Fashion Magazines

"Well, Miss Phoney Baloney," Madeleine sneered, scrolling through her phone, "fashion magazines used to take *weeks* to reach me. //**Not like today, when everything’s instant."

Suddenly, Madeleine’s frustration boiled over, and she hurled her phone toward the door. Unfortunately for her, at that very moment, Emma pushed the door open, her arms filled with freshly delivered fashion magazines wrapped in transparent plastic. The phone hit Emma square in the shoulder, and she yelped, dropping everything.

"Ow!" Emma cried out as a flood of magazines scattered across the floor.

Mrs. Hutton, always alert when disaster struck, rushed to the scene. *Oh boy,* she thought, *Day one with Madeleine, and it’s already a catastrophe.*

Madeleine barely blinked, her eyes glued to the magazines now spread out in front of her. She ignored Emma entirely, zeroing in on the sleek, glossy covers. “Is that… the newly updated issue?” she asked, her voice dripping with excitement.

Emma shot her a cold glare, standing and rubbing her shoulder. “You have some nerve,” she snapped, crossing her arms protectively over the scattered magazines. “These are mine. Keep your hands off them.”

Madeleine's gaze didn't waver, her determination palpable. “It’s not like you’re going to *use* them. You’re a geek, Emma. Why even bother buying these?”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Unlike you, I’m a geek who excels at everything. Including fashion. And by the way, *I* know how to get these magazines in days, not weeks.”

“Ugh,” Madeleine huffed, flipping her hair. “Trying to impress Alan, are we?” She gave a mischievous smirk, her eyes glinting with mockery.

Emma felt heat rise to her cheeks. Blushing hard, she shook her head and bit back the anger bubbling inside. “Mind your words, Madeleine.”

Madeleine waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry, Emma. Alan’s a geek just like you. Even if you look like a perfect Barbie doll now, he’ll still love you. Poor guy, though—no taste.”

“Shut up!” Emma shouted, her voice sharp with fury. Her hands balled into fists.

Madeleine, seeing her chance to needle Emma further, smirked and stepped closer. “You’ve only got your so-called *fashion knowledge* from these magazines, right? What do you do, study them like textbooks?” She burst into a mocking laugh.

Emma’s response was even louder, her voice full of bitter amusement. “Exams? Please, Madeleine. You wouldn’t survive a real fashion test if your life depended on it. You’ve got zero ideas. I bet you’ll be on the first flight back to California if you don’t pass any of the tests here.”

Madeleine’s face reddened in anger. “I would *gladly* go back if it meant getting away from you!”

Before the argument could escalate any further, a deep, booming voice came from behind them. “Enough!”

Both girls froze in their tracks. Emma’s father stood in the doorway, looking furious. His eyes burned with frustration as he surveyed the scene. “I *knew* this would happen if you two were put in the same room,” he growled. He turned to Mrs. Hutton, who was standing by awkwardly. “Mrs. Hutton.”

“Yes, sir?” she said, straightening up.

“Take Madeleine to her own room. And make sure they don’t fight again.”

With that, he stormed out, muttering, “I’ll deal with Linda…”

Mrs. Hutton sighed, shaking her head. *Oh, Mrs. Linda can sure stir up a war and then act like she’s completely innocent,* she thought, leading Madeleine out of the room. As she left, Madeleine shot one last glance over her shoulder at Emma, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Peace at last. Enjoy your privacy, geek.”

Emma didn’t respond. She was too drained from the fight to muster any more energy. She slumped onto her bed, staring blankly at the scattered magazines on the floor. *What’s the point?* she thought. *If I say anything, Father will just come back. And this time, if I raise my voice again, he’ll probably kick me out.*

The silence in the room hung heavy, but inside Emma’s head, thoughts were swirling. Madeleine had hit a nerve with her snide comments about Alan. And deep down, Emma couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth in what Madeleine had said. *Alan wouldn’t care how I look, right? He’s not like that.*

But the doubt lingered, and as Emma lay there, her cheeks still flushed from the argument, she realized one thing: this was just the beginning of her battle with Madeleine. The tension between them would only grow, and she had to find a way to survive it—without letting her own emotions take control.

*Welcome to the warzone,* Emma thought bitterly, staring at the ceiling.

Emma sat on her bed, still fuming from the earlier clash with Madeleine. Her mind was racing, and she knew she needed to do something to get out of her miserable mood. After pacing the room for a few moments, an idea hit her. She grabbed a pen and paper from her desk and started scribbling a note.

"Dear Alan," she began, but then paused, tapping her chin with the pen. *No, too formal,* she thought, and crossed it out. “Hey Alan,” she wrote again, “I know you might wonder why I didn’t just call, but I didn’t want to. You know how it is—people eavesdropping, and this is kind of… well… bad news.”

Emma sighed dramatically as she wrote, imagining the look on Alan's face when he read that. She could almost see his eyebrows raising, his hands freezing mid-sip of his apple juice. "Yeah, that'll get his attention," she muttered to herself, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. She finished the note with, “Meet me at the dress shop further down the road. We need to talk.”

She sealed the letter, feeling a bit more in control. “Butler!” she called out, and moments later, her family’s butler appeared, looking as stoic as ever.

"Deliver this to Alan’s house, please. And hurry."

The butler, without a word, took the letter and went on his way. Meanwhile, Emma sat back, feeling a small smile creep onto her face. *This will definitely throw Alan off,* she thought, picturing him wrinkling his nose in confusion. *He’s probably freaking out about the 'bad news' already.*

---

At Alan's house, the knock on the door came just as he was finishing his glass of apple juice. The butler from Emma’s home handed over the letter with a curt nod, saying, “A letter for Sir Alan.”

“Thanks,” Alan replied, taking it and locking his door behind him. He walked to his desk, sat down, and stared at the envelope. *A letter from Emma?* He was delighted, but the joy was quickly replaced by curiosity—and then mild panic. He tore it open, taking a deep breath as he started to read.

"Hey Alan, I know you might wonder why I didn’t just call—"

Alan’s heart skipped a beat. *What’s wrong?* His hands trembled slightly as his eyes darted down the page. “…bad news…”

“Bad news?” he muttered aloud, nearly spilling what was left of his apple juice. His mind raced through all the possibilities. Did something happen to her? Is she okay? Is she mad at me? Did she find out about the time I accidentally stepped on her cat's tail?

Alan gulped and forced himself to keep reading. “Meet me at the dress shop down the road.”

That was it? *The dress shop?* He blinked at the letter, his initial panic giving way to confusion. *What could she possibly want to talk about at a dress shop?* Still, if Emma wanted him there, he wasn’t going to refuse.

“Better write back,” he muttered, grabbing a piece of paper and pen. After a moment’s thought, he smiled to himself and drew a little heart at the end of his reply. *Might as well make her blush.*

---

Back at Emma’s house, she was nervously fiddling with the ribbon on her dress when the butler returned, handing her Alan’s letter. She opened it eagerly, scanning the note quickly until she saw it—*the heart.*

Emma’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Ugh, he’s making me blush *again*,” she muttered, smiling despite herself. “But at least I have someone to brighten this horrible day.” She sighed dramatically and flopped onto her bed, clutching the letter to her chest.

Then her thoughts drifted back to Madeleine, the ever-present thorn in her side. “What am I going to do about her?” she groaned.

She knew one thing for sure: with Alan by her side, she’d figure it out, and maybe, just maybe, she’d survive this disaster of a household without completely losing her mind.

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