by Sheryl Berk
He unzipped the top of his tote, and a tiny, wet nose poked out. “Madonna the Chihuahua, meet…what’s your name again?”
“Mickey. Mickey Williams.”
“Don’t tell anyone, okay?” he said, zipping Madonna back into her home. “No dogs on FAB property. Mr. Kaye would have a fit. But she’s kind of my mascot. She goes where I go.”
“I promise. Your secret is safe with me,” Mickey replied. “But who’s Mr. Kaye?”
“Only the toughest Apparel Arts teacher in the entire school.”
“Oh.” Mickey gulped.
“You definitely want to watch out for him…and those two.” He motioned to the curb, where a large, white stretch limo was pulling up. A girl and a boy stepped out, waving to the crowd of students as if they were royalty.
Mickey wrinkled her nose. “Who are they?”
“The Lee twins. They’re in my grade. Their mom is Bridget Lee, wedding designer to the stars.”
Mickey whistled through her teeth. “Whoa! She’s super-famous. She did Jessica Simpson’s wedding gown!”
“Exacterooni,” Javen replied. “So steer clear of Jade and Jake. Or as I prefer to call them, Tweedle Mean and Tweedle Meaner.”
Mickey stared at the pair. They looked fairly normal, if not a bit fancy for the first day of school. Jade was wearing white lace shorts and a white chiffon halter top. Her long black hair was pulled back in a rhinestone headband that looked like a tiara. Jake was dressed in a white linen suit with a baby-blue polo shirt underneath.
When Jade was done air-kissing all her friends on both cheeks, she took her pink crushed-velvet Chanel backpack from the limo driver and slung it over one shoulder.
“Wow. That bag’s not even available yet. It’s in the fall/spring collection,” Mickey remarked.
“You know your runway—that’s a plus,” the boy told her before rushing off to his first class. “Good luck on your first day, Green Girl.”
• • •
Mickey tried to decipher her schedule and find her way around FAB’s long and winding hallways. There were six floors with design studios on each. In the basement was the FAB auditorium, complete with a real runway worthy of New York or Paris Fashion Week.
Besides the basic middle school classes—math, science, English, and language—there were two design classes every day. Her Apparel Arts class was on the very top floor.
She reached the sixth-floor landing, panting from the climb up all those stairs, and took her seat in studio 6A. She heaved a sigh of relief: she’d made it on time.
“Take out your textbooks,” the teacher instructed the class. “We’ll begin with naming the five oceans.” She unrolled a large world map and pointed to it.
“Um, excuse me,” Mickey interrupted her. “Is this Apparel Arts 1?”
“This is world geography,” the woman replied. “Try the room at the end of the hall.”
Mickey gathered her books and raced to studio 6B. Class was already in session, so she knocked gently on the door before opening it. “Excuse me”—she peered in—“is this Apparel Arts 1?”
A dapper gentleman with graying hair, a mustache, and a plaid bow tie peered at her over the tops of his wire-rimmed spectacles. “And you might be?”
“Lost. I’m lost. I went to another room and they told me I was in the wrong place.”
The man tapped his mechanical pencil against his chin. “You don’t say? Well then, congratulations. You’ve come to the right place. Take a seat.”
He pointed to a drafting table a few feet from his desk with a dress form set up next to it. Mickey looked around the room and noticed the rest of the class was whispering and giggling.
“Is there a problem?” the teacher asked.
“No, no problem,” Mickey said, sliding into her seat. She could feel the eyes on the back of her neck.
“Good. Then we can begin. I am Mr. Kaye, and this is Apparel Arts 1. Everyone in this class is either new to FAB—or flunked my class last semester.” He stared in disapproval at the boy sitting in the desk next to Mickey. “Gabriel can attest to that.”
The boy sunk in his seat. Mickey realized this was the teacher JC had warned her about, and he wasn’t kidding!
“Over the course of the semester, we shall be learning the elements of design. Does anyone want to tell me what they are?”
Mickey shyly raised her hand. “Yes, the late girl,” Mr. Kaye replied. “Go on.”
“I’d say color, silhouette, texture, and line,” she answered.
“And I’d say you are correct,” Mr. Kaye responded. “And by line, what do we mean?”
Gabriel’s hand went up. “Well, there can be seam lines and pattern lines—like the way stripes line up.”
“Line is the most complex element,” Mr. Kaye explained. “It can create shape and illusion. It can be structural or decorative. It can create a mood and a message.”
Mickey tried her best to write down every word her teacher said—it was all so fascinating!
“Besides learning the elements of design, you will sketch and create three looks based on themes I assign you,” Mr. Kaye continued. “I will grade them on a scale from one to four, four being the highest. Then, at the end of the semester, we will total up the points, and three students—one each from grades six, seven, and eight—will present a four-piece capsule collection on the runway before a panel of judges.”
He stood up in front of the SMART Board and drew a big number 1 on it. “Challenge number one will be due in class tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Gabriel groaned. “That soon?”
“There is no wasting time in my class,” Mr. Kaye insisted. “I want to see how talented and creative you all are. Or not.” He looked around the room at the terrified faces.
“You!” He pointed to a girl dressed all in black leather in the back row. He looked at his class list, hunting for her name. “South East?”
Gabriel chuckled. “Is that a name or an address?”
“Cool it!” a boy behind him whispered. “Don’t you know who she is? That’s Laser East’s daughter.”
“The rapper?” Gabriel replied.
The boy nodded. “The one who’s married to the reality TV star.”
Mr. Kaye was busy quizzing South on what she thought about the World Hunger Council.
“To design you must first understand your client and what he or she wants and needs,” he explained. “South, what do you suppose the World Hunger Council would be looking for in a T-shirt?”
The girl shifted nervously in her seat. “I dunno,” she said quietly. “Something that makes people donate money I guess?”
Mr. Kaye nodded. “Yes, they would want a message that inspires people to give to their organization. What else?”
He strolled to the front of the room and looked straight at Mickey. “Mackenzie Williams,” he read off his list.
“It’s actually Mickey.”
Mr. Kaye furrowed his brow. “Pardon?”
“It’s Mickey. No one calls me Mackenzie except my aunt Olive.”
Mr. Kaye cleared his throat. “Mickey,” he continued. “What do you think the client would be looking for in a garment?”
Mickey took a deep breath and tried to think of something—anything—smart to say. “Food. They’d be looking for food.”
The class erupted in laughter, and Mr. Kaye took off his glasses and rubbed his temples.
“Silence!” he commanded. “Miss Williams has a valid point. The World Hunger Council is definitely looking for food. But that is stating the obvious.”
A girl seated in the front row raised her hand, and Mickey noticed a stack of silver bangles on her wrist. She wasn’t sure, but they looked like they were made out of the tops of soda cans.
“Jewelry designer?” she whispered to Gabriel.
“For
sure. Check out the humungo hoop earrings.”
Mr. Kaye squinted at the girl’s name on the class list. “Marzipan?” he asked.
Again, the class roared with laughter.
“It’s Mar-sa-leen,” she replied, unfazed. “But Mars is fine—as in the planet.”
“And your last name?” Mr. Kaye said, making a note on his roster.
“Just Mars. I’m trying to create my own jewelry line out of recycled materials, and I thought ‘Jewels from Mars’ sounded a lot better than ‘Stuff by Marceline Lipnicki.’”
“Indeed,” Mr. Kaye commented. “Mars it is.”
Gabriel had to practically cover his mouth with his hands to stop from cracking up. “We have an alien from outer space in our class!” he said, snickering.
Mr. Kaye shot him a mean look. “If everyone is quite finished speaking out of turn, Mars had something to add to the discussion.”
“I wanted to know if we could accessorize the shirt for our assignment?” she asked.
“You can—for extra credit. Although you must stay within the budget.”
He wrote the number ten on the SMART Board and drew a circle around it. “Ten dollars. No more. Extra credit if you use less.”
“That’s impossible,” South protested. “I was going to do leather embellishments.”
“Then you’ll just have to get creative,” their teacher insisted. “Creativity counts.”
He handed each student a plain white T-shirt. “Feel free to rummage through the scrap box and look around your home for materials that you have already at your disposal.” He pointed to a huge plastic bin next to his desk brimming with fabric swatches and bits of trim. “I’ll give you the rest of the period to sketch.”
Mickey started to get up and join the rest of the class pulling scraps from the box. Then she stopped herself. That was too easy. Her design had to be unique, innovative, something Mr. Kaye had never seen before. But what?
“This is a nightmare.” Gabriel groaned, looking at the pile of scraps he’d managed to wrestle out of Mars’s hands. “That E.T. girl practically broke my arm for the blue silk- cashmere blend!”
“Did you get it?” Mickey asked.
He waved a small torn patch of fabric in the air. “Well, I got a piece of it.”
While everyone else was busy sketching, Mickey sat staring at the blank sheet of paper and chewing her pencil eraser.
“Designer’s block already?” her teacher asked, making a tsk-tsk sound as he peered over Mickey’s shoulder.
“I guess I’m just stuck trying to come up with something original,” she replied. “What should I do?”
“What you came to FAB to do,” Mr. Kaye said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Be a fashion designer.”
On the bus ride home, Mickey thought hard about her Apparel Arts homework assignment, closing her eyes and trying to picture what her shirt might look like. She saw swirls of color and an array of textures—but what were they? She was completely lost in thought until a banana peel came sailing through the air and landed on her head.
The boys in the last row of the bus were having a food fight.
“Settle down!” the bus driver barked. “No throwing garbage on my bus!”
Mickey was about to stand up and hurl the peel back at the unruly group, when a brilliant idea suddenly came to her. She just needed to get home before Aunt Olive!
When the bus finally pulled up to her corner, Mickey jumped off and bounded up the stairs to her aunt’s apartment. She let herself in and headed straight for the kitchen. She glanced at the bird clock on the wall—it was four fifteen. Her aunt would be home from work by five thirty, so there was no time to waste or even sketch. She pulled the white T-shirt out of her backpack and threw it down on the kitchen table. Then she began rummaging through the fridge and cupboard shelves. Amazingly, she found just what she needed: beets, raspberries, blueberries, and a bag of dried cranberries. She crumpled the shirt into a large mixing bowl, then began crushing the beets and berries till the garment was streaked with purple, red, and blue smudges. Using a needle to pierce the cranberries, she secured them with thread to the neckline of the shirt.
She stood back and admired her handiwork. It still needed something. But what? She opened the fridge again and spied the perfect thing: a huge head of red cabbage. She quickly stripped off the leaves and sewed them to the hem of the shirt. From a distance, they looked like purple-and-white ruffles.
Just then, she heard Olive’s key in the door. She quickly swept all the leftover food and mashed berries into the garbage and tried to wipe the red stains off the countertop.
“Mackenzie? Are you home?” her aunt called.
“Um, I’m in the kitchen. Be out in a sec!” She carefully folded the shirt into a plastic bag and stuffed it in her backpack just as her aunt was walking into the kitchen.
“You can help me sauté the red cabbage for dinner,” Olive said, going to the sink to wash up.
Mickey gulped. “The red cabbage?”
Olive opened the fridge and searched. “Yes, I was sure I put it right here in the crisper.”
Mickey thought quickly. “Oh, that red cabbage. I’m so sorry, Aunt Olive. I ate it for my after-school snack.”
Olive stared. “You ate an entire head of red cabbage? Raw?”
“Yeah, it was really yummy. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Well,” Olive replied, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ll just have to run out to the grocery and get another. And if you like it so much, I’ll get you one for tomorrow as well.”
• • •
Mickey breathed a huge sigh of relief. She waited till she heard the door slam to call her mom at Wanamaker’s and fill her in on her first day.
“How was it, Mickey Mouse?” Her mom was dying to know.
“It was good, just different,” Mickey explained. “I’m really excited for my Apparel Arts assignment that’s due tomorrow. I think I rocked it.”
“Of course you did,” her mom replied. “I would expect nothing less. Did you make friends?”
“Um, yeah, a couple. This boy JC seemed nice.”
“Is Aunt Olive driving you up the walls yet?” her mom pushed. “Is she making you eat kale milk shakes for breakfast?”
“She just went out to get us some dinner,” Mickey said. “Don’t worry, Jordana. I’m fine.”
She heard a client in the background asking her mom something about waterproof mascara. “Gotta run, Mouse! Call ya later!”
Convincing her mom FAB was fab was one thing; convincing her best friend was another.
“Are the kids stuck up?” Annabelle wanted to know when Mickey called her next. “I bet they are, right?”
Mickey told her all about Jade and Jake’s grand entrance, and how JC carried his Chihuahua everywhere. “There are kids named Mars and South East in my design class,” she added.
“They sound really weird,” Annabelle said. “I got my schedule today, and it’s awesome. I have Dance for first Arts Rotation!”
“Cool,” Mickey said, trying to sound excited for her friend. If she had stayed in Philly, they would have been walking to school together every day.
“Oh! And my mom took Becky Adams and me for froyo after school! They’ve got this awesome new flavor that tastes exactly like chocolate milk!”
Mickey missed Annabelle. And froyo. And chocolate milk. “So you and Becky are now besties?” she asked, fingering the silver thimble charm around her neck. “I thought you hated her because she made fun of your braces last year?”
“Nah, she’s okay. We share a locker, and she’s in my Spanish and math classes.”
Mickey nodded. “Sounds cool.”
“Well, I gotta run, Mick. I have tons of homework!” She hung up before Mickey could say good-bye.
• • •
Olive walked back into the apartment and placed two red cabbages on the kitchen table. “I had to hike all the way to 90th Street to get organic ones,” she said, out of breath from climbing the stairs. Then she noticed Mickey’s long face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. My best friend just seems really busy.”
Olive handed her a pot to put the cabbage in. “You know what they say, ‘Out of sight, out of mind…’” her aunt reminded her. “People have to get on with their lives whether or not you’re there.”
Mickey knew that was true. She didn’t expect her mom to stop working or Annabelle to stop going to their favorite froyo place. But she also didn’t expect to miss them so much.
“How was your first day of school?” Olive asked. “Everything you thought it would be?”
Mickey didn’t feel like fibbing anymore. “It was hard. I couldn’t find my classes, and the kids thought I was weird and kind of ignored me.” She waited for her aunt to say something, anything, to make her feel better.
Olive pursed her lips. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to give you advice, Mackenzie. I’ve never been a mother, and I don’t have very many friends.”
Well, that was true…
“But I do know that most birds will eventually find a flock to fly with. Give it time.”
The next day, Mickey couldn’t wait till third period to present her World Hunger shirt. She made sure she dressed the part: a pale-blue vintage silk blouse over red plaid leggings and mismatched sneakers—one blue, one red. She topped it off with a blue feathered fascinator hat—just like she’d seen Kate Middleton wear on many a royal occasion. The outfit made her feel regal and smart at the same time. Yet when she climbed on the bus, the whispers started.
“What is she wearing on her head?” one boy asked, snickering. “It looks like a dead pigeon.”
“And who wears two different colored sneakers?” another girl remarked. “That is so elementary school!”
Mickey pretended not to hear, but the comments hurt. When she got to her Apparel Arts class, things weren’t any better.