Beads, Boys and Bangles by Sophia Bennett Read Free Book Online Page B

down next to Edie and give her my broadest grin.
    She ignores me.
    I ignore her ignoring me and concentrate on unpacking my pencil case. I’m still a six-year-old at heart when it comes to my pencil cases. This one is customised with Swarovski crystals I’ve ‘borrowed’ from Crow’s stash. Crow has doodled her famous dancing girls in ink all over the lining for me. I’d like to think of it being left to the V&A when I’m dead and famous . . .
This was the actual pencil case that Nonie Chatham (or Nonie Taylor?) used at school the year she masterminded the launch of the most successful fashion collection ever to reach the UK high street . . .
    It’s only when I hear a tear splash on to the desk that I realise that Edie is not only ignoring me, she’s crying. The lesson’s supposed to be starting, but that tear demands attention. I whisper as quietly as I can.
    ‘Is it those Californians again?’
    She nods. More splashy tears.
    ‘Have they done more stuff to your website?’
    She shakes her head and sniffs.
    ‘No. Actually, they apologised. One of them did, anyway. This boy who manages their communications – Phil. He said they got a bit carried away. I told him that Miss Teen’s really careful about who makes their stuff. MrElat’s always going on about how good they are, but the No Kidding people won’t back down. Phil says they’ve got pictures of kids working on pieces from Crow’s collection in these horrible back rooms in Mumbai. He says it’s not just Miss Teen. It’s happening all over.’
    That’s the trouble with wanting to save the world. There’s an awful lot of world to save.
    Something’s confusing me, though.
    ‘How did he tell you all of this?’
    ‘Phil? By email.’
    ‘They hacked into your website and you gave this boy your EMAIL address?’
    ‘Only after he apologised. He left lots of comments on my blog saying how sorry they were.’
    ‘Edie, for someone so clever, you’re completely bonkers.’
    She nods. She’s not feeling particularly proud of herself right now.
    ‘So what are you going to do?’
    ‘What can I do? I don’t know what to do.’
    This isn’t like Edie at all. Edie always knows what to do. It isn’t always the right thing, but she knows anyway.
    ‘Have you talked to Crow?’
    ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Last night.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Crow says if I’m not happy, she won’t work with Mr Elat any more.’
    ‘But he’s funding her red-carpet dresses. She can’twork without him!’
    ‘I know,’ Edie says. ‘But she said she’d just make the clothes herself. If she just made one dress a year, and it was perfect, that would be OK for her. You know she felt guilty about designing anyway, when she thought Henry might be dead.’
    ‘What did you tell her?’
    ‘I told her to keep going. I said not to worry again. I told her I’d do all the worrying.’
    ‘And this is you worrying?’
    She nods again.
    ‘Well, there’s only one thing to do,’ I decide. ‘Get proof. They say they’ve got these photos. Have you seen them?’
    ‘No,’ she admits, sniffling.
    ‘Ask for them.’
    It’s so easy when it’s someone else who’s got the problem. If I had to stand up to these people myself, I’d be terrified, but telling Edie to do it feels fine.
    ‘You’re right,’ she says. She sits up a bit straighter and flashes our geography teacher a smile to show her that we’ve been paying total attention.

C row adores the Royal Opera House. She loves the thick red velvet curtains and the gold embroidery and the plush seats and the little girls with their mummies, all dressed up and on their best behaviour.
    In the little girls’ honour, she’s worn a new set of pink fairy wings over her gold satin dungarees. And four purple velvet bows in her hair. It should look weird but she wears her clothes as if everyone dressed that way and actually, she’s gorgeous.
    It seemed natural for Crow to use the spare ticket. Edie has orchestra practice and Jenny’s