The Time-Traveling Fashionista Read Online Free Page B

beckoned and she leaned her bike up against an old oak tree, double-checking the address on the
     invitation. Number 220 Chapel Street was a nondescript brick building. Louise must have walked by it a thousand times without
     ever noticing it. Brooke was nowhere in sight. Maybe she had reconsidered her offer now that she wasn’t defending her best
     friend from Billy.
    There was nothing but dust and cobwebs in the showcase window, and Louise wondered if she’d fallen for some kind of hoax.
     From the street, the store looked closed and deserted. Perhaps the Traveling Fashionista Vintage Sale had already packed up
     and left town?
    She decided to try the door anyway. To her amazement, it swung open with only the slightest touch, and Louise stepped hesitantly
     into the darkness.

“Welcome! Welcome! Marla, we have a customer, what fun!” A crimson-haired woman with bright poppy-colored lipstick and a wide
     nose popped up from behind a rack of clothes and led Louise by the arm into the dark, stuffy room.
    “Do you have your invitation, dear?” an unidentified female voice called from the depths of the shop. “Glenda, do check that
     she has an invitation.”
    Louise extracted the embossed, lilac-colored invitation from the front pocket of her backpack and presented it to Glenda.
    The shop was dusty and bursting with armoires, racks of old clothes, and tall columns of hatboxes precariously piled to an
     alarming height. The woman named Marla was partially hidden behind a mahogany rolltop desk in the back corner. The desk was
     a disorganized mess, covered in papers and fabric and leather-bound books.
    “Oh, wonderful,” Glenda chirped as she plucked the cardfrom Louise’s hand and, without bothering to look at it, nonchalantly tossed it over her shoulder onto the floor.
    Glenda had red frizzy hair fastened in a messy chignon with black enamel chopsticks. Her dress was simple black wool, shapeless,
     almost monastic. She was exceptionally tall, an intimidating feature accentuated by her black Victorian lace-up boots with
     three-inch stacked heels.
    “Please have a look around. Sorry for the clutter, but this space is temporary. We’ll be moving soon,” the woman named Marla
     announced.
    She had emerged from behind the desk, small and mousy. Her stringy chestnut-colored hair fell limply to her shoulders. The
     one distinguishing feature adorning her unremarkable face was a wart the size of a peanut that had planted itself on the tip
     of her nose. Louise noticed that the two women were both wearing matching oval-framed pictures of a black poodle that hung
     around their necks by heavy gold chains.
    Louise hated being the only customer in a store. The attention made her self-conscious as she began looking through the tightly
     packed racks of clothes. The two overbearing women didn’t make it any more comfortable as they followed a few paces behind
     her, pausing when she stopped to examine a swishy powder blue dress more carefully.
    Luckily, Brooke burst into the store before things got too uncomfortable.
    “Sorry I’m late,” she panted, looking around the room in awe or horror, Louise wasn’t sure which. “Where are we?” she asked.
     Her eyebrows furrowed. “I never knew this existed.”
    “I know. It’s cool, right?” Louise gushed, trying to sound enthusiastic, but already pretty sure that she would not hear the
     end of this.
    “Dahling, do you have an invitation?” Glenda asked, giving Brooke a thorough once-over. She was wearing her weekend uniform,
     a blueberry-colored Juicy Couture terry tracksuit.
    “She’s with me,” Louise said protectively.
    “Well, I suppose that’s fine,” Marla replied, circling Brooke suspiciously.
    “You suppose?” Brooke raised an eyebrow, and started looking through the clothing racks. “You owe me one,” she said under
     her breath.
    There were no prices listed on anything, and when Brooke asked about the cost of a black cocktail dress, Glenda and