by Coco Simon
“I’m an M, too,” I said. “I’m Mia, and this is Ava. It’s nice to meet you.”
Dad waved. “Did you forget about me? I’m the dad.”
“Nice to meet you, Dad,” Miriam said.
“We’re taking a class at Parsons,” I said. “And my mom told us to come here.” I sometimes forget that in fashion, my mom is kind of famous.
When I told Miriam my mom’s name, she said, “You’re Sara’s daughter?” And then she clapped her hands. “Must run in the family!”
Then she walked us all through the shop, which reminded me of a maze. The aisles twisted and turned, and I’m sure if we hadn’t been with Miriam, we would have gotten lost.
She led us past plaids, florals, pinstripes, sequins, and satins. First, she stopped at a roll of thin, gray fabric with a slight shimmer.
“It’s exactly what I had imagined!” I said, feeling the smooth fabric between my fingers.
Then we were off again, and she helped me find the perfect shade of pink satin. We took the rolls to the fabric cutting table, and Miriam asked me questions about the measurements of the dress and calculated how much fabric I would need (with extra to account for mistakes). Before long I was holding a neatly wrapped package of fabric, tied with a piece of string.
I couldn’t help myself. I hugged her. “Miriam, you are the fairy godmother of fabric. Thank you so much.”
She reached out and ruffled my hair. “And you are a sweetheart. You’ve raised a nice girl here, Dad.”
“I know,” Dad said, and I’m sure I blushed.
Then he looked at his watch. “Okay, back to the subway! I’ve got to get you two girls to your class.”
We left L&M Fabrics and went back to Parsons. (It’s officially called Parsons The New School for Design, but it’s easier to just say Parsons.) It’s one of the top fashion design schools in the country—maybe even the world—and even though I’m not in college, they offer workshops for kids on the weekends.
The class is held every Saturday, but I go every other week, and they said that was okay when I signed up. Basically, it’s like an open workshop where you can work on your own projects, and design students will help you with them.
The school is this tall, cool-looking building with long, glass windows going all the way up. Dad dropped off Ava and me by the front entrance.
“See you at one,” he said, and I gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for the fabric,” I said, and Dad smiled.
“Anything for mija,” he said, using his pet name for me. Then he waved, and Ava and I walked through the front doors.
“I can’t believe you’re going to sew that dress,” Ava was saying as we headed to our workroom. “I’m still trying to get the pockets right on that denim skirt I started three weeks ago.”
“And it’s going to be adorable when it’s done,” I told her. “But I have to do something ambitious for the contest. Can you believe Katie told me the dress was boring? We had, like, kind of a big fight over it.”
Ava stopped and looked at me, surprised. “I didn’t think you and Katie ever fought.”
“Well, she insulted my dress, and then I asked Emma and Alexis if they wanted to model it, and then Katie got all mad because I didn’t ask her, too,” I explained. “I mean, why would I ask her to model a dress that she doesn’t even like?”
Ava shook her head. “She’s crazy if she doesn’t like it. It’s gorgeous, and you are so going to win!” she assured me as we pushed open the workroom doors.
“Hey! It’s a Mia week!” a cheerful voice said, and I looked up to see one of the design students, Millicent, standing there.
I totally adore Millicent. She’s twenty-one and has this perfect caramel skin and curly black hair that she sometimes puts up in all these crazy ponytails. And every time I see her, I’m surprised by what she’s wearing.
This morning, she had on hot-pink-and-black–striped tights, a pink tutulike skirt, a fitted black tank top, and a short white cardigan over it. She had her hair in two puffy ponytails on top of her head, with a pink ribbon tied around one of them.
“Tokyo street fashion?” I guessed, and Millicent smiled and nodded.
“I had sushi last night, and it got me in a Japanese mood,” she said. “So, what are you working on today?”
“I’m finishing those pockets!” Ava said, emptying her backpack onto one of the worktables as some of the other students started streaming in.
“Actually, I really need your help,” I told Millicent. She motioned me to follow her to an empty table, and I laid my package of fabric on top. Then I took out my sketch to show her.
“I’m entering this design contest,” I said. “It’s my fantasy dress. What do you think?”
Millicent picked up the sketch. “Wow, Mia!” she said. “This is really sophisticated. And you’re lining it with satin? That won’t be easy to do.”
“I know,” I said, opening my package. “But I got the fabric, and it’s so beautiful, I just have to use it.”
Millicent felt the fabric between her fingers. “Yeah, I get it,” she said. “Okay, so first things first. You know what measurements you want?”
I nodded. “Yeah, my friend Emma is going to model it for me.”
“Then let’s get you started on a pattern,” she said. “It’s going to seem like a really big deal to make this dress, but if you just take it one step at a time, you’ll be fine.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this!”
With Millicent guiding me through it, I felt pretty confident making the pattern. I used this really thin paper and draped it over a dress form that basically had the same measurements as Emma. Millicent reminded me to leave enough room for seams as I cut out the pattern.
By the time one o’clock came around, I had all the pattern pieces cut out. Millicent high-fived me.
“Nice job, Mia,” she said. “You’re going to do great.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Hey, check it out!”
I turned to see Ava behind me. She had changed out of her jeans and was wearing a totally cute denim skirt, with her hands stuffed into the front pockets.
“Pockets!” she said proudly.
“Ava, it’s adorable!” I cried.
“Thanks,” she said. “Did you get your pattern done?”
I nodded. “Millicent helped me.”
Then we packed up our stuff, said good-bye to Millicent, and headed outside. Dad took us to Mega Burger for lunch, and then we walked past this shop that sold cute tights, and I bought a pair just like Millicent’s. It was a perfect day.
Well, almost perfect. Because all day long, in the back of my mind, I knew Katie was still mad at me, and that didn’t feel so good.
CHAPTER 5
What Was I Thinking?
That night I carefully opened up my material onto the sewing table in my room in Dad’s apartment. When I started taking the class, he bought me the table and a sewing machine, so I could work on projects when I was there.
I stared at the fabric, still not quite believing how perfect it was. It seemed almost a shame to cut into it, but I knew I would have to. Then I remembered something. In class, Millicent is always saying we should first do a rough version of our patterns in muslin. Muslin is a thin, white fabric. You use your pattern to cut pieces out of muslin and roughly sew them together. That way, you can see if the fit is right before you cut into your expensive fabric.
“I should have asked Miriam for some muslin,” I muttered, frowning, but then I started wondering if I had time to do the muslin thing. When was the contest deadline, anyway?
I rummaged in my bag for my copy of Teen Runway magazine and turned to the ad for the contest. Where was the deadline? Then I found it, in tiny print.
All entries must be postmarked by November 3.
November 3? Even if I used overnight mail to send in the photo of Emma wearing the dress, that only gave me a little more than a week to sew the dress! I def
initely didn’t have time to do a rough muslin version.
“Nooooo!” I wailed.
Dad appeared in my doorway. “Everything okay, mija?”
I sighed. “I just realized I only have, like, a week to sew the dress,” I said. “That’s impossible!”
“That doesn’t sound like the Mia I know,” Dad said. “On those shows you make me watch, don’t they sew beautiful gowns in one day? If they can do that, then you can do it in a week.”
“But they’re all professional designers,” I protested. “I’m just learning!”
Dad nodded. “That’s true. But you’re also very talented. You should at least give it a try. What have you got to lose? If you don’t finish in time, you’ll at least have a beautiful dress.”
“I guess you’re right,” I admitted. “If I want this badly enough, I’ve got to try. But that means I need to cut my fabric tonight. We can’t watch a movie together.”
Dad put his two hands over his heart. “My heart is breaking, but I will get over it,” he teased. “Can I help you?”
I thought about it. “No, I think I’ve got it. I can start sewing tomorrow when I get back to Mom’s. Except I have a Cupcake Club meeting tomorrow night. Argh! I’m never going to be able to do this!”
“Deep breaths, mija,” Dad told me. “You can take an earlier train. Then you’ll have all afternoon to sew. You did your homework after lunch, right?”
“All done,” I assured him.
“See? It’s going to be fine.”
I got up and gave him a hug. Dad always knew how to make me feel better. Sometimes I still wish it could be like it used to be, when I saw him every day.
“Thanks,” I said. “Now I’d better get down to business.”
Cutting out the pieces of fabric from the pattern was more difficult than it sounded. First, I had to iron the fabric and then pin each pattern piece to it. I worked on the gray fabric first, and then the pink. At first, I was sweating a little every time I cut into the fabric. What if I messed up? But when I was done, I had all my finished pieces perfectly stacked.
Dad came back into my room just as I was cleaning up. “It’s really late, Mia. You should get some sleep.”
“I got a lot done,” I told him. “I think I can do this.”
He smiled at me. “I know you can!”
On the train home the next morning, I had two things on my mind:
1. How was I going to finish the dress?
2. Was it going to be weird to see Katie that night at the Cupcake Club meeting?
I didn’t know how to handle number two yet, but I decided I could tackle problem number one with some Alexis-style scheduling. I divided a page of my sketchbook into ten squares—the number of days I had to finish. Then I figured out how much sewing I needed to do each day, adding in my Cupcake Club meetings that I remembered. If I stuck to the schedule, I could have the dress done by next Sunday, do a fitting with Emma, make adjustments, and then take the final photo.
“Whew!” I said out loud, looking at it. It would be tough, but I could do it.
I told my mom my plan when she picked me up at the train station.
“My homework is done, so I’m going to sew all afternoon until the Cupcake Club meeting,” I said, and then I frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“I had a big fight with Katie,” I said, and it felt good to get it out. “She said she didn’t like my sketch for the dress! She actually called it boring!” I told Mom the rest of the story, including how I had tried to explain myself to Katie but made it worse by calling her Silly Arms.
“Hmm,” Mom said. “Well, Mia, it sounds like your feelings were hurt by Katie’s comments, and you may have lashed out a bit.”
“Well, yeah,” I admitted. “But, I mean, what does she know about fashion anyway?”
We pulled up at a traffic light, and Mom looked at me. “Let me give you some advice. If you are to become a fashion designer, you have to learn two very important things: one is how to talk to people, especially potential clients. The other, is how to take criticism.”
“But if I’m proud of my work, shouldn’t I defend it?” I asked.
“It’s all in the way you do it,” Mom said. “First of all, remember that everyone has different tastes. What you may think is classic and chic, someone else may think is plain or dull. Something you may think is overworked and over-the-top might look gorgeous to someone else. So when somebody expresses his or her opinion, don’t take it personally. And remember that everyone has his or her own style. That’s what makes things interesting.”
I thought about that. Katie loves everything rainbow colored; we sometimes joke that her bedroom looks like a unicorn threw up in it. It made sense that she wouldn’t like my gray dress.
“Besides, friends are more important than fashion,” Mom went on. “I’d hate to think of you fighting with Katie over a dress, of all things.”
It was like my being mad at Katie was a balloon, and Mom popped it. Suddenly, I didn’t even feel mad or annoyed with her anymore—I just felt terrible about what I had said to her.
I got out my phone and texted Katie.
See you tonight!
I waited, hoping she would text me back right away, but she didn’t. That made me nervous.
What if Katie could never forgive me?
CHAPTER 6
Rainbows and Cupcakes
I was kind of glad that I had so much sewing to do, because it kept my mind off Katie all afternoon. Before I knew it, Mom was calling me down to dinner (Eddie’s roast chicken and Mom’s rice and peas). Then Mom drove me to Alexis’s house for our Sunday night Cupcake Club meeting.
I was really nervous as I rang the bell. What if Katie wasn’t talking to me? How would we bake cupcakes together? It would be so awkward and terrible.
Then the door opened, and Katie was standing there.
“I’m sorry!” we both said at the same time, and then we started laughing, crying, and apologizing all at once.
“I should never have criticized your dress. You’re the fashion expert!”
“I was wrong to get mad when you said the dress was plain. It is plain, and I know you love bright colors.”
“But I shouldn’t have said it was boring . . .”
“And I shouldn’t have called you Silly Arms . . .”
“Let’s promise never to fight again!”
“Never, ever again!”
Alexis stepped in between us. “Okay! Enough with the lovefest!” she teased. “Can we please get back to business as usual now?”
I hugged Katie one more time. “Okay, now we can!”
We followed Alexis into her kitchen, where Emma was filling the cupcake pans with paper cups. Alexis’s kitchen is superneat, and Alexis had all the baking ingredients set out in a row on the counter. I took the bag of decorating supplies I had brought and dumped it out onto the kitchen table. Alexis grimaced.
“Sorry about the mess,” I said. “It’s just . . . we have so many ideas to test out, so I brought a lot of stuff.”
The table was covered with small tubes of decorating gel, bags of skinny black licorice, jelly beans in Halloween colors—black, green, orange, and purple—and other small bags of candy that I thought would be interesting. Mom had also picked up some candy eyeballs for us. They’re pretty easy to find in the baking section of the craft store.
“I thought for the test batch we should do the pumpkin cupcakes, since we can make vanilla and chocolate ones in our sleep,” Alexis said.
Katie held up a can of puréed pumpkin. “I brought the stuff.”
“And I’ve got butter softening for the icing,” Emma said, nodding to her pink stand mixer, which she had brought for our baking session. “I figure we can do vanilla and then try a bunch of different colors.”
“I’ll get to work on the batter,” Katie said.
“I’ll help,” I offered.
While Emma and Alexis worked on the icing, I helped Katie
make the pumpkin cupcakes. She told me what she needed, and I measured it out for her: flour, eggs, cinnamon, nutmeg, pumpkin. . . . There were a lot of ingredients. When the batter was done, we poured it into the cups and then put it in the oven to bake. That gave us about twenty minutes to clean up and hang out.
“So, I can’t believe George’s party is this coming Saturday!” Emma said. “I think I know what my costume’s going to be. My mom’s helping me with it.”
“Ooh, what are you going to be?” Katie asked.
Emma’s eyes twinkled. “I kind of want it to be a surprise.”
“Well, I don’t mind telling you all my costume—” Alexis began, but Emma raised her hand.
“No, don’t!” she cried. “I mean, we do everything together. We have a business together, we study together, we hang out together. Which is great. So maybe just this once we should surprise one another.”
“Cool!” Katie said. “I am definitely going to surprise you guys.”
“Yeah, sure,” I agreed, but inside, I was thinking, My surprise might be that I don’t have a costume! It was the last thing on my mind, really.
Alexis dried her hands on a dish towel. “We should do some scheduling. George’s party is Saturday night, so we can’t bake then. So when do we want to do the cupcakes for Angelo Ricco’s party?”
“Saturday morning?” Katie asked.
“Or we could bake Friday night and decorate Saturday morning,” Emma suggested. “It’s always easier to decorate when the cupcakes are cool.”
My mind was racing. Friday night. Saturday morning. When would I find time to sew?
“Um, would you guys mind if I skipped baking Friday night?” I asked. “I only have a week to sew the dress for the contest and . . .”
“Of course!” Katie said quickly. “But you can decorate Saturday morning, right? I mean, we really need you for that.”
I nodded. I’d make it work somehow. “Sure.”
“That works for me,” Alexis said. “And that will give us time to get ready for the party that night.”