Dressed to Frill

by Chloe Taylor

  “That was the scariest elective ever,” she told Priti after the bell rang.

  “But you manage to work a sewing machine just fine without being scared,” Priti said. “Just think of the saw as, you know, like a really big sewing machine.”

  “I guess,” Zoey said, as she gathered her books to head to her next class. “One with really big teeth.”

  Emily and Ivy were just ahead of Priti and Zoey as they filed out of the classroom.

  “I thought you were going to get a skirt like mine and wear it today,” Emily told Ivy.

  “I was . . . ,” Ivy said. “I mean, I am. I just . . . haven’t been able to get to the mall to get it. My mom’s been too busy to drive me.”

  “We could go on Wednesday after school,” Emily said. “My mom could drive. I want to get some of those new woven bracelets I saw in Seventeen. They’re so cute.”

  “I can’t,” Ivy said. “I’m busy. I have a . . . dentist appointment.”

  “Didn’t you go to the dentist last week?” Emily said.

  “Oh . . . yeah. But . . . I have a cavity,” Ivy mumbled. “So I have to get it filled.”

  “Does it sound to you like Ivy’s making excuses?” Priti quietly commented to Zoey, stopping so Emily and Ivy could walk farther ahead of them down the noisy hallway.

  “I don’t know,” Zoey said, watching as her frequent frenemy turned the corner. “But Ivy definitely seems a little . . . different lately.”

  “Hey, Zoey! Priti! Wait up!”

  Gabe Monaco, Zoey’s friend, then crush, now friend again, caught up with them, breathless.

  “Am I glad I found you! I just had my first home economics class,” he panted.

  “Oh, yeah, we just had industrial arts,” Priti said. “Zoey’s freaked out by all the saws.”

  “Who knew there were so many different kinds?” Zoey retorted. “And all of them are very sharp.”

  “Well, I seem to be all thumbs with a sewing machine,” Gabe quipped. “I can’t tell a bobbin and a spindle apart. And we have to make an apron for the class competition before we can get to the fun stuff like baking. So . . . Zoey, I was wondering if I could ask you for help.”

  “Sure!” Zoey said. “It’s really not that hard, I promise.”

  Gabe looked at her skeptically.

  “You know how you feel about a band saw?” he asked. “That’s me with a sewing machine. I can just see me sewing my finger into a seam . . . if I could ever get the machine to work.”

  “That’s better than accidentally cutting off half your thumb,” Zoey argued.

  “Eww! Can you stop with the gross-out competition?” Priti said. “I’m going to throw up!”

  Gabe and Zoey laughed.

  “Okay, competition over,” Gabe said. “Catch you guys later . . . and thanks, Zoey!”

  “Dad, can you drive me to Libby’s house on Sunday around lunchtime?” Zoey asked her father at dinner on Thursday night. “I want her to finalize her Bat Mitzvah dress design so I can start work. I’ve got four dresses to make before her big day!”

  Zoey wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, or if it was the lighting in the kitchen, but it looked like her dad was starting to . . . blush?

  “I . . . Marcus, can you drive Zoey on Sunday?”

  “I think so—I’ll text Allie after dinner to make sure we don’t have anything planned.” Marcus eyed his father with a raised eyebrow. “Why, Dad? Do you have a date or something?”

  It definitely wasn’t her imagination, Zoey thought. Her dad was blushing!

  “As a matter of fact, yes, I do have a date,” he admitted. “We’re going to a museum.”

  “You and the Mystery Lady?” Zoey asked.

  Dad nodded.

  “Very cultured,” Marcus said, grinning. “So are we ever going to meet the Mystery Lady?”

  “Oh, you’ll meet her,” Dad said.

  “When?” Zoey asked.

  “Uh . . . soon,” Dad replied.

  Zoey noticed he changed the subject to football as quickly as he could! Usually, Dad was pretty open about his dates. She wondered what made this one different.

  “So how long do you think it’ll be before Dad actually introduces us to the Mystery Girlfriend?” Marcus asked Zoey as he was driving her to Libby’s house on Sunday.

  “It feels like it’ll never happen.” Zoey sighed. “But I hope it’s soon, because I’m really curious.”

  “Me too,” Marcus said. “It’s hilarious how he blushes and gets all shy whenever we talk about her.”

  “Do you think that means it’s . . . serious? Like getting-married-again serious?”

  “I think you should at least let him introduce her to us before you start marrying them off, Zo,” Marcus said. “You worry too much.”

  Dad getting remarried to the Mystery Girlfriend wasn’t the only thing worrying Zoey, though.

  “Is everything okay with you and Allie?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Marcus said. He sounded surprised. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just that you seem to be around a lot more than you usually are,” Zoey observed. “And she’s been around a lot less.”

  Marcus focused on the road ahead and didn’t say anything right away.

  “I mean, it’s true, she’s been really busy lately. Like, whenever I want to hang out, she’s got something to do.” He pulled the car into Libby’s driveway and then turned to face Zoey. “But that’s because she really is busy with all her blog stuff, not because there’s anything wrong.”

  “Okay,” Zoey said. “I was just wondering, that’s all.”

  She grabbed her sketchbook. “I’m glad you weren’t busy. It gave us a chance to hang out.”

  “I love it!” Libby exclaimed when Zoey showed her the sketch for her Bat Mitzvah dress. “It’s even better than I imagined!”

  “Do you know what kind of fabric you want?” Zoey asked. “If not, we could go to A Stitch in Time and look at material.”

  “You choose,” Libby said. “Between volunteering at the food pantry and Hebrew tutoring and Hebrew school, I’m already crazy busy. Plus, I have to do the work for my mitzvah project. Today I have to weed the vegetable patch, otherwise the produce won’t grow well.”

  “I can help you with that,” Zoey offered.

  “Really? You’ll help?” Libby looked so relieved.

  “Sure. It’s a nice day; we’ll be outside. How hard can it be?”

  A lot harder than she thought, Zoey realized after they’d been doing it for a while. She had crescents of dirt caked beneath her fingernails, and her back and knees hurt from kneeling and bending over to pull weeds! Libby’s little sister, Sophie, came out and “helped” too, although Libby got upset when she pulled up an onion instead of the weeds and it had to be replanted.

  But when they were done, the rows among the pumpkins, squashes, onions, broccoli, and cabbages that Libby was growing for the food pantry looked much better.

  “These aren’t my favorite vegetables, but they’re all that I could grow now. I checked with the people at the garden center,” Libby explained. “I’ll be able to grow a bigger variety of things in the spring and summer.”

  “Look at the size of this pumpkin! It’s enormous!” Zoey exclaimed.

  “That’s my prize specimen,” Libby said.

  “We call him the Pumpkinator,” Sophie cheerfully chimed in.

  “It’s so great that you’re doing this,” Zoey said. “It’s a lot of work to grow all these vegetables.”

  “I know,” Libby said. “But volunteering at the food pantry made me realize how lucky we are. I mean, I’ve always just taken it for granted that Mom makes us great meals all the time—and not only that, we get to go out to restaurants and get takeout sometimes when Mom’s too tired to cook. The families that come in to the food pantry don’t seem so different from mine.”

  “That’s true,” Zoey said. “Volunteering at the pet shelter made me realize how lucky Buttons is to live with Aunt Lulu a
nd Uncle John and not be abandoned on the street to fend for herself.”

  “Now, that’s something I really can’t imagine,” Libby said. “Buttons, a street dog having to forage for food herself. She’d miss her treats too much!”

  Zoey laughed. “I know. She’s turning into a fluffy treat-a-holic.”

  Libby stood up and surveyed the vegetable patch. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were tinged pink from both the chill in the air and the exertion of pulling weeds.

  “That looks so much better,” she said. “I don’t know about you guys, but my fingers and toes are starting to get numb. Let’s get some hot chocolate.”

  “Yum!” Zoey exclaimed.

  “Me too! Me too!” Sophie jumped around in excitement as they walked toward the house.

  As soon as they opened the back door, Mrs. Flynn called out from the kitchen, “Take off your shoes and wash your hands!”

  Libby turned to Zoey as they were scrubbing the dirt from under their fingernails. “When we’re done washing up, can we get your sketch pad? I can’t wait to show the dress to Mom!”

  “Sure!” Zoey said.

  When they went into the kitchen, they made big steaming mugs of hot chocolate, with mini marshmallows floating on top, for themselves and Sophie. Zoey wrapped her cold fingers around the mug to warm her hands.

  “Look at the dress Zoey designed for my Bat Mitzvah party,” Libby told her mom, proudly holding open Zoey’s sketchbook. “Isn’t it perfect?”

  Mrs. Flynn looked at the sketch. She didn’t smile. She didn’t say anything. Zoey’s heart sank. She doesn’t like it, she thought.

  “It’s a delightful dress, Zoey,” Mrs. Flynn said. “You’re very talented.” Zoey waited for the “but,” and sure enough, it came. “But I just don’t think a strapless dress is appropriate for a twelve-year-old girl, especially for a religious event.”

  “I think it’s pretty!” Sophie said.

  “But, Mooooom,” Libby groaned. “It’s sooooo gorgeous and I’ve been to other Bat Mitzvahs where girls wore dresses just like it! Well, not just like it, because it’s totally unique, but you know what I mean.”

  “I understand, sweetheart, but those other girls aren’t my daughter,” Mrs. Flynn pointed out. “You are.”

  Libby wasn’t looking very happy about that fact at that particular moment, even though she and her mom usually got along really well.

  “That’s so unfair, Mom!” she said. “You said having a Bat Mitzvah means I’m becoming an adult in the Jewish community, so why can’t I choose what I want to wear?”

  “Because I’m still you’re mother,” Mrs. Flynn said, “and I’m telling you that it’s inappropriate.”

  As the argument became more and more heated, Zoey tried to shrink into the background. She felt awkward—and awful. The last thing she wanted to do was to cause trouble between Libby and her mom.

  By the time Mrs. Flynn left the kitchen, telling Sophie to come upstairs to do her reading for school, Libby was steaming more than the hot chocolate.

  “I can’t believe her!” she said. “Why can’t I wear what I want to wear? It’s supposed to be my day!”

  “I could . . . make some . . . modifications,” Zoey ventured. She felt caught in the middle, wanting to make everyone happy but without any idea of how, exactly, to go about doing it.

  “No, don’t do it yet,” Libby said. “I have a plan.”

  “What’s that?” Zoey asked, curious.

  “I’m going to call Aunt Lexie,” Libby said. “She knows fashion, and she’s way cooler than Mom. Maybe she’ll be able to convince her that a strapless dress is okay.”

  If anyone could convince Libby’s mom, Lexie could.

  “Good idea,” Zoey said. “I really hope it works!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Balancing Act

  Fashion is about balancing shape and volume—like when you wear a flowing top with lots of interest and slim line pants, or a tight, solid-colored top and a patterned skirt. It’s so much easier to find balance with fabrics than it is with people. Like . . . what do you do when you want to make one person happy, but you end up making another person unhappy? Life would be so much easier if you could just make everyone happy all the time, wouldn’t it? I just want to be like Lady Justice, always doing the right thing, even when blindfolded. Even without a blindfold, it’s not that easy.

  When I explained Libby’s dress situation to Dad, he said, “Welcome to my world!” He said he often has to make hard decisions that he knows will make either Marcus or me—or even sometimes both of us—unhappy, but that’s being a parent. I guess there isn’t always a 100 percent “right” solution to every problem.

  Later that afternoon, after his date at the museum, Dad came to pick up Zoey from Libby’s.

  “How was your day of art appreciation with you know who?” Zoey asked when she got into the car.

  “Very nice,” Dad said, smiling. “I know way more about art than I did this morning!”

  “So . . . are you going to be going to museums a lot now?” Zoey asked.

  “I don’t know about that,” Dad said. “I’ve seen enough paintings for a month or two at least. Sports are definitely more my thing.”

  Zoey thought about asking him when they’d meet his date, but then he started telling her all about the paintings he’d seen, and she lost the courage to do it.

  A car was in the driveway when they pulled up at home.

  “Oh, Allie’s here!” Zoey said.

  “She hasn’t been around so much recently,” Dad said.

  “Marcus says she’s been really busy with her blog and stuff,” Zoey said quickly. “It’s not because there’s anything wrong.”

  “I wasn’t saying there was,” Dad said. “Just making the observation.”

  But when they came into the house, it seemed like maybe there was something wrong, because it sounded like Marcus and Allie were fighting downstairs in the basement. Even though the door was closed, and Zoey and Dad couldn’t hear what they were saying, it was clear from the volume and the tone that they weren’t very happy with each other.

  “Looks like there might be trouble in paradise.” Dad sighed. “I’m going to go turn on the football game and let them have their privacy.”

  Zoey wanted to stay in the kitchen, so she could try to hear what was going on, but Dad gestured with his thumb that she should scram too. Giving Dad a worried look, she headed upstairs to her room to work on the designs for Priti’s and Kate’s dresses.

  The sketch for Priti’s dress was coming along when Zoey heard the front door shut more loudly than usual, followed by the sound of Allie—who had just gotten her driver’s license—starting her car and pulling out of the driveway. A minute later, Marcus came crashing up the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom.

  Zoey wondered if she should leave him alone to let him calm down, but she decided against it, since she wanted to help. She walked down the hall and tapped on his door.

  “What?”

  “It’s Zoey. Can I come in?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Her brother was sprawled on his bed, with his arm over his face.

  “Are you okay?” Zoey asked.

  “I’m fine,” Marcus mumbled, his face still covered by his arm.

  “You don’t seem that okay,” Zoey said. “Are you sure everything is all right? It sounded like you and Allie were fighting.”

  “You think?” Marcus said.

  “So . . . did you manage to work everything out?”

  Marcus didn’t say anything. Zoey watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he took a deep breath and then swallowed.

  “No.” He lowered his arms, revealing eyes that were red and damp. “She . . . broke up with me.”

  “Oh no!” Zoey exclaimed. She sat down on the bed next to her brother and gave his leg a comforting squeeze.

  “I didn’t even see it coming,” Marcus said. “I mean, she’d been busy a lot . . . and we’d been argui
ng more than usual, but . . . I didn’t think she’d end it.”

  “Did she say why?” Zoey asked.

  “Something about it getting too serious. She said she’s not ready for serious,” Marcus said. “I told her I would take things more slowly, but that didn’t make a difference. She just wanted to end it, and that was that.”

  He put his arm back over his face, and his chest heaved.

  “I’m sorry, Marcus,” she said. “I know you really like her.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.”

  Her brother rolled over, turned on his music, and kept his back to Zoey. He obviously needed time to himself.

  As she walked back to her room, she wondered how Allie’s decision was going to affect their friendship. She’d been friends with Allie before Marcus started dating her. But he was her brother—and it was clear he was hurting. Badly.

  It feels like I’m getting stuck in the middle of everything right now, Zoey thought with a sigh as she picked up her pencil and went back to work on the sketches for Priti’s and Kate’s dresses.

  “So how’s your Bat Mitzvah project going?” Priti asked Libby at lunch on Tuesday.

  “Good!” Libby said. “Zoey helped me weed on Sunday.”

  “That was hard work!” Zoey said.

  “But now I’ve got a new plan,” Libby said.

  “Is that why you were in such deep conversation with the head of the food pantry when we were volunteering yesterday?” Kate asked.

  Libby nodded. “He said that in order to be able to safely accommodate all the produce I plan to grow and raise money to buy, they’ll need a new industrial fridge, because the one they have isn’t big enough.”

  “Uh-oh. That sounds expensive,” Priti said.

  “It is.” Libby sighed. “Two-thousand-dollar expensive.”

  Zoey whistled. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “I know,” Libby admitted. “But the food pantry director said we might be able to get a discount because it’s a nonprofit. I’m determined to make this happen no matter what it takes.”