression because she grinned. I guess she didn't smile often, at least not in class, because I hadn't realized she wore braces on her teeth. She'd always looked so mature and serious to me. The braces made her seem more like an average teenager, which of course she wasn't.
"Most of my training is in ballet," she explained. "The rhythms are really different. Also, ballet's a lot more rigid than jazz, and there aren't any hip movements, so sometimes I have a little trouble with this kind of jazz step."
"Oh," I said. "I see what you mean. Well, sure, I'll show you the step, if you really want me to."
"Of course I do," said Sara, "or I wouldn't have asked."
"Uh, where should I show you?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" she said. "We don't have to go anywhere." Then she laughed at my expression. "Just show me right here!"
I looked around the crowded hall.
"In the hall?" I asked. I could hardly believe it. At Guilford Academy we couldn't even hang out in the halls, much less dance in them.
"Oh, come on," Sara said. She untied her sweat shirt, threw it into a corner, and made a little space for us to work in. I tossed my backpack on top of her sweat shirt.
"All right, people," I said, imitating Ms. Peters. "Let's go!"
As I moved slowly through each part of the step, Sara stood behind me, following along. Amazingly enough, no one really paid any attention to us. Students at HSPS were obviously used to seeing this kind of thing in the halls.
"Okay," said Sara, nodding, after we had gone through the step together a few times. "I think I've got it. Thanks a lot, Naira."
"Sure, no problem," I said, reaching for my backpack.
Just then I heard Ms. Peters's voice behind me.
"Very nice, girls," she said, walking toward us. "You two move very well together. In fact, this gives me an idea."
"Really?" said Sara. "What do you mean?"
"I think you two should perform a piece together at the showcase," said Ms. Peters.
"The showcase?" I echoed.
"Yes," she said. "The performance I was talking about, the one the Dance Club is putting on at the end of the semester."
"Oh, wow," said Sara, looking excited. "That's a great idea. Don't you think so, Naira?"
"Yeah," I said. I was totally flattered that Ms. Peters thought I was good enough to be in a piece with Sara. "Sounds like fun."
"Okay, then, it's settled," said Ms. Peters happily. "How about working on it today?"
"Today?" I said. "But the Dance Club doesn't meet until tomorrow."
"I know, but I'm going to need extra rehearsals with you two if we're going to do this," explained Ms. Peters.
Sara looked at me, her eyes shining and braces flashing. "You can make it, can't you, Naira?"
I thought a moment. The final shoot for
the Sauce article had been scheduled for later that evening. I had planned on going home right after school so I could work some more on my history paper. I also had a book to read by next week for English class, and I wanted to get started on it. And I was going to try to get another postcard off to Kyra and the boys. Not to mention, I was also dying to get a little rest! But looking at Sara and Ms, Peters, I could see that it was important to both of them that I be there.
"Okay," I said, nodding. "No problem. See you after school."
At the end of the lunch period I sat in the cafeteria, spooning the last of the banana yogurt into my mouth. I was going over my file card system for modeling assignments. I'd been so busy that I hadn't kept up with it. As I finished my lunch, I entered information on file cards for my go-see with Diana Evans and the two Sauce shoots with Will Nichols.
As I was filing the cards away in the box, Chris sat down across from me. I looked around, wondering where Sabrina was, but she didn't seem to be anywhere in sight.
"Hey," said Chris, looking at my tray. "Don't tell me you're not having any of the HSPS cafeteria's world-famous goulash!"
I grimaced, thinking of the steaming pile of grayish mush I had seen in the serving area.
"That's okay. I think I'll pass this time," I said.
He shook his head. "You know, you're not really initiated as an official HSPS student until you take the goulash test, Naira."
"The goulash test?" I said.
"Yeah," he cracked. "You take a big bite, and if you're still alive five minutes later, you're in."
"If that's what it takes, J think I'd rather stay out" I said.
"Wise choice," said Chris, grinning. He looked down at my file box on the table. "What's this, more shopping lists for the food drive?"
I shook my head. "It's a system for keeping track of my appointments."
"Oh," said Chris, nodding. "Speaking of the food drive, we should probably start making those posters soon. After all, Friday's
the day people are supposed to bring in their cans and stuff."
"Oh, my gosh, that's right," I said. I couldn't believe it. The food drive was only four days away now, and the dinner at the church was the day after that. Somehow, time was flying by.
"What do you say we get together after school today and work on them?" suggested Chris.
"Okay—" I started to say. But then I remembered that I had promised Ms. Peters and Sara that I would meet with them after school. "Actually, I can't," I told Chris. "I have a dance rehearsal."
"Are you a dancer?" asked Chris, looking confused. "I thought you said you were a model."
"I am. I mean, no, I'm not a dancer," I said. "I like to dance, though, and Ms. Peters asked me to join Dance Club. First she said she was looking for new people, since a lot of the dancers graduated last year, and now she wants to put me in a special piece with another girl. I don't know exactly how I'm going to find the time to practice, but I'm
really flattered that she asked. I've just got to do it." I was starting to feel a little panicky.
"Chill out, Naira, you'll be okay," said Chris. "Let's see. How about I go around with a couple of the other kids from REACH and try to get pledges from some stores and restaurants while you have your rehearsal. I'll pick up a pizza for us too. Afterward, you can meet us in the art studio and we'll do the posters. Now how does that sound?"
I thought a moment. Wasn't there something else I was supposed to do later? Why couldn't I seem to remember what it was?
"Hang on a minute. Let me just check something," I said to Chris.
I reached into my bag for my appointment book, and flipped it open. Of course, that was it—the Sauce shoot was scheduled for seven thirty at the Empire State Building. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten it.
Actually, I realized, I would probably have just enough time to meet with Ms. Peters and Sara and paint posters with Chris before the shoot. Just the thought of all these commitments made me feel exhausted, but I'd agreed to go to the dance rehearsal. I also felt
that I couldn't really say no to Chris, either, especially because the food drive had been my idea. Besides, if Chris was going to pick up a pizza for us, I wouldn't have to stop home for dinner. I'd just have to call Mrs. Hill and let her know that I was working late at school.
"Okay," I said to Chris. "No problem—I'll be there."
Later, as Chris and I were painting posters in the art studio, I suddenly felt this strange ache in the back of my neck.
"Ugh," I said, sitting back from the poster I had been working on. I put down my paintbrush and rolled my head around a little, the way Ms. Peters had shown us in jazz warm-up.
Chris looked at me from across the table.
"You okay, Naira?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, sighing. But the ache was still there. "I guess I might have pulled something this afternoon at rehearsal."
"Maybe we should take a break and eat that pizza now," said Chris. He put down his paintbrush and picked up the poster he'd been working on. "What d'you think?"
I looked at the poster. Big orange letters
across the top said: HERE IT IS—A CHANCE FOR YOU TO BE A GOOD PERSON! Underneath, in smaller green letters, were the details of the food drive.
"Nice," I said, trying to smile. But as I spoke I could feel the ache in my neck creeping up the back of my head and down the back of my spine.
"Wow, you do need a slice of pizza" said Chris. He walked over to a flat cardboard box on a nearby table and flipped it open. "Mmmm, still pretty hot. Plain cheese, or pepperoni?"
"Um, pepperoni, I guess," I said.
"Excellent choice," said Chris, smiling. "Actually, if I'd known you like it, I would have gotten the whole pizza with pepperoni."
He handed me a slice of pizza and a bottle of cranberry sparkling water.
"Mmmm," I said, taking a bite. Pizza in New York is really the best pizza. I try not to eat it too often, though, because it can be kind of greasy. Greasy food isn't good for your skin, but it makes a great treat to have occasionally. Right now it really hit the spot. In fact, I could feel my headache fading a bit.
"So, Naira, where did you go to school before this?" asked Chris, taking a seat on one of the tables and biting his pizza.
I took a sip of my sparkling water. "In Chicago," I said. "That's where I'm from. My family still lives there."
Chris raised his eyebrows. "You mean you came out here to New York by yourself?"
"Actually, Ford Models brought me out," I explained. "They set me up in an apartment with a chaperon and five other Ford models."
"Hey, there's a girl in my voice training class who's a model," said Chris. "Maybe you know her. Her name's Cassandra."
"Yeah, I know her," I said. "She's one of my roommates."
Chris laughed. "That girl's really unbelievable—" He stopped a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't talk about your friend like that."
"It's okay," I said. "I mean, we live together, and I guess we get along all right. But we're not best friends or anything. Sometimes she surprises me by doing something really sweet. But most of the time she's a bit self-centered."
"Yeah, I can see what you mean," said Chris. "She obviously thinks she has a really
good voice, because she's always singing about twice as loud as everyone else."
"That's Cassandra," I said, laughing. "Actually, it's probably not just because she thinks she has a great voice. Cassandra also really loves doing things with groups of people. She knows how to enjoy herself no matter what she's doing."
"Well, that makes her sound a little better," Chris said.
Then I realized something about Cassandra. Maybe Paige had been trying to tell me before. "You know, Chris, I bet Cassandra's always looking for attention because her parents never gave her any. She's always talking about how she doesn't think they noticed when she moved out."
Chris looked thoughtful. "You may have something there, Naira. Or should I say Dr. Taylor?"
I laughed. "Still, I tried to get Cassandra to join REACH, but she's not tuned in to the idea of taking extra time to help someone else."
"Yeah," said Chris quietly. "There are a lot of people like that."
Somehow, I got a strong feeling that he was
thinking of Sabrina. Things didn't seem too good between them. But I didn't want to ask him about it. I felt that Chris and I were getting to be pretty good friends, so I didn't want to push him. My mother always used to say: "You can't make a flower bloom before its time."
"Come on," I said, popping the last bit of pizza crust into my mouth. "Let's get back to work on these posters. Maybe we can come up with one that'll make even the most apathetic person in this school remember to bring a donation."
"Naira, you're late!" chided Will Nichols as I jumped out of a taxi in front of the Empire State Building later that evening. Sauce had decided to use the same photographer, stylist, and makeup artist for all three shoots, so Francine and Carl were there, too, along with my five roommates.
"I know, I know, and I'm really sorry," I said, hurrying over to where he and the others were standing by the side of the building.
"Wow," said Kerri to me under her breath. "Was he ever fuming, Ni."
"Yeah," said Cassandra. "It's a good thing
you got here. I thought he was about to explode."
"I came as fast as I could, but there was traffic on the way," I said, feeling my headache start to come back.
"All right, everyone, let's go inside," said Will, leading us in through the entrance of the building.
To get to the observation deck of the Empire State Building, where the shoot was going to take place, we had to ride up two different elevators to the 86th floor. The elevators went really fast, and going up that high made my ears pop, just as they do in an airplane. As we climbed higher and higher I could feel the pressure building up in my head. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples.
"What's the matter, Naira?" asked Paige quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so," I answered. "It's just that my head kind of hurts."
We went outside on the observation deck, and everyone took a second to look around. Even with my head hurting, I had to admire the incredible view. The sun was low in the
sky, and the entire city was laid out below us. Central Park, where we had been the other day for the carousel shoot, looked like nothing more than a green doormat.
The next thing I noticed was the weather. It must have been at least ten degrees cooler up there than it had been downstairs. And the wind was pretty strong, too. I guess it was because we were so high up. I shivered a little and felt goose bumps pop out on my arms.
"Ah, che fantastico, this is wonderful!" said Pia, leaning up against the fence and looking at the view.
"Totally awful!" said Katerina, gazing around breathlessly.
I looked at her.
"Oh," she said, a little sheepishly. "Perhaps I mean—totally awesome?"
I smiled. It was a funny way for her to have said it, but now that I knew what Katerina meant, I had to agree. From up here, the buildings and cars were almost like toys. The sun was getting lower in the sky, the lights of the city were just starting to twinkle, and everything looked amazing. If only it weren't so chilly, I thought, wrapping my arms
around myself. My lavender sweat shirt didn't seem to be doing anything at all to keep me warm.
"Hey," said Kerri, pointing to a tall white apartment building nearby. "Isn't that where we live?"
"Actually, our building is north and east of here," I told her. "That way's south."
"Oh," said Kerri, looking a little embarrassed.
"It's funny to think that Nebraska's somewhere way out there," said Paige, gazing out to the west.
"Oooh, look!" said Cassandra, hurrying over to a row of coin-operated binoculars mounted near the fence. "I bet we can see right into people's apartments with these!"
"All right, everyone, let's get started right away," said Will Nichols. "There's a place back behind the gift shop that we're going to use as a makeup and dressing room. Let's see if we can do this before we lose all of our light."
I felt a pang of guilt. I knew how important it is to photographers to have just the right light, and I also knew that I was the one who'd kept everyone else waiting. Being late
for a shoot is a very unprofessional thing for a model to do.
We all followed Carl, the stylist, who was carrying several garment bags, and Francine, the makeup artist, to the area behind the gift shop. The room we were using looked like some sort of storage room for souvenirs for the gift shop. There were several boxes stacked against the walls labeled KEY CHAINS, PAPERWEIGHTS, and POSTCARDS. I made a mental note to try to remember to stop in the shop at some point and see if there were any interesting postcards to send to Kyra, Jameel, and Yusef.
After Francine had done everyone's hair and makeup, Carl unpacked the clothes we were supposed to wear. This time, we were all going to be dressed in suits made up of miniskirts and matching cropped jackets with black trim and gold buttons. They were plaids, each one made up of two intense colors. Carl called the colors "jewel tones," which made me think of my father's nickname for me. Apparently Will thought colors like that would look good against the sky at sunset. As Carl unpacked the suits, I noticed
one that was deep purple and turquoise. That was the one I really wanted to wear, but Carl ended up giving it to Pia.
Having someone else choose your clothes is another one of those funny things about modeling. But the way I see it, there's usually a pretty good chance that the stylist will pick something for you to wear that really suits you—after all, dressing people is what stylists do for a living. I never would have picked the coral and canary-yellow suit I ended up wearing, but once I had it on I actually liked it a lot. And it looked good on me, too.
Once we were all dressed, I could see that Carl had definitely done a good job. Cassandra looked right at home in her ruby-red and orange suit. Katerina's sapphire and pink one picked up the color of her deep blue eyes. Kerri's eyes are green, so it wasn't too much of a surprise to see her in deep emerald and magenta, and the turquoise and lime-green suit Carl picked for Paige looked great against her red hair.
Finally we were ready. We went outside, where Will was setting up his tripod and camera. The Empire State Building was still open to tourists, but the western part of the
observation deck, where the sun was setting, had been roped off for the shoot. A crowd of people who had come up to see the view were already gathered behind the rope, watching Will set up.
I think it's funny the way photo shoots are always sure to draw a crowd. I've been on a lot of shoots in public places—parks, malls, beaches, city streets—and whenever anyone else is around, they always want to watch the shoot. There's something about a camera that attracts a crowd. Or maybe it's something about a model. Still, you wouldn't think it would be all that interesting just to watch some model's picture being taken.
But maybe I feel that way because I've been in the business so long. I guess it must be kind of neat for people who don't get to see that kind of thing every day. And there is something interesting about watching the stylists and the makeup artists transform the models into whatever image the photographer's looking for. Sometimes the models hardly even look like themselves at the end. I still find that fascinating myself.
"Okay," said Will, looking up from his camera. "Let's get started."
For the first shots, he had the six of us cluster around a couple of the coin-operated binoculars, pretending to peek through them.
"This is no fun," muttered Cassandra, trying in vain to see through the lenses. "I can't see a thing. Does anybody have any change?"
Next, Will shot some individual profiles of us looking through the railings at the view. As I posed for my shots, I had to admit I was beginning to get pretty tired. And I had a funny feeling in the back of my throat. Maybe it had been a mistake to both go to the Dance Club rehearsal and paint posters with Chris before this shoot. But I didn't really see how I could have done anything differently. After all, if you say you're going to do something, you should do it. No one would get anything done if people flaked out all the time.
Next, Will lined the six of us up right in front of the western fence, by a small bench. He placed me between Pia and Paige. I looked at the sky, wondering how much more light we had. I knew it wasn't really right of me, but I couldn't help wishing the shoot would end soon. I was starting to feel really cold and
pretty tired, too. In fact, it was all I could do to keep standing.
"Okay, let's see," said Will, peering through his camera at us. "Cassandra, turn a little to your left and sort of grab onto the fence with your left hand."
Cassandra adjusted her position.
"And, Kerri, can you lean in a little toward Pia, as if you're telling her something? Yes, that's it. And Pia, you try and look surprised at what she's whispering. Good. Now, Katerina, let's see. Do you think you could step up onto that bench and sort of bend down a little?"
"Not problem!" said Katerina, hopping easily onto the bench.
I shook my head. Maybe I was so tired I wasn't hearing correctly.
"What did she just say?" I whispered to Paige.
"I think she meant 'no problem,'" Paige whispered back. "She's got this new idea that to fit in here she has to learn a lot of American slang expressions, so she's been watching a lot of TV and reading comic books." She looked over at Katerina with a little smile. "Trouble is, she doesn't always get
them right." She shook her head, but I could tell that she thought it was kind of cute.
"Oh," I said, nodding. It was interesting that Katerina was worried about fitting in— especially since she'd been a little on the distant side when she first came to New York.
"All right, now, Paige and Naira," Will directed. "I'd like each of you to put an arm around the other's shoulders, and kind of lean into each other. That's much better."
"It sure is," I said, shivering a little and leaning up against Paige. "Gosh, I'm freezing."
Paige looked at me. "You are?"
"You mean you're not?" I asked, surprised. I had assumed everyone was as cold as I was.
"Well, sure, I guess it is a little cool," said Paige. "But—"
"Okay, let's stop the talking and see those six great smiles, please," Will cut in. "Remember, you're all having a great time together up here."
I took a deep breath in, let it out, and smiled. Or, at least, I thought I was smiling.
"Naira," said Will, looking up from his camera. "Try to look happy. Okay, here we go-But as Will snapped away, I could feel my
head pounding. I did my best to keep smiling as the camera clicked away. By the time Will finished the roll, my neck was really beginning to ache again. And on top of that, I could feel a sharp pain in the right side of my throat every time I swallowed.
Paige turned to me with a concerned look on her face as Will was reloading the camera. "Naira, are you sure you're okay? You're really shivering."
"I guess maybe I don't feel so great," I admitted, feeling my knees start to shake a little.
Pia looked at me too. "Si, Naira, you do not look very good to me."
Just then Francine walked over to touch up my makeup.
"Naira, you're a little shiny on the forehead," she said. She pulled out one of the tiny blotting cloths she used to soak up oil and perspiration. "And you could really use some more color in your cheeks, too."
But somehow Francine's voice sounded funny to me, almost as if it were muffled, or far away. And as she reached toward me with the blotting cloth, she began to look kind of fuzzy, too, as though she were going out of focus.
Francine leaned forward and touched the blotting cloth to my forehead.
"Wow!" she said. "Naira, you're burning up!"
No, I wanted to say, I'm not hot at all. I'm cold, terribly cold. And tired, so tired. And my head hurts too. But I couldn't say any of it. In fact, suddenly I couldn't say anything at all. And the next thing I knew, everything went black, and my legs were collapsing beneath me.
All I could think was, I have to get up. I have to get up right away. I have way too many things to do to be lying here like this. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to make my body move the way I wanted it to. It was as if my head weighed a hundred pounds. I couldn't even open my eyes. All I seemed to be able to do was lie under the covers and shake. It was strange, though. I was shivering like crazy, but somehow I felt that I was burning up at the same time.
I could feel the insides of my eyelids stinging, and a pain in my throat every time I tried to swallow. My head was throbbing so hard I could barely think. Still, I kept thinking that I should be getting out of bed, that there were important things I was supposed to be doing. But it didn't make any difference.
I couldn't seem to move at all.
Then I felt something cool on my hot forehead. I barely managed to open my eyes and see Mrs. Hill bending over me, a concerned look on her face. Behind her was blue-and-white flowered wallpaper that seemed to sway and swirl around, going in and out of focus. I had to shut my eyes again.
"Mrs. Hill," I croaked. "Thank goodness you're here. I need to—"
"Shh," she said. She adjusted the cool cloth on my head. "Don't try to talk, Naira. Not now."
"But the food drive..." I said, opening my eyes again. "I have to help Chris...and Ms. Peters... she'll be expecting me at rehearsal...and Jill Murray...! have to call her and see if I'm booked for anything...and the postcard...I never got the postcard at the gift shop..." I could feel my eyes well up with stinging tears. I tried to force them back, but I didn't seem to have any control over them. The tears spilled out over my hot cheeks, and my throat seemed to burn even more.
"Shhh, it's going to be all right, Naira," said Mrs. Hill gently. She wiped the tears from my cheeks. Then she turned the cool side of the
cloth against my forehead and pressed it lightly. "Everything's going to be just fine. I want you to try to get some rest now, dear."
Suddenly the sound of her soothing voice made me relax a little. It seemed so reassuring. The tears slowly stopped, and I took a deep breath. Rest. That sounded like the most important thing in the world. Rest. If only I could just get a little bit, then I'd be able to get up and...
But I didn't wake up for a long time. And when I finally did, I didn't feel hot anymore and my chills were gone. The fever had broken.
I looked around for the first time since I'd gotten sick. I was dressed in my favorite purple-and-white striped pajamas, lying in bed under a blue chenille bedspread in a strange room. There were twin beds separated by a blue night table with a blue telephone on it, and the walls were covered with blue-and-white flowered wallpaper. Something about the room looked familiar, but I couldn't quite seem to place it. Where was I?
Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Hill stepped in. In her arms was a tray with several plates on it. Of course! This was Mrs. Hill's
room! I'd seen it only once before, when I first moved in. I had knocked on her door to ask for some furniture polish to clean the shelves in my room. But what was I doing in Mrs. Hill's room now?
Mrs. Hill's sparkly blue eyes lit up when she saw that I was awake.
"Well, I thought you might be waking up soon," she said, "How are you doing here?"
"Okay, I guess," I said.
"Well, I brought you a little something," she said, holding out the tray. "Do you think you can manage to eat anything?"
"Okay, I'll try," I said, scooting up a little in the bed and pushing some curls out of my face.
She put the tray across my lap. There was a soft-boiled egg, some wheat toast with jam, a scoop of cottage cheese, some fruit salad, and a cup of tea. Suddenly, I was absolutely starving. I picked up the toast and bit into it hungrily.
"Well, I'm glad to see you have your appetite back," said Mrs. Hill. "Can you tell me how you're feeling, dear?"
"Urn,  better,  I guess,"  I  said,  spooning
some egg into my mouth. "A little weak, but not nearly as bad as I did. My throat's still a little sore, but I'm pretty sure my fever's gone."
Mrs. Hill put her hand to my forehead.
"Oh, yes," she said. "You're definitely over the worst of it now."
I looked out the window and saw a piece of blue sky peeking through the neighboring buildings. Daylight—but the last thing I remembered was the shoot at sunset. I'd been in here all night then. Mrs. Hill must have put me in with her so she could keep an eye on me and so I wouldn't risk getting any of my roommates sick. That was really sweet. It made me think of my mom, and the way she used to sit up with me at night when I was feeling sick, or just when I'd had a bad dream.
"Well, I think I'm okay now," I said.
She shook her head. "You really had me worried there for a while, Naira. And the other girls, too. They've all been asking about you."
"Where is everyone else?" I asked. "At school?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Hill. "But don't you worry,
I called the school first thing yesterday morning and let them know you'd be out for a little while."
"Yesterday morning?" I repeated, confused. "Hold on. What day is it?"
"It's Wednesday," she answered.
Wednesday? But the shoot had been on Monday night. If today was Wednesday, what had happened to Tuesday?
"Wait a minute," I said, astonished. "Do you mean to say that I've been in bed for two whole days?"
Mrs. Hill nodded.
"I don't blame you for not remembering," she said. "You were in pretty bad shape when they brought you in from the shoot. A clear case of the flu, made much worse by over-exhaustion." She shook her head. "And that fever—my, how you went on and on. Talking about everything from dance performances and posters to cans of tomatoes and postcards."
"Oh, my gosh!" I said, putting down my toast. "That's right! The food drive for the church dinner. It's only two days from now. I have to—"
"You are not even to think of leaving this bed," said Mrs. Hill sternly.
"But, Mrs. Hill—" I began.
"No ifs, ands, or buts about it," she said. "You are staying right here, for at least another day or two. I will, however, allow you to make three phone calls. But only if you promise to keep them short, and also if you promise me that you will take a nice long nap this afternoon. I don't want to hear any more about how you have to do this or that. All you have to do is get better, young lady!"
I sighed. There's no arguing with Mrs. Hill when she gets that way. Not that I had the strength to argue with anyone at that moment.
"Okay," I said, sitting back against the pillows.
"Fine," she said. "Now, first of all, you can phone Jill Murray at Ford in order to reassure her that you are going to be all right."
I nodded. Jill must have been worried when she heard what happened.
"Second, you may call your father back," she said. "He's phoned several times. I told him you were being well taken care of, and
that it was just the flu. Even so, I think he's pretty concerned. In fact, it was all I could do to keep him from flying out here himself."
I looked at her in surprise. My father was actually thinking of coming to New York because I was sick? But who would have watched the arcade? And what about Kyra, Yusef, and Jameel? There's no way he could have brought them, too. Who would have taken care of them?
"And finally," Mrs. Hill went on, "I will allow you to call that boy Chris back."
"Chris?" I said. "He called?"
"About twenty times" said Mrs. Hill. She shook her head. "He's very persistent."
"Gee, that's funny," I said. "I wonder how he got my number?"
"I believe he told me that Cassandra had given it to him," she said.
"Oh, right," I said, nodding. "They have a voice class together."
"Well, I'll leave you to your calls," said Mrs. Hill. She fished in her apron pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "Here's Chris's number, although I expect he's at school now. The phone's right here on the night table if you want to call your father or Jill. But make
sure you finish your breakfast first. And don't forget about that nap you promised to take this afternoon."
"Okay, Mrs. Hill," I said as she walked out of the room. "Thanks."
I sat back against the pillows and took a sip of my tea. It felt really good to have someone else taking care of things for a while.
"Jill Murray, please," I said to the receptionist who picked up the phone at Ford.
Jill's voice came on the line. "Hello, Jill Murray here. How may I help you?"
"Hi, Jill," I said. "It's me, Naira."
"Naira!" she said. "It's great to hear your voice. How are you feeling?"
"Much better," I told her. "But, of course, Mrs. Hill won't let me out of bed."
"And right she is," said Jill. "You need your rest. In fact, I've got you booked out for another week."
"A whole week?" I said. When a model's booked out, that means she's not working at all for a certain length of time. I understood why Jill didn't want me to work this week but I was sure I'd be fine in a day or so. An-'
other whole week seemed kind of extreme.
"Naira," said Jill. "Let's be realistic here. You collapsed on a shoot. That's really serious. We can't risk that happening again. Mostly for your sake, but also because it's worse to have to reschedule shoots than to not schedule them to begin with. Do you see what I mean?"
"Well, yeah," I admitted. "But I just fainted because it was really cold up there, and I was tired, and I was starting to get sick—"
"It happened because you needed to take a rest," said Jill. "And if you won't rest on your own, it's up to me to see that you do."
I could tell that Jill wasn't going to budge on this one. And, in a way, I was relieved. Maybe being booked out for a few days wasn't such a bad idea. After all, it would give me time to catch up on some other things, like the history paper I still hadn't finished that was due tomorrow.
"Okay, Jill," I said. "You win."
"Believe me, Naira, you'll thank me for it," she said. "Meanwhile, I want you to get plenty of rest so you can look your absolute best for your meeting with Diana Evans, which is a week from this coming Monday."
"Diana Evans?" I said. "What are you talking about?"
"She asked to see you again," said Jill. "Apparently she was very impressed with you at the go-see, and she wants to take another look at you. She told me that she thinks you have a great face."
"Oh, wow," I said.
"Yes, so now you just do everything you can to make sure you're completely well by then," said Jill. "We don't want you collapsing on the floor of her studio."
"We certainly don't," I said, laughing. After all, with the state of Diana Evans's studio, who knew if they'd ever find me?
A little while later the phone rang again. I heard Mrs. Hill pick it up in the living room, and then her footsteps headed toward the bedroom.
"Naira?" she said, poking her head in the door. "Are you awake? Your father's on the phone for you."
"Okay, thanks," I said. I picked up the extension on the night table. "Hi, Dad?"
"Jewel? How are you feeling, honey?"
"Much better," I said. "I'm fine, really. In
fact, I was going to call you earlier. But I knew you would be at work."
"Actually, honey, I'm home," said Dad. "Jameel's not feeling too well, either. Some kind of stomach virus. So I decided to stay in and look after him a bit."
"But what about the arcade?" I asked, astonished. As far as I could remember, my father had never missed a day of work since he'd bought The Fun House.
"Remember I told you last week that I had some new people to train?" Dad said. "Well, one of them is a new assistant manager, and she's watching things today," Dad said.
"You're kidding," I said.
"Nope," said Dad. I was surprised that my father would leave the business in someone else's hands like that. Of course, I'd been saying for ages that that's what he needed to do. I guess he just needed to find someone he could count on.
"Who is this new person?" I asked.
"Well, her name is Joan Wright, and she's doing a very fine job," he answered. "In fact, with Joan aboard, I'm thinking of taking one or two days off a week."
"Wow, Dad, that's great," I said. "So you're
getting to spend some more time with Kyra, Jameel, and Yusef."
"That's right," said Dad. "And, actually, Joan's spent some time with the kids too."
"With Kyra and the boys?" I asked. "But I thought you said she worked at the arcade. I don't get it, Dad."
He cleared his throat. "Well, honey, Joan and I have gotten to be very good friends, as well. She's a widow, with one daughter, a little younger than you, in fact. And, well, we enjoy each other's company."
"Oh," I said. "So you mean to say that you've started dating her?"
"Well, I suppose you might put it that way," Dad answered. He paused. "Look, Jewel, you know I've been lonely all these years without your mother. As I said, Joan is a very good friend to me. The kids all get along, and Kyra adores her. I don't know what will happen in the long run, but I have to say, we're all pretty happy right now."
I thought a moment. I'd never seen my dad as the dating type. He definitely hadn't had much of a social life since Mom died. But I guessed it was nice for my family to have someone else around. And if it helped my
father spend more time at home, it couldn't be a bad thing.
"That's great, Dad," I managed to say. "I'm really happy for you."
"Good," he said. "You know that what you think means a lot to me. There's other news as well—I've decided to open up another arcade. We've been doing incredibly well with one of those virtual reality games at The Fun House. Maybe we'll focus on those for the new place. So if you have any good ideas, or hear of anything new, let me know. That environment game of yours has gone over really well." Dad chuckled, then went on. "I think it's the first time I've had some parents come in to see what it's all about."
"That's really good, Dad," I said. He hadn't talked so much in a long time.
"And, let's see, what else?" he continued. "Oh, yes, Josephine just got a campus job at Northwestern University, so I've found a very nice older woman, Mrs. Ferber, to do the housekeeping and watch the kids. That way if I can't stay home when they get sick, someone will always be here. And don't you worry about the money. We're just fine."
"Wow, Dad," I said, feeling a little awed.
"Those are a lot of changes. It really does sound great." I didn't know what else to say.
"Well, our family is ready for some good times, Jewel," Dad said. "I just want you to know, though, you really helped hold this family together when times were rough. You're quite a strong kid there, under all that beauty."
"Aw, Dad," I said, blushing. "Don't say things like that."
"Now, honey, don't be modest. I don't know what we'd have done without you. It's the truth, you know. 'Tell it like it is,' your mother used to say, and that's what I'm doing," Dad answered. "Now, tell me how you're doing. Mrs. Hill said you just have a case of the flu, but it sounds like it's pretty serious to me."
"I did feel pretty rotten for a while, but I'm fine now," I told him. "In fact, I'll probably be out of bed and back to school in no time at all."
"Well, you take it easy, Jewel," said Dad. "I worry about you. Anything you need, you just give me a call."
"Okay, Dad, I will," I said. "You take care, too, okay? And give hugs to Kyra, Jameel, and
Yusef for me. And tell Jameel I hope he feels better."
"I will, honey," he said. "Bye-bye."
"Bye, Dad."
It was amazing how tired I was after just those two phone calls. But, after all, I had been pretty sick for almost two days. It wasn't too hard to keep my promise to Mrs. Hill about that afternoon nap. After eating the lunch of soup and crackers that she brought me, I slipped into a really deep sleep. It was the kind of sleep that's so deep, you don't even dream.
By the time I woke up, the clock on the night table said five fifteen. I could hear noises coming from the living room, and I knew that the others must be home from school and getting ready for dinner. I decided to call Chris.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the piece of paper Mrs. Hill had given me. After three rings, Chris answered. I recognized his voice immediately.
"Hi," I said. "Chris?"
"Naira, is that you?"
"Yeah," I said. "How're you doing?"
"The real question is, how are you doing?" he asked. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yes, much better," I said. "Although I'm still a little tired."
"I'll bet," he said. "From what I heard, you had an attack or something."
"An attack? Where did you hear that?" I asked.
"From Cassandra," he said. "She was running all over school, telling people about how you had this really bad attack on the top of the Empire State Building. From what she said, I was surprised to hear that you weren't in the hospital."
I sighed.
"Chris," I said. "Not only is Cassandra amazingly dramatic about things, but she's an incredible gossip."
He laughed. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"
I laughed too. "She really does mean well, though. Drama just excites her, so she's got to do her part to keep it going."
"Well, she does a good job," said Chris. "She'd actually gotten me pretty worried."
"Hey, listen," I said. "How's everything going with the food drive and the dinner? I
feel really terrible that I haven't been around to help you."
"Don't worry about it," he said. "Everybody's pitching in. Believe it or not, Cassandra said she'd help some, too, if we really needed it. I told her I'd let her know. So you can see, we're doing fine. I mean, of course it'd be a lot more fun to have you around, but we're managing. And I think those posters we made are making a big difference. Everybody's talking about bringing in food on Friday."
"I really want to be there to help you with the drive," I said. "Mrs. Hill's talking about keeping me in bed for two more days, but I'm going to try to convince her that I'll be okay by then."
He laughed. "I don't know, Naira, she seemed like a pretty tough cookie to me on the phone. I wouldn't tangle with her if I were you. It sounds to me like you've met your match. Besides, you really shouldn't get up until you're absolutely recovered, you know."
"But what about the food drive?" I said. "You need me to help you."
"Look, I'll handle the food drive, and you just work on getting better, okay?" Chris said. "Then maybe Mrs, Hill will let you come out
for the dinner at the church on Saturday."
I knew what he was saying made sense, but it was still hard for me to accept. I guess I have a hard time trusting other people to take care of the things that are important to me— kind of like my dad.
"Yeah, okay," I said. "I guess you're right. Listen, speaking of Mrs. Hill, I think I hear her coming. I'd better hang up. She doesn't want me talking on the phone too long."
"Okay" said Chris. "I'll give you a call tomorrow to see how you're doing."
"Great," I said. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."
I hung up the phone as the door opened. But instead of Mrs. Hill, it was Kerri who walked in with my dinner tray.
"Hey, Ni," she said, her face breaking into a huge grin. "What are you smiling about?"
"I just talked to Chris about the REACH food drive," I said, taking the tray from her.
"Oh," said Kerri, raising her eyebrows at me. " That's what you're so happy about."
"It's not what you think," I said.
"We'lJ see about that," she said. "Now you'd better start your dinner."
I rolled my eyes at her, then I looked down at my tray. A broiled chicken breast, rice, and
broccoli, with a peach for dessert. "Mmmm, real food, looks good."
"Yeah," said Kerri, flopping down on the other bed. "The only way I could get in to see you was to offer to bring your tray to you. Everybody's absolutely dying to know how you're doing, but Mrs. Hill's watching this door like a guard dog."
I laughed. I could picture Mrs. Hill barking and growling at anyone who came near the bedroom door.
"I hope she's going to let you out soon, though," said Kerri. "It's really lonely in our room without you, roomie."
"Thanks," I said, cutting into my chicken. "I'm sure I'll be back soon, though."
"Wow," said Kerri, shaking her head. "It was really wild when you fainted, Naira. Everybody was totally shocked. Actually, I think Will took it the worst of anybody. He looked really scared at first, then he kind of pulled himself together and took charge."
I shook my head. "The whole thing is so embarrassing," I said, chewing my chicken.
"I fainted once," said Kerri. "Right at a track meet. Back when I was on the team. It was really hot out, and I just kind of lost it.
Everything went fuzzy, and down I went."
"I didn't know you ran track, Kerri," I said.
She nodded. "Oh, yeah," she said. "Track and field, volleyball, basketball, softball. I was on tons of teams my freshman year at Laurel High."
"That's neat."
"Neat?" she said. "No way. It was the biggest mistake I ever made."
"What do you mean?" I asked her.
"I tried to play so many different sports that I ended up not playing any of them very well," she explained. "It kind of defeated the whole purpose of playing sports."
"So what'd you do?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I had to make choices," she said. "I ended up doing the two things that were the most important to me—swimming and cheerleading."
"But didn't you miss the rest of it?" I asked.
"Not once I started to do well in the two activities I had chosen," said Kerri. "Plus, I could always run or play volleyball or softball for fun. In fact—"
Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Hill looked in.
"Kerri, I told you you could bring Naira her tray," she said. "Not that you could sit here and tire her out with a long conversation. Besides, we're all waiting for you at the dinner table."
"What a coincidence," said Kerri, giving me a quick wink. "I was just leaving, Mrs. Hill. Feel better, Naira."
Once I was alone, I began to think. A lot of what Kerri had said made sense to me. I guessed it was true that if you tried to do too many things at once, you ended up not doing any one of them very well. It was just as my mother used to say: "A tree can't grow flowers and fruit at the same time."
All this made me begin to wonder. Maybe I had taken on too many things at once. I mean, sure, I'd always had a busy schedule back in Chicago, but I was working way more now that I was in New York. And I was also doing extra school activities. Now look where it had all gotten me. Now I was too sick to do anything, even the one thing that mattered to me the most—the REACH food drive.
As I ate my peach I thought about all the activities I'd scheduled into my appointment
book. Kerri was definitely right. So now I was going to have to decide which things really mattered to me.
Modeling and REACH were at the top of the list. But, then again, so was school. If I didn't get high marks, how could I expect to get into a good college and go on to medical school someday? And keeping in touch with my family was important too. Still, it was clear that I'd have to make some changes, even if it meant disappointing a few people.
By the time I went to sleep that night, I'd made a list in my head of things to do. First I had to talk to Ms. Peters and tell her that I didn't think I could be a part of Dance Club after all. It wasn't going to be easy. I knew Ms. Peters and Sara would be disappointed. I have to admit, I was a little disappointed myself. But honestly, dancing really wasn't what I wanted to devote a whole lot of time to. Because even if I was good, it would take a lot of hard practice to be good enough to be in the performance. And I could still take jazz just for fun, which was what I wanted it to be.
Next, I planned to ask Mr. Mendez for an extension on that history paper. That was kind of a tough one too. I'd never been late
with a paper in my life. But there was no way I was going to be able to finish it. I'd just have to explain things to Mr. Mendez and hope he'd understand.
After that, I had to make an appointment with Ms. Mastronardi to talk about my schedule. She was the one who'd warned me about taking on more than I could handle, and it had turned out she was right. Now I really needed her help to get out of this mess.
Finally, I planned to telephone Carolyn Winters at Sauce magazine. There were some very important changes I wanted to ask her to make before that article came out.
FROM "Making It in New York— Six Teen Models' Stories" BY CAROLYN WINTERS
FOR Sauce MAGAZINE
...Naira Taylor, 16, is probably the most serious member of the group. A junior at the High School for Performing Students in New York, Naira is active in REACH (Responsible Efforts and Action Can Help), a student-run volunteer organization. Naira proudly ladled up servings of pasta made from her own recipe at a recent dinner for the homeless at a nearby church.
Naira's been modeling since she was ten years old, first in her hometown of Chicago, and now in New York. She appeared most recently in an ad for the designer Jackie Jones, photographed by Diana Evans.
In addition to modeling and volunteering, Naira takes her schoolwork very seriously. (She plans to become a doctor someday!) Nairn's favorite subjects are Spanish (which she audits, but doesn't take for credit) and advanced biology. She also takes a jazz dance class once a week.
Naira says she misses her dad, two younger brothers, Jameel and Yusef, and her younger sister, Kyra, who live in Chicago. She admits it's tough to be far from her family, but she talks on the phone with them often and tries to send a postcard every couple of weeks.
Naira's advice to other girls her age is: "Don't spread yourself too thin. Even with the best intentions, you're no help to anyone if you're not performing up to potential. Just make sure you choose what you're really interested in, and then stick to it!"