They just wanted to beseen by other eighth graders.
“Look,” Emily whispered as the girls approached. “They've all got R.A.D. BAGS!”
She was right—the outrageous designs were unmistakable. Each of the four eighth graders was carrying a different style. I did some quick calculations and determined that we were looking at roughly fifteen hundred dollars' worth of accessories.
Ridiculous!
“I love your purse,” Emily said to Megan.
“Thanks,” said Megan, then added, “It's a R.A.D. BAG. Have you heard of them?”
“Heard of them?” I said. “Emily interviewed Rachel Anne Donovan yesterday.”
Emily blushed as the eighth graders made a fuss over this news.
“What was she like?”
“Very cool. And nice.”
“What kind of things did she talk about?”
“My mentor, Harriet, asked Rachel why her bags cost so much,” Emily explained. “At first I thought that was sort of a rude question, but Rachel was actually happy to answer it. She told us that she's really into environmentalism and animal rights, so she only uses faux leather and fur. Ordinarily, faux materials cost less, but Rachel insists on extremely high-quality stuff, which is why the products look and feel real. It costs her extra money, not to mention time, to make her handbags without harming animals. And her manufacturing process actually exceeds all the government's environmental standards. That's why she has to charge higher prices.”
I hadn't known that. I wondered if my mom would think differentlyabout spending all that money on a purse if she knew it came with a conscience.
“Well, to tell you the truth,” said Megan, “we didn't pay all that much for these bags. We got them at Miss Bettancourt's boutique. She's selling them for seventy percent off the suggested retail price. They were actually very reasonable.”
I'd have to mention it to my mother. Maybe she'd want one after all if she could get it at such a bargain price.
Then one of the girls noticed that the movie was about to start, so they said good-bye and hurried off to get good seats.
Emily and I continued through the huge megaplex toward theater number twelve.
“I wonder how Miss Bettancourt can afford to sell R.A.D. BAGS at such a discount?” I mused aloud as we took our seats.
But the music was starting and Emily was already transfixed by the first trailer, so I settled into my seat and cracked open my chocolate-covered raisins. The handbags could wait.
ON Monday at school, Mr. Diaz handed out two-page forms. “Please give these to your mentors today,” he said. “The first page is for their comments on last week's work. The second is for this week. There is also an envelope for them to use to send it back to me here at school.”
I arrived at Electra's at twelve-thirty evaluation form in hand, only to find the door open again. I hurried up to the studio, but before I reached the top stair, Electra burst out of the attic, looking flustered.
“Zoe! I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel our time together for today.”
“Is something wrong?”
Electra shot a glance over her shoulder, toward the inside of the studio. “No. Actually, I'm in the middle of a real brainstorm. The ideas are just pouring out of me. I can hardly draw themfast enough.”
“Wow, that sounds great,” I said, lifting my foot to the next step. “I'd love to watch you.…”
“Frankly,” said Electra, “I think I'd be better off working alone this afternoon. When I go into a creative frenzy like this, I just get into a zone—I won't be in much of a mood for company.”
I was about to say something about learning through observation, but Electra had already dashed back through the attic door. There was nothing left for me to do but turn and go. Then I remembered the evaluation form.
I went back up the stairs and stuck my head in the door, ready to say “excuse me.” But my voice froze in my throat. It was as if a comic book had exploded all over the studio. There
“Look,” Emily whispered as the girls approached. “They've all got R.A.D. BAGS!”
She was right—the outrageous designs were unmistakable. Each of the four eighth graders was carrying a different style. I did some quick calculations and determined that we were looking at roughly fifteen hundred dollars' worth of accessories.
Ridiculous!
“I love your purse,” Emily said to Megan.
“Thanks,” said Megan, then added, “It's a R.A.D. BAG. Have you heard of them?”
“Heard of them?” I said. “Emily interviewed Rachel Anne Donovan yesterday.”
Emily blushed as the eighth graders made a fuss over this news.
“What was she like?”
“Very cool. And nice.”
“What kind of things did she talk about?”
“My mentor, Harriet, asked Rachel why her bags cost so much,” Emily explained. “At first I thought that was sort of a rude question, but Rachel was actually happy to answer it. She told us that she's really into environmentalism and animal rights, so she only uses faux leather and fur. Ordinarily, faux materials cost less, but Rachel insists on extremely high-quality stuff, which is why the products look and feel real. It costs her extra money, not to mention time, to make her handbags without harming animals. And her manufacturing process actually exceeds all the government's environmental standards. That's why she has to charge higher prices.”
I hadn't known that. I wondered if my mom would think differentlyabout spending all that money on a purse if she knew it came with a conscience.
“Well, to tell you the truth,” said Megan, “we didn't pay all that much for these bags. We got them at Miss Bettancourt's boutique. She's selling them for seventy percent off the suggested retail price. They were actually very reasonable.”
I'd have to mention it to my mother. Maybe she'd want one after all if she could get it at such a bargain price.
Then one of the girls noticed that the movie was about to start, so they said good-bye and hurried off to get good seats.
Emily and I continued through the huge megaplex toward theater number twelve.
“I wonder how Miss Bettancourt can afford to sell R.A.D. BAGS at such a discount?” I mused aloud as we took our seats.
But the music was starting and Emily was already transfixed by the first trailer, so I settled into my seat and cracked open my chocolate-covered raisins. The handbags could wait.
ON Monday at school, Mr. Diaz handed out two-page forms. “Please give these to your mentors today,” he said. “The first page is for their comments on last week's work. The second is for this week. There is also an envelope for them to use to send it back to me here at school.”
I arrived at Electra's at twelve-thirty evaluation form in hand, only to find the door open again. I hurried up to the studio, but before I reached the top stair, Electra burst out of the attic, looking flustered.
“Zoe! I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel our time together for today.”
“Is something wrong?”
Electra shot a glance over her shoulder, toward the inside of the studio. “No. Actually, I'm in the middle of a real brainstorm. The ideas are just pouring out of me. I can hardly draw themfast enough.”
“Wow, that sounds great,” I said, lifting my foot to the next step. “I'd love to watch you.…”
“Frankly,” said Electra, “I think I'd be better off working alone this afternoon. When I go into a creative frenzy like this, I just get into a zone—I won't be in much of a mood for company.”
I was about to say something about learning through observation, but Electra had already dashed back through the attic door. There was nothing left for me to do but turn and go. Then I remembered the evaluation form.
I went back up the stairs and stuck my head in the door, ready to say “excuse me.” But my voice froze in my throat. It was as if a comic book had exploded all over the studio. There
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