"Okay, Emmett." Those two words are enough to strike terror into the hearts of, well, me. I've heard them too much in the past few hours as Alice played wardrobe chick on me, and I automatically don't like where this is going. "I know that the sweater vest was a little frumpy, and the greaser look is kind of 50s-ish, so I'm going to go for something more modern."

"Modern?" I squeak. Last time Alice went "modern," I was stuck in skinny jeans and was wearing makeup.

"Relax," soothes Alice, although until I know what I'm putting on, I don't know if I can. "Here." Something kind of jangly is sent my way. I hold it up. It's a dark denim jacket (I don't know if I can trust denim) with so many zippers, it almost seems heavy in my hand. That's saying a lot. Then she hurls a pair of black pants at me. I quickly check the bottoms. Good. It looks like my feet will fit.

I pull on the pants, only to feel they're tight in another part—the thigh. It feels like a pair of ginormous hands are squeezing my leg. I put the jacket on over my undershirt left over from the greaser look. "Alice?" I ask in a small voice. "The pants are too small."

"That's the style," Alice says. "Fresh off the runways in Milan." She looks me over. "Give me a turn." I twist self-consciously. "That's hot! You look amazing!" She grins, and I half-smile back.

I've decided I don't like Milan.

ChanelBel7887 once again has struck literary gold. i hearted her runway Emmett. here's to zippers!