by Chloe Taylor
Still, Zoey couldn’t believe that shortly after lunch, she finished making the dress! Hurriedly, she ironed it. She was thrilled with how it had turned out, and she was dying to show Kate. She sent Kate a quick text that she was coming over and then grabbed the dress and ran up the block to Kate’s house.
Zoey had been to Kate’s home so many times over the years, hundreds probably, that she almost thought of it as her own. That’s why she never thought twice about simply shouting hello to Kate’s parents when they opened the front door and running up the stairs to Kate’s room.
Kate was sitting on her bed, finishing up some homework. When she saw the hanger Zoey was holding, covered with a black garment bag, she jumped up.
“Wow!” said Zoey. “I’ve never seen you this excited about clothes before! I’m honored.”
Kate laughed. “I’ve never been this excited because I’ve never had a Zoey Webber original dress before! Let me see it—I’m dying!”
Zoey was pleased she’d taken the extra few minutes, even though she was bone-tired, to sew in one of her special Sew Zoey labels. They’d been a gift from her fashion fairy godmother, Fashionsista. Zoey whipped off the bag to reveal the dress, and Kate’s face lit up. “Oh, Zo—it’s so me! It’s perfect!”
She reached out and hugged Zoey hard, and immediately all the hours of work and worry that had gone into making Kate the perfect dress had been worth it. Zoey loved being able to make a friend this happy.
“And now the hard part . . . ,” Kate said, shimmying out of her sweatpants. “Trying it on.”
“That’s not the hard part. The hard part is you’ve got to win your state championships next weekend so that this will be a victory dress,” Zoey teased. “Your team will have the best dinner ever!”
Kate pulled the dress over her head and walked to her closet door, where there was a full-length mirror hanging on the other side. She stood quietly for a moment, looking at herself.
Zoey grew anxious. She thought the dress looked amazing on Kate. But why was Kate so quiet?
“Don’t you . . . don’t you like it?” Zoey asked.
Kate turned back toward Zoey and almost looked as if she had tears in her eyes. “I love it,” Kate said. “I really, really love it. I’ve been wearing the same old T-shirts and jeans, and things my mom picked out for so long, and I never really cared about my clothes. I didn’t even want anyone to look at me. But I love this dress, and I want everyone to see it!”
The girls hugged again, and there was a quick knock as the door to Kate’s bedroom opened. It was Mrs. Mackey, and Zoey got nervous all over again, wondering if Kate’s mother would approve the dress.
Kate spun in a circle, showing off the dress for her mother. Then she stood still, with her arms out and her cheeks slightly flushed, and said, “What do you think, Mom?”
Mrs. Mackey’s face broke into a huge grin. “Well, my goodness, that’s pretty. I think it’s a beautiful dress, honey. And I think I have a very, very beautiful daughter.”
Then Mrs. Mackey, who had in some ways been like a mother to Zoey, walked over to Zoey and hugged her.
“You’re a very talented young lady,” Mrs. Mackey said. “I’m so proud of you.”
Zoey grinned. She couldn’t imagine any feeling better than this. Designing something perfect for one of her best friends in the whole world and having her and her mother both love it?
It called for a celebration. Of the ice-cream variety.
“Mrs. Mackey,” Zoey began, “do you think maybe Kate and I could go out for ice cream?”
CHAPTER 5
Mistakes, Mistakes, Mistakes . . .
I can hardly believe it, but Kate’s dress is done! I had to call some experts for help (thanks, JAN!!!), but I finally finished sewing the spaghetti dress. (I can’t help calling it that, even though it’s not really spaghetti in the pattern.) I took it over to Kate’s this afternoon, and she loved it! I definitely wasted a lot of time this week with sewing errors, and after months of learning to sew, I can’t believe I’m still making mistakes like that. But my dad says I need to remember that even for experts, there’s always something new to learn. He also asked: How boring would it be if I already knew everything there was to know about sewing at my age? Clearly, that’s not a problem for me! (Hee-hee!)
Anyway, here’s a sketch of some little capelets I’m thinking of making (someday, if I ever have time). Some what, you ask? Well, the other day I saw a customer of mine (ahem), Buttons the dog, wearing her Doggie Duds outfit, which kind of looks like a cape or swing coat with little sleeves. And she looked soooo cute, I thought I wouldn’t mind having a little capelet myself to throw over a shirt or sweater when it starts getting chilly out, but it’s not the time of year for a real coat. It could also work as a wrap for a dress!
And speaking of dresses . . . I still need to get cracking on Priti’s dress, since she’s leaving for India in just a few days, and I have Etsy orders to take care of, AND my huge social studies test on Friday that I need to study for so, wait, WHY am I still blogging?
GOOD NIGHT!!!
Sunday morning, Zoey woke up, still feeling somewhat tired but hugely relieved that at least one of her big projects was done. I really can do it all if I just pace myself, she thought as she zipped up a hoodie over her pajamas and headed downstairs to her “workroom.”
The night before, Zoey had laid out the material for Priti’s dress and put everything where it needed to be so she could start sewing quickly without having to set up everything. Her phone buzzed, and she checked it quickly, feeling a mix of happiness and chagrin when she saw that it was another Etsy order. She turned on her sewing machine to let it warm up, and while it did, she quickly fired off answers to two potential Etsy customers. She was nearly sold out on all of her items, which she was beginning to think wasn’t such a bad thing. Allie had also sent her an e-mail checking in on how sales were going. It sounded like Allie hadn’t sold quite as many things, which made Zoey feel funny, since the pop-up shop had been Allie’s idea to begin with.
When the machine was fully warmed up, Zoey mentally went over her new plan for sewing the top half of the dress. Jan had given her advice on how to do it properly, and Zoey followed it to the letter, pinning the fabric carefully. Then she slid the material under the machine’s feed dog and hit the pedal. Slowly and carefully, she sewed, stopping frequently to make sure she was following Jan’s advice, so the fabric wouldn’t pinch or pleat anywhere.
She’d been working about a half an hour when the sewing machine made a loud noise, like a whirr-whirr-THUNK, jammed up with a nest of tangled thread, and stopped cold. Zoey put her hand on the machine and it felt red hot.
No, no, NO! Not again! Zoey thought.
Quickly, she turned the machine off and let it cool down, then hit the button to turn it back on, as she’d done before when it had given her problems. But this time it wouldn’t even turn back on.
“Mom’s machine!” Zoey moaned. “How can this be happening?” Zoey resisted giving the old machine a whack with her hand, which is what her dad did when the laundry machine acted up. The sewing machine was more than twenty years old, she knew, maybe even twenty-five, and it had been working very hard lately.
Zoey was looking over Priti’s half-sewn dress and sighing when her brother and father came downstairs. Marcus was yawning, his eyes still half-closed, and didn’t see her, but Zoey’s father noticed right away that something was wrong.
“Zoey, what is it?” her father asked. “And why are you up so early?”
Zoey buried her head in her hands. She didn’t want to tell her father that the machine that had been so special to her mother was broken. But she had to.
“Dad, Mom’s machine broke!” she admitted mournfully. “It was acting up every once in a while, but now it really broke. I don’t know what to do!”
She hoped he wouldn’t be mad at her. She didn’t think she could take it.
Mr. Webber came over to the dining room table immed
iately and stood for a second, rubbing Zoey’s shoulders. Then he said, “There, there, Zo. It’s just a machine. We can get it fixed.”
Marcus looked fully awake now, and appeared upset about his mom’s old machine. “But it’s so old, Dad. They might not even make parts for it anymore.”
Zoey covered her face with both hands.
“That’s not very helpful, Marcus,” Mr. Webber said calmly. “Why don’t you go start the pancakes, and I’ll take a look at the machine.”
“Okay,” Marcus agreed, heading into the kitchen. “Sorry, Zoey.”
“It’s okay,” she muttered, because she knew Marcus hadn’t meant to be harsh. He was just telling the truth.
“It couldn’t have happened at a worse time, either, Dad,” Zoey said as her father opened a panel on the machine to look at its insides.
He tinkered with it a moment, then closed it back up. “I’ll find a repair place this week, Zoey. Don’t worry—they might be able to do something with it. Plus, school comes first, and even though I’m sure you’re brilliant, you still need to study for that test. But come in the kitchen now and have some pancakes. Things always look brighter after a good breakfast.”
Zoey got up and followed her dad into the kitchen, where Marcus already had made the batter. He began pouring heaping spoonfuls onto the skillet. The Webbers had a family tradition of making pancakes every weekend with different secret ingredients each time they cooked. Whoever wasn’t cooking had to guess what was inside.
But Zoey didn’t have the heart to care about this week’s secret ingredient. She plopped down at the kitchen table and couldn’t help moaning again. Her dad started setting out napkins and silverware.
“What now, Zo?” Marcus asked.
“Well,” she said, “I promised Priti I’d make her a sari for her cousin’s wedding in India, but she leaves Wednesday, and now the machine is broken. And, I have a bunch of Etsy orders I need to get packed and shipped, and I have to update the site and answer questions. Libby was going to come over and help me today, but she forgot she has to study for the ginormous social studies test we have on Friday, which, by the way, I also have to study for.”
“Yikes,” said Marcus. “That’s a crummy week.”
“Thanks,” sad Zoey drily. “Thanks a lot.”
Marcus shrugged, a big-brotherly smirk on his face. “C’mon, I didn’t mean it like that. I could help with the Etsy orders if you want. Invite Allie over. We could all do it together.”
“That would be fun,” Zoey replied, “but I don’t know. I’d feel weird asking her to help me pack up things I’ve sold.”
“Well, I’ll help, Zoey,” her dad offered, “so it will be done and you can focus on schoolwork. But first let’s eat these pancakes, which are a strange, brownish color today, Marcus. What did you do to them?”
Marcus smiled mysteriously.
Zoey picked up one of the hot, steaming pancakes and sniffed it. “Hershey’s chocolate syrup?” she guessed, taking a big bite. “Yep. And some dried strawberries, I think. Deeeeeelicious.”
“You really have a knack for this, Zo,” Marcus said. “You should add pro pancake taster to your list of talents. You got it!”
It turned out Mr. Webber was right. Everything looked brighter after a breakfast of chocolatey pancakes.
With her sewing materials, also known as Priti’s sari, all over the dining room, Mr. Webber, Marcus, and Zoey moved all the Etsy stuff to the living room and created an assembly line to get the products packed, checked, labeled, and ready for the post office. Zoey answered Etsy e-mails while her father and brother managed the orders, and after just a short while, Zoey felt like they’d made huge progress.
“Thanks, you guys,” Zoey said gratefully. “You might just be the best family in the entire world.”
“I’m definitely the best brother in the entire world,” Marcus said confidently as he carefully wrapped a headband in tissue paper. “Just don’t tell anyone I spent the morning playing with hair doodads and purses.”
“I won’t,” Zoey said, laughing. “I promise.”
“So do you feel better, then, Zo?” her father asked.
Zoey let out a huge sigh. “Well, sort of. The problem is, I still want to make this sari for Priti. I know she’d love it! And I would love to know that one of my dresses is being worn at a wedding in India! But I just don’t know how I can get it done in such a short time . . . without my machine. I’ll try sewing it by hand, but I don’t know if I can.”
“So talk to Priti,” her dad suggested. “Tell her your machine broke. She’s your friend, honey—she’ll understand.”
Zoey nodded. “You’re right. I will. I’ll call her later and tell her the whole story.”
The three of them continued working for a few minutes until Mr. Webber said, “Zoey, you still have a frown on your face. Is something else bothering you, too?”
Zoey felt guilty. Her whole family was helping her, and using their Sunday to do it, and she was still worrying about finishing Priti’s dress. But the thing that was worrying her most at that moment wasn’t even about her to-do list.
“Dad,” Zoey began, “I think I’ve sold more stuff than Allie has in our pop-up shop. And I feel really bad about it, because it was her idea, and she’s been doing this longer, and she’s the one that e-mailed TresChic.com about us and stuff. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t even be doing this!”
Marcus looked concerned, and her dad came and sat beside her. “Don’t worry about things you can’t control, Zoey. Maybe you sold more this week, but she might sell a lot more next week. It’ll all even out, I’m sure. In the meantime, just be a good business partner. Promote your joint site. Be supportive. Okay?”
Zoey nodded. Her dad made a lot of sense.
“Allie seems like a pretty cool girl,” Marcus added. “I wouldn’t worry too much. Also, she’s in high school. She’s busy. I doubt she’s obsessing about who sold more of what.”
For the first time that morning, Zoey’s face broke into a huge smile. Yes, things were hectic at the moment, but it would all work out. Suddenly, she remembered an interview she’d read recently on TresChic.com with her favorite designer, Daphne Shaw. Daphne had said, “Sometimes I get overwhelmed thinking about how much I have to do before a show. But instead of panicking, I just put my head down and sew. And I try to remember that when I’m really, really busy. Just to put my head down and sew, sew, sew.”
It was good advice, and Zoey would take it. Just as soon as her sewing machine was fixed. Later that day, she cracked open her social studies textbook and tried to study, but mostly she stared at the pages blankly. Then she did put her head down—on the book—and slept, slept, slept.
CHAPTER 6
Broken Machine, Broken Heart
Something so awful has happened, I almost can’t even blog about it! But I have to, because it’s huge and it’s messing up everything. My mother’s old sewing machine is broken! I mean completely broken. I can’t even get it to turn on. I feel like I’m stranded in the jungle without it. My dad says I have to “stay calm and sew on,” and he’s promised to find a local repair shop that specializes in old machines like mine to fix it, but deep down I’m worried that maybe it can’t be fixed. And without it I’m not sure how I will be able to sew my friend Priti’s sari in time for her trip!
In the meantime, I did manage to send off all my Etsy orders, which is a huge relief. (Thanks, Dad and Marcus, for your help!) Not to mention, as you can see from this sketch, when I was thinking about jungles, I came up with a pretty cool idea for a—drumroll, please—CARGO DRESS! Cargo pants and cargo shorts are so practical for being able to stow things in your pockets, right? But what if you want something a little more fashion forward that still gives you options? That’s right—you want a cargo dress! This would be perfect for me on weekends, when I’m not carrying my backpack but want to bring my sketchbook, pen, and wallet with me when I go somewhere. In particular, when I go to some of Dad’s teams’
games at the university and don’t want to carry a bag I might lose in the stands. I would love to make this in time for the next game, but it’ll have to wait until I have more time, and a working sewing machine . . . SEW frustrating. But thanks for listening, folks!
Please send your positive, healing thoughts to my sewing machine!
Zoey hit the button to publish her blog post. With that done, she decided it was time to call Priti and tell her the news about the machine. Priti would find out when she read the blog, anyway. Zoey knew Priti would be understanding—she always was. Zoey just hated the idea of letting down one of her best friends. And she was afraid she would be.
Zoey picked up her phone and dialed Priti’s number. Priti answered on the first ring.
“Hi, Zoey! Long time no talk. What have you been up to this weekend, like I can’t guess?” Priti sounded as upbeat and perky as ever. She apparently hadn’t checked Zoey’s blog in the last five minutes.
“Um, just sewing, obviously, and you know, doing the Etsy stuff. I finished Kate’s dress.”
“I know!” Priti exclaimed. “I read your blog yesterday, and then Kate called me last night and told me how much she loved it. Yay! I can’t wait to see it in person. It’s made me even more excited for my sari!”
Inwardly, Zoey groaned. Why, oh why, did her machine have to break?
“Priti, I have to tell you something,” she began. “My sewing machine broke this morning, and it isn’t working at all. It won’t even turn on.”
“Oh no, really?” Priti paused. “Your mom’s machine . . . Oh, Zo, I’m so sorry! You must be so upset!”
Zoey nodded, even though Priti couldn’t see her. “I am, very. My dad is going to try and find a place that fixes old machines, but it will probably take some time, and time is something we don’t have much of before you leave for India. . . . And I just don’t know if I can . . . well, I’m not sure if . . .”