A tween jewelry designer finds herself competing for an online fashion blog spot in this funny and sparkly M!X novel. Twelve-year-old Tess loves fashion, but she has a soft spot for accessories. In fact, Tess runs her own consulting firm for the kids at her school. If you need the finishing touch for middle school dances, special occasions like a thirteenth birthday or bat/bar mitzvah, Tess can make it happen. She loves reading The Miscellaneous Moxie , THE online fashion blog that’s as crazy about accessories as Tess is. So when the blog opens up a contest, calling all of their faithful readers to enter to win a chance at designing an accessory of their very own, Tess jumps at the chance to create something that will wow the judges. But things get more complicated when her former BFF turned frenemy, Kayte (who added the y to be “unique”), a self-proclaimed fashion plate, tries to encroach on Tess’s turf—and submits her own entries for the blog contest. In the midst of the Bling War, Tess discovers that a precious locket from her beloved grandmother, Mimi, is missing. Can Tess solve the mystery behind the missing necklace and get crowned the Bling Queen, too? Allison Gutknecht is the author of multiple books for young readers, including the Pet Pals series, Sing Like Nobody’s Listening , Spring Break Mistake , The Bling Queen , and the Mandy Berr series. After graduating from the University of Pennsylvania, she earned her master’s degree in children’s media and literature from NYU. Allison grew up in Voorhees, New Jersey, and now lives in New York City. The Bling Queen Chapter 1 Let me tell you the problem with a glitter belt—it’s the glitter. I learned my lesson with glitter belts last year, but Deirdre, not so much. Which is why, one by one, piece by piece, I am picking teeny specks of glitter out of Deirdre’s thick strands of red hair. Her hair is so long that its tips sway against the edge of her belt, capturing glitter like wisps of dandelion in a windstorm. That’s kind of poetic, actually—“wisps of dandelion in a windstorm.” If I were writing in my language arts journal right now like I’m supposed to be doing, instead of systematically pulling glitter off Deirdre’s head, I might jot that down. “Ow!” Deirdre whisper-yells from her seat in front of me. “Do you have to pull so hard?” “I think you meant to say ‘thank you,’ ” I whisper back to her. “I warned you not to wear that belt again.” She leans back in her seat and shakes her hair over my desk, two flakes of glitter depositing themselves on my notebook. I tap the back of her head with the tip of my green gel pen—my Thursday color, since it’s my second-favorite—like a stick on a snare drum. Tap tappity tap, tappity tap, tappity tap— WHOOSH. Deirdre whirls around in her seat, her glittery hair flying around her, undoubtedly spraying the rest of the room. She and I face off silently, the tiny crinkles at the edges of her eyes matching the ones on the sides of my lips. We call this “glirking”—a glaring smirk. When you’re annoyed but also entertained, want to smack the other person but also want to laugh out loud, you glirk. Deirdre and I glirk at each other quietly until she tries to swipe my pen out of my hand, and I am forced to throw my arm up into the air to escape her reach, accidentally tossing my pen onto the floor as I do. Deirdre covers her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking as she tries not to laugh out loud, while I get up to retrieve the pen. “Girls,” Ms. Castleby calls from her desk, dragging out the word with a lilt in her voice, so that I can tell she’s not actually angry with us. I take my seat as Deirdre turns to face the front of the room, and then I look over to Bree’s desk. She shakes her head, laughing with no sound. “The belt,” I mouth to her, pointing to Deirdre’s waist. “I told her.” “I know,” Bree mouths back just as the bell rings. “That’s all for today, people.” Ms. Castleby walks to the front of the room as we gather our things. She barely looks much older than us, though she’s been teaching at Twining Ridge Middle School since at least last year. I know because I remember seeing her in the hallways—or more specifically, I remember seeing her outfits. Ninety-nine percent of her ensemble will be normal, and then—bam!—there’s always one piece that catches your eye. Today it’s a scarf that she has tied around the front of her hair like a headband. The scarf is white with tiny yellow stars sprinkled across it, which match her hair perfectly. I love everything about it. “Remember, tomorrow I’m collecting your journals to read and to grade, so if all of your entries aren’t complete, I suggest you finish them up tonight.” The rest of the class lets out a collective moan, but I don’t join them. I kind of like the journal. Ms. Castleby gives us a topic to write about each day, in case we’re out of ideas, but she’s also okay if we do our own thing. So all of my entries are about clothes, or s