Fair Fashion Page 7

  Maya jumped as the phone rang. She could hear Anna calling from downstairs that she was covered in pastry so please could Maya answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Maya? It’s me, Emily. I talked to Miss Sara after my ballet class, and she says yes, she’s happy for us to dance at the fashion show, and she thinks the girls who do tap will come and do it too, because they’ve got a festival coming up, and it’d be good practice. And since she doesn’t teach on Tuesdays, she’ll come and help. But she says please can we put an ad for Sara’s School of Dance in the programme.”

  “OK…” Maya frowned. She was beginning to think that the programme ought to be more exciting that just a sheet of paper with everyone’s names on it. Maybe she should get Poppy to draw a logo, or something. Poppy was the best at drawing in the class, everyone said so.

  “Maya, do you think other people would give us things if we put in the programme that they had?” Emily asked her.

  “Like what?”

  “The coffee and stuff. If we asked a shop that sold Fairtrade coffee and tea and biscuits, and said we’d put a big thank-you in the programme?”

  “It’s worth asking, I suppose,” Maya said doubtfully. She wasn’t sure she’d be very good at that. She’d only been brave enough to ask Tara about the fashion show idea because it had all happened so fast.

  “Do you think Izzy would write a letter?” Emily suggested hopefully. “She’s clever at that sort of thing. She wrote all the stuff that convinced Mrs Angel.” Emily’s voice changed. “I’m saying she’s useful, Maya, not that I like her.”

  “All right, all right.” Maya shrugged. “I’m going to do the maths homework, and then I’ll try and make something that looks like a programme. I guess that’s a publicity job. And posters… Eek.” Maya scribbled on the back of her hand.

  Designing the programme and the poster was actually a lot of fun – more fun than maths homework, anyway. Maya messed around with different fonts, and she had to leave a space for Poppy to draw something, but at least she had rough versions to show the others tomorrow.

  “I hadn’t thought about that.” Izzy looked down at her list rather crossly, as though she thought it had let her down.

  “I don’t think I can be a model, not if I’m dancing and doing backstage too.” Emily sighed.

  “No, we’ll all be too busy,” Poppy agreed.

  “So who are we going to get to do it?” Maya looked anxiously around at the others, squashed on to one of the playground benches. “It’s got to be people who aren’t going to go all giggly and stupid in the middle. And they have to turn up to rehearsals.”

  “Auditions,” Emily said firmly. “It’s the only way. Let’s ask Mr Finlay. We can send a note to all the classes, for the afternoon register.”

  “I wish the bell would hurry up and ring!” Maya muttered.

  Mr Finlay liked the idea of models from all through the school, but he pointed out that they’d need parents to agree.

  “How about I get Mrs Allwood to let you lot in the information technology room at lunch time? You can run up a letter to go home with all the girls tonight. The shop doesn’t do boys’ clothes, does it? Then you have your auditions tomorrow, and only people with a form saying they’re definitely able to be there get to audition.”

  Emily nodded. “Otherwise people might just not turn up on the night.”

  Maya smiled hopefully at Mr Finlay. “If we’re doing the letter, can we possibly use two computers, and do an invitation to the fashion show to go out too?” she pleaded. “Otherwise it’s a bit sad to ask for models and not have people know what it’s really for.”

  Mr Finlay rolled his eyes. “Yes. Now can we please do the register?”

  “Right,” Maya hissed to Poppy, as Mr Finlay moved names around on the whiteboard. “You’ve got till lunch time to design us a logo for the fashion show!”

  Poppy whipped round, staring at her in horror. “What?” she whispered back.

  “Ooh, good idea.” Emily nodded approvingly. “Do you want to borrow my felt pens?”

  “We’ll make sure Miss Grace doesn’t catch you,” Maya promised.

  Poppy huffed. “All right! What am I supposed to draw though? And it’s numeracy, Maya, you’ll have to fill in the sheet with your left hand so it looks more like my writing.” She hid Emily’s felt tips in her lap, and carefully tore a piece of paper out of the pad in her bag.

  “Clothes?” Maya shrugged. “You know I’m useless at that sort of thing. Look, I did start on the poster and the programme – so you’ve got this space here for something to make them look really gorgeous.” She beamed at Poppy. “And not too fancy, because it would be nice if it could go small on the ticket and the invitations.”

  “And it had better work in black and white as well as colour,” Izzy pointed out. “I can’t see Mrs Brooker letting us use the colour printer for anything more than the posters.”

  “Great,” Poppy muttered, staring at the piece of paper dolefully. “That really helped…”

  By lunchtime she had done it. Emily shot out of the classroom to snag one of the coveted picnic tables at break, snarling so fiercely at a group of boys who wanted to swap football cards that they actually hurried away. The girls huddled round Poppy, who was muttering to herself and filling her pad with swirly designs.

  “Oooohh! That one!” Maya said. “It looks good upside down, anyway.” She was on the other side of the table from Poppy. “Are they birds?”

  “No, it’s an anteater,” Poppy snapped. She was getting a bit frazzled. “Yes, of course they’re birds.” She turned it round to show Maya the design properly. Two little birds were flying off the page carrying a pair of jeans between them. “You like that one best?”

  “Yes, it’s lovely. The birds are cute, and the jeans look really cool.”

  Emily nodded. “I like it.”

  “Me too. Can you colour it in for the posters?” Izzy asked.

  “Yes, but I’ll copy it first,” Poppy agreed. “Then I can go over bits to make the black-and-white one look clearer.”

  There was only one near miss, where Maya had to sweep a history worksheet over Poppy’s drawing very quickly, when Mr Finlay got it into his head to check their table. When the bell rang for lunch, they hurried off to the information technology room to scan everything in. Maya emailed it all to herself at home so she could put the designs on the poster and programme, and then she worked on the invitations with Poppy, while Emily and Izzy bickered in an almost-friendly sort of way about how to write the audition letter.

  “How are you doing, girls?” Mrs Allwood came over to see. “That looks really lovely. You’ve only got a quarter of an hour of lunch left though – you need to go and eat something.”

  Maya checked her watch, frowning – surely it hadn’t been that long? But Mrs Allwood was right. “I think the invitation’s done. We just need to print them, and then cut them up – we put two on a sheet.”

  “I’ll print them for you, while you go and eat. Perhaps you can cut them up this afternoon? Mr Finlay said you were having more project time.”

  “The letters are done, too. We’ve said the models need to be here by half-past six, so as to get made up and dressed in plenty of time,” Izzy explained.

  “And we put in a bit about not being allergic to make-up,” Emily added smugly. “They always put that on the dance things.”

  Mr Finlay handed out the invitations and the audition letters at the end of school – a pile had gone to every class.

  Maya and the others watched rather smugly as the rest of the class read the invitations, and commented to each other. None of the boys sounded very excited about it, but she supposed they shouldn’t have expected that they would be. Nick Drayton made a snorting noise, and scrunched his invitation into a ball to throw it at Jensen, but Mr Finlay made him flatten it out and promise to hand-deliver it to his mother.

  Ali and Lucy’s table was buzzing. “A fashion show? Fairtrade? Like our project?�
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  Maya exchanged a delighted glance with Emily as she listened.

  “And auditions tomorrow at lunchtime. Are you going to do it?” Lucy eyed Ali hopefully. None of Ali’s clique would dare go along if Ali said she wasn’t.

  Ali shrugged. “Maybe. Not sure if I want to do some silly little show.”

  “As if she’s an international catwalk model!” Emily hissed furiously.

  Ali turned round and glared at them. “I suppose you’ll be auditioning, will you? And Izzy, of course!” She sniggered nastily, and Maya watched the red flush rise up Izzy’s fair skin, from her neck upwards in a horrible wave. Maya put an arm round her, and even Emily moved protectively closer. She might not like Izzy much, but she disliked Ali a whole lot more.

  “Izzy will definitely be at the auditions, Ali.” Mr Finlay had come over without them noticing, and Ali looked slightly embarrassed – but only very slightly. “Seeing as she’s the show producer, she’ll be the one auditioning you.”

  “Her face…” Izzy purred. “It was brilliant…”

  “I don’t know whether we ought to hope Ali does come to the auditions or not,” Emily mused. “She’d probably be quite a good model – she’s so full of herself, she won’t mind prancing down a catwalk. And it would be fun bossing her around. But she might try and take over.”

  “I reckon she’ll have to come.” Poppy was gathering her stuff together for after-school club. “If she doesn’t, everyone will think she’s scared.”

  “Scared of us?” Izzy asked blissfully.

  Poppy grinned at her. “Yup. And she won’t be able to take over, Emily, because if she starts being a pain, you and Izzy can just sack her.”

  “I love this fashion show.” Izzy sighed.

  “Oh, good, I’m glad I’ve caught you girls. Look, here are your posters.” Mrs Brooker handed them a sheaf of bright posters, and the girls admired them delightedly.

  “You’re so clever, Poppy,” Maya said, stroking the glossy paper. “It looks great.”

  “Mr Finlay, can we put one up in here?” Emily asked.

  Mr Finlay nodded. “But only one! You need to put the rest round school, and perhaps one at the library.”

  Emily nodded. “My mum’s picking me up today, because Toby and James need new shoes again. She says we can go to Health Organics, that shop by the station, and ask if they’ll donate us some Fairtrade coffee and tea and things. I know they have lots of Fairtrade stuff. They might put up a poster too. Mum reckoned a small shop might be better to ask than the supermarket, because we’d be able to talk to the owner.”

  “That’s a good idea to save money.” Mrs Brooker nodded approvingly. “I’ve worked out that you’re going to need to sell at least twenty tickets before the event, so that we’ve got enough money to pay Mr Sampson for the extra hours, and cover the cost of printing the posters and programmes.”

  The girls looked at each other. Twenty wasn’t all that many, surely – but it was a bit scary.

  “We haven’t sold any yet,” Maya said nervously. They’d put on the posters and letters that the tickets could be bought from the school office, or by emailing Mr Finlay. He’d said he didn’t mind. “We haven’t even printed any!”

  Mrs Brooker laughed. “Actually, Mrs Allwood did them for you; she had a spare lesson this afternoon. And she’s bought one, and so have I.” She handed Maya a plastic wallet full of neat little tickets. “You girls had better keep these ones. If people order tickets by email, you’ll have to give them out on the night. You’ve got thirty there. Mrs Allwood did a hundred and twenty altogether, that’s as many as you’re allowed in the school hall.”

  “Wow… Thanks, Mrs Brooker!”

  Maya held the wallet, staring at the tickets excitedly. The show was really happening now!

  But by Monday, with only two more weeks until the show, they’d only sold a few more tickets – not even enough to pay for the caretaker, and the printing.

  It didn’t help that someone was going round school scribbling on the posters. When Maya and Emily got off the bus that morning, they found Izzy and Poppy standing by the one on the playground noticeboard. Izzy looked furious, and Poppy was drawing on the poster with some glittery pens.

  “What are you doing?” Emily demanded. “Why are you drawing on it?”

  “Was it you who drew on the one in the hall?” Maya asked them, sounding shocked. Someone had scrawled rude words all over it, and Mrs Angel had taken it down.

  “Of course it wasn’t!” Poppy shook her head. “I’m covering it up! If Mrs Angel sees what they’ve written on this one she’ll have it taken down too, and we can’t afford to print any more of them!”

  “Oi! What are you doing?” Nick Drayton ran up to them, and pushed Poppy aside so he could see what she’d drawn on the poster. His mates Jensen and Charlie barged past the girls too.

  “Watch who you’re pushing!” Emily snapped. “And what’s it to you what Poppy does, anyway?”

  “She covered it up!” Charlie muttered, sounding disappointed.

  “It was you!” Izzy hissed, glaring at them. “You wrote on our posters!”

  “Didn’t,” Nick said automatically, but it was pretty obvious they had.

  “Right. You owe us a pound.” Izzy stuck her hand out.

  “What?” Nick gaped at her.

  Emily nodded. “Yeah, she’s right. We’ll have to get Mrs Brooker to print us two more posters now, and colour copies are fifty pence each, she told us.”

  “We’re not giving you a pound!” Jensen snorted.

  “So you want Mrs Brooker to invoice your mum for it then, do you?” Izzy asked him politely.

  Jensen looked shifty. Maya thought he probably didn’t know what invoice meant, and it was making him nervous.

  “Because you’ve nicked a pound off the donation we’re making to charity,” Emily agreed. “So if you don’t pay, your mum’s going to have to.”

  “I’ve got fifty pence,” Charlie muttered to Nick. “Mum gave it me for the Reception cake sale.”

  Grumbling, the boys scrabbled around in their pockets, and came up with ninety-eight pence, and a Mint Imperial. Emily and Izzy agreed to let them off the other two pence, and turned the mint down. The three of them wandered off moaning about how mean the girls were, and Emily and Izzy exchanged triumphant looks.

  “Brilliant move with the invoice thing,” Emily said. “What does it mean?”

  “Just asking for money.” Izzy shrugged. “Dad sends out invoices for his gardening work. It just made it sound a bit more serious.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe they actually paid us!”

  “I know. You two were amazing!” Maya hugged them both. “There’s the bell. Let’s go and see if Mr Finlay’s sold any tickets over the weekend.”

  But when Mr Finlay arrived, the news wasn’t good.

  “No, I’m sorry girls, no one’s emailed me yet. How’s Mrs Brooker doing with the tickets?” Mr Finlay asked.

  Izzy shook her head dolefully. “Hardly any. We need some more publicity.”

  Maya looked down at her feet, feeling miserable. She and Poppy had put up all the posters – lots of the local shops had agreed to have them – and she’d emailed and phoned the local paper, but no one had got back to her. They’d worked so hard – it would be awful if the event had to be cancelled. And almost worse if they did manage to sell twenty tickets. Twenty people rattling about in the school hall would be more than embarrassing.

  “I’ll try calling the paper again.” She sighed. They’d done so much work – Poppy had made a brilliant presentation for their talk about Fairtrade, with lots of pictures. And Izzy had found two companies who would make sweatshirts like their school ones out of Fairtrade cotton. Emily had called them – she’d got her mum to let Toby and James have the sprinkler on in the garden, so there was no way they’d interrupt her while she was on the phone. They’d both agreed to send an information pack and a sweatshirt that the girls could put on display.

 
And they’d already auditioned all the models, and told them it was happening. Maya gritted her teeth. There was no way they were cancelling. “We have to sell more tickets,” she muttered. “Just imagine what Ali’s lot would say!”

  Emily shuddered, and Izzy actually went even paler than usual, which was quite hard.

  “My mum and dad are back today,” Maya remembered. “And Anna hasn’t got a ticket yet either. That’s another three tickets.”

  Izzy nodded. “My aunt said she’d come. I’ll tell her she has to ring Mrs Brooker. That’ll get us to twenty, I think. But we need more, to raise money for building the school in Bangladesh. It’s no good just not losing money. We have to actually make some.”

  “And how about the models?” asked Mr Finlay. “Are you happy with them?”

  Maya and the others exchanged glances. “I think so…” she said. “We’ve given all their sizes to Tara so she can choose outfits for them. And Tara’s got some great models for the women’s clothes from the sixth-form college. There’s ten of them, and we’ve got ten as well. One of them’s even from Reception!”

  “And she was almost the best,” Poppy giggled. “She’s so cute, she was strutting up and down the hall!”

  “Ali…?” Mr Finlay asked, raising his eyebrows.

  Izzy sighed. “We had to let her. And Lucy, and Elspeth. They were good,” she added glumly.

  “The first rehearsal’s at lunch time today,” Maya told him. “Do you think it’s OK if we chalk a catwalk on the hall floor? If we wipe it off afterwards? Mr Sampson says he’ll put the stage blocks up for us on the day before the show, so we can have a rehearsal on them, but he can’t keep taking them up and down.”