Chloe by Design: Measuring Up

by Margaret Gurevich

  “Dinner, Chloe!” Mom hollers from downstairs.

  Perfect timing. I close my sketchpad, proud of myself for plowing through this requirement. A few weeks ago, I would have made excuses and decided I didn’t have enough time. Today, I didn’t let any doubts creep in.

  The following Monday, Nina and I are sitting in our school’s courtyard comparing designs. Instead of going to one of our houses after school, we thought we’d try a new place for inspiration.

  “I figured out my casual, lounging around look for Diana Gardo,” Nina announces. “Want to see?”

  “Sure!” I say.

  Nina thrusts her sketch at me. She’s obviously excited about it. Once I see it, I completely understand why. The drawing captures Diana’s personality perfectly. Nina has sketched her in distressed jeans, silver flats, and a white blazer over a loose T-shirt, then added brown sunglasses and a bright blue scarf as accents.

  “I love this,” I tell her. “It’s stylish and simple, but that pop of color is very you. I know you would have liked to have more.”

  Nina nods. “That’s what the seasonal designs are for,” she says. “I chose fall fashions, and I might have gone a little color crazy.”

  “I bet they look great,” I say. “My swimsuit designs are fun, but only the first one is really daring in terms of color.” I pull them out of my bag and show her.

  “Very pretty,” Nina says. “I love the retro theme. The blue and yellow one really stands out. What an awesome idea making a dress out of scuba material.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “That one’s my favorite.”

  “Do you mind taking a look at mine?” Nina asks. “I could use a fresh set of eyes.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” I reply. I flip through her sketchbook until I find the right section. Her first design is a dark blue dress with long sleeves. Nina has styled it with heeled ankle booties and a funky hat.

  “I love it,” I tell her. “It’s so different from your usual style.”

  Nina beams. “Thanks — it took a lot of self-control not to make it floral. I’m so glad you like it.” She turns the page in her sketchbook to a design of a formal dress.

  “This is stunning,” I say. The dress is a deep purple and embroidered with floral lace design.

  “Thank you,” says Nina. “I worked hard on that one. I like how it has flowers, but they act as accents.”

  “Show me more,” I say.

  “I had trouble with this next one,” Nina admits, biting her nail. She holds the sketchpad tightly, not letting me see. “It’s supposed to be a work outfit.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” I say, surprised by her reluctance. In all the years I’ve known her, I never would have pegged Nina as someone with confidence issues. I guess we all worry about what others think — especially when it comes to something we really care about.

  Nina finally loosens her grip, and I look at the sketch. The design — a pink skirt with a cream top and beige pumps — is in the pastel shades Nina tends to prefer. It’s as pretty as the others, and I really like the style, but something is a little off.

  “I can tell what you’re thinking,” says Nina. “It’s not quite right.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the design,” I say. “It just needs something.”

  “I feel like I need to put more of my own flair into it or something,” says Nina, frowning. “It’s a little basic as is.”

  As soon as she says that, something clicks. “That’s it! I can really see your personality in your other designs, but less so here, you know?”

  “Hmm,” says Nina. “Maybe if I added something edgy — like a cool scarf or something? What about something in a darker color like burgundy? Or a tough pattern like a skull print or something?”

  “Or maybe a bag,” I say. “Something a little edgy in a darker color for contrast.”

  Nina quickly makes a sketch of the additions. “I’ll keep playing with it and see what else I can change. Thanks, Chloe!”

  “Any time,” I say.

  “This has been really helpful,” she says. “It’s great to have someone to bounce ideas off of. Until you got here, I kept staring at it and thinking it stunk but didn’t know why.”

  “It doesn’t stink at all,” I insist. “You just needed more of your unique touches.”

  “I see that now,” says Nina. “And I’m glad we can remind each other we don’t stink.”

  I laugh. “It wasn’t that long ago that you’d go out of your way to tell me I did.”

  “Ugh,” says Nina, making a face. “I’ll never live that down, huh?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Nope. One day we’ll be rich and famous, and they’ll tell that story on one of those celeb exposés.”

  “We can only hope,” Nina agrees.

  Later that week, I’m back in my room with Alex — except this time I’m packing rather than designing.

  Alex holds up a plain white T-shirt. “Are you packing this too?”

  “I guess so?” I say.

  Alex laughs and tosses the shirt into my suitcase. “Is there anything you’re not packing?”

  She has a point. I’m leaving for NYC tomorrow and am way behind on packing. I should have taken my mom’s cue and started my visual packing list sooner. Since I didn’t, my new strategy is to just throw everything I see into my suitcase.

  “It’s too much work,” I whine. I tick off the clothes I’ll need on my fingers. “There’s the airport outfit, the outfit I’ll wear to dinner tomorrow, my tour outfits —”

  “Tour outfit,” Alex corrects. “Just one. You’re going to Parsons and FIT back-to-back. You won’t have time to change clothes.”

  This should make things easier, but it doesn’t. “Don’t I need a back-up outfit? What if I wake up that morning and I’m not in a leggings mood or something?”

  “Have some coffee and get in the mood?” suggests Alex. “You won’t have any room left in your suitcase at the rate you’re going.”

  I count more fingers. “The hanging out with Bailey on the weekend outfit, the meeting Laura on Monday outfit, and the going back home outfit. That’s a lot of clothes!” I stop packing and take out my sketchpad. “I really should make my visual packing list. It will make things easier.”

  “Good plan,” says Alex, holding up a cardigan and T-shirt.

  “More clothes?” I ask. “I thought I had to consolidate.”

  “That was before I remembered that New York in October is probably colder than California in October. You’ll want layers.”

  “Right,” I say. I quickly sketch different combinations of sweaters, T-shirts, and blouses. “What do you think of these boots? Brown suede or black?”

  “Take them both. You’ll use them, and they don’t take up that much room,” says Alex.

  “How about this?” I ask, holding up a gray sweater and pants in one hand and a flowery dress in the other.

  “Definitely the sweater,” says Alex.

  “What about this?” I show her a possible airport look of tan knee-high boots, black leggings, an oversized sweater, and a large scarf.

  Alex cocks her head to one side to assess the outfit. “You should add a black bag.”

  “That’s a given,” I say. I put the clothes in a maybe pile. I’ll decide for sure once I finish my list. “Too bad you can’t come with me.”

  “I know,” Alex says, frowning. “It feels like you’re never here.”

  I stop drawing. Alex has made comments like this more and more lately. “That’s not really true,” I protest.

  “Yes,” says Alex, “it is.” She stares down at the carpet, her face a combination of sadness and annoyance. “This summer you were in New York, two weeks ago you were in LA, and now you’re going back to New York. And when you are here, you’re working on your portfolio or hanging out
with Nina.”

  “Actually,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, “I’m working on my portfolio with Nina. It’s not like we go out and don’t invite you. I do think of her as a friend, but when we’re together all we do is work.”

  “Whatever,” Alex mutters.

  “I’d love for all of us to hang out together some time. I actually think you guys would get along,” I say. “She’s not all bad.”

  Alex throws her hands up in the air. “Now I’ve heard everything.” She rolls her eyes.

  I don’t know what to say. Alex’s jealousy is starting to get old. She’s acting like me leaving is only hard on her. It hasn’t been easy for me this year, either.

  “You’re not being fair, Alex,” I say.

  Suddenly, Alex jumps up. Her eyes are watery, like she’s going to start crying. “No,” she says, “you’re not. Have fun in New York.”

  “You’re leaving?” I say. “But —” My own eyes water, but before I can say anything else, Alex runs downstairs and out of my house, leaving me to finish packing alone.

  * * *

  The next morning, I’m still thinking about my fight with Alex. I want to text her to apologize, but I don’t think I did anything wrong. Besides, she could text me too.

  Just forget about it for now, I tell myself. I close my eyes and imagine New York. That’s it. Focus on New York. It will be amazing.

  I put on the airport outfit I decided on (which ends up being a different one than I showed Alex) — an oversized open sweater, gray T-shirt, distressed jeans, and brown suede ankle boots. I pull my hair back in a ponytail and add mirrored sunglasses to hide my sleepy eyes.

  “Going incognito?” Mom asks when I get downstairs. She points at the sunglasses.

  “I guess I don’t need these in the house, huh?” I slip them off. “Do we have coffee?”

  Mom pours us both a mug. “We don’t have to leave for another hour, so no rush. Are you excited?”

  “I am,” I say, but I can’t get my voice to cooperate.

  “You don’t sound it,” Mom says.

  I take a deep breath and tell her about my fight with Alex yesterday. “What should I do? She’s my best friend. I don’t want to lose her.”

  “Oh, honey,” Mom says, getting up and giving me a hug. “That’s the last thing she wants. People handle change in different ways. She’s obviously upset about the fact that you might not be near each other next year.”

  “I am too! Why doesn’t she get that?”

  “When people are sad, it’s sometimes hard for them to see beyond their own feelings. She’ll come around.” Mom strokes my hair. “I promise.”

  This is going to sound totally crazy, but the moment my mom and I step onto the crowded New York streets, it’s as if time stops. It feels like I’m in one of those movies where the character is standing still and the lights, noise, and people zoom around in a blur. Then my mom yells for a taxi, and I’m part of the scene again.

  “Doesn’t get old, does it?” Mom says as we settle ourselves in the backseat of the taxi.

  “What?” I ask, looking out the window.

  “New York,” Mom says with a smile. “It makes you so happy.”

  I turn to her. “It really does. After LA, I was a little scared that I wouldn’t feel the same about New York. But that’s not the case. It just has a different kind of energy.”

  I gaze out the window as we head to our hotel, taking in all the sights. I’ve missed this city more than I realized. I’m eager to shower, change, and get ready for a nice dinner. The only bummer is that I’m not sure when I’ll see Jake. I asked him about meeting us for dinner tonight, but he wasn’t sure he could get free with all his school stuff. The rest of my weekend is filled with tours and other appointments. Why is it that whenever I’m in New York, which is where Jake goes to college, it’s so hard to connect with him?

  “Why the long face?” Mom asks, noticing my furrowed brow.

  “Jake,” I say with a sigh. It’s no secret that I’ve been trying to find time to meet up with him.

  “Well,” Mom says, eyes twinkling, “I’m sure it will work out.”

  * * *

  “You look great!” Mom says as we walk to dinner later that evening. She chose an Italian place with rave online reviews.

  “Thanks,” I reply. I’m wearing my black suede ankle boots and a long black tunic over black skinny jeans. A white cape coat keeps me warm. I put my hands in my coat pockets and keep my head down to block out the wind. Alex was right about it being much chillier here than in California. “The menu looked delish, and I’m starving!”

  “Here we are!” Mom exclaims a few minutes later. She’s been extra chipper since we left the hotel — quite a change from the stressed-out, list-making Mom of last week.

  “There you are!” a familiar voice says behind us.

  I turn around to see Jake and Liesel standing there! That explains Mom’s bubbly attitude. I turn back around to look at her.

  “I told you it would work out,” Mom says with a wink.

  Liesel moves forward to give me a hug. “So great to see you, darling.”

  I hug her back and then turn to point a mock-accusing finger at Jake. “You!” I say. “You made me think we might not see each other.” I’m excited to see him but a little annoyed I thought I might not.

  “I wasn’t sure if we could make it today,” Jake explains, “and I didn’t want to disappoint you. Then —”

  “Then,” my mom interrupts, “when he and Liesel were sure, only a couple days ago, I asked them not to tell you so you’d be surprised.”

  “I wanted to tell you. Honest,” says Jake.

  “He really did,” my mom agrees. “I’m the one who thought the surprise would be fun. Besides, I didn’t want to stress you out about planning another outfit.”

  “Fine,” I say with a laugh. “You’re all forgiven.”

  “Phew,” Jake says, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow.

  We’re led to our table, and once we’ve taken our seats, Liesel turns to me. “So,” she says, “I hear you have quite the big day tomorrow.”

  “More college tours. It’s not an easy decision,” I say.

  “It was simpler for us,” says Liesel, motioning to herself and Jake. “I was starting my business in New York, and Jake was already living with me, so he only considered New York schools.”

  “But even that took time to decide,” says Jake.

  “What made you choose Parsons over FIT?” I ask. Jake is studying marketing there so he can help with Liesel’s ever-expanding business.

  Before Jake can answer, the waiter appears to take our order, which is fine, because it seems like Jake is thinking about his answer.

  “They’re both great schools,” says Jake, “but they have different approaches.”

  “Approaches?”

  “Like Parsons is more big picture and creative,” he explains. “FIT focuses more on technical stuff, like perfect stitching, things like that. For marketing, Parsons made sense. For designing, I don’t know.”

  “They’re both terrific, though,” says Liesel. “Truly, Chloe. You can’t go wrong.”

  “We’ll see how the tours go, I guess,” I say. “But enough about me. Tell me about what’s been going on with both of you.”

  Jake squeezes my hand as Liesel talks about a new fall line she’s planning with Stefan. “And Mom convinced Stefan to let me do some behind-the-scenes marketing,” he says when she’s finished.

  “Don’t listen to him,” says Liesel. “I didn’t convince anyone of anything. Jake presented his ideas as part of a class project. They were blind presentations, so Stefan didn’t know whose project was whose. He chose Jake without any input from me. Jake never even told me he was applying. I couldn’t have helped even if I’d wanted to.”

  “L
ucky break,” Jake says, blushing.

  My mom looks back and forth between Jake and me, shaking her head. “No wonder you get along so well. Neither of you give yourself enough credit.”

  Our food arrives just then, and Liesel and my mom talk about getting together tomorrow while I’m at Bailey’s dorm. Meanwhile Jake and I have our own quiet conversation.

  “I missed you,” he says. “I know it wasn’t that long ago that I was in California, but still. I wish you were staying longer.”

  “Me too,” I say. “These next few days are so packed.”

  “But,” Jake says, lacing his fingers with mine, “in just a couple weeks I’ll be back in Santa Cruz for your Winter Formal. Save me a dance?”

  “Just one?” I joke. “I was planning to save you so many.”

  Jake blushes. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He pauses for a second, looking serious. “Promise me something.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Have fun tomorrow. Don’t worry about which college you’re going to end up at. You’re in New York, you’re going to see Bailey, and you get to visit two great schools. There will be plenty of time to worry about making a decision later. Just give yourself a break and enjoy the tours and city.”

  Jake is so right. I’d like to do that, even if not worrying isn’t exactly me. I squeeze his hand. “I’ll try.”

  “Here we go,” I say as my mom and I walk into FIT for our tour Saturday morning. I’m excited and trying to follow Jake’s advice.

  “You fit right in,” Mom says, admiring my outfit.

  “I do my best,” I reply. Today, I picked a black off-the-shoulder top and paired it with dark jeans and a green bag.