“Not necessarily. I had a brilliant idea.” He tapped his head with an index finger. “What if your fashion show had sponsors?”
I gasped and grabbed his arm. “That would be so professional! Yes, please, oh my gosh, let’s do that,” I babbled.
Tim laughed. “I’m on it.”
As soon as the bell rang to end Journalism, I dashed down the hall to Katie’s class.
“Guess what, guess what, guess what?” I gripped her arms and shook them.
“You just drank five sodas?” she asked.
“No! Our fashion show is going to be the talk of the town!” I told her about Tim’s suggestions, and by the time I was done, she was even more excited than I was.
“First a buyer, now a VIP section. We are so legit! Seriously, if Kate Spade called just to chat, I wouldn’t be surprised.” She paused. “Okay, maybe a little bit.”
I chuckled. “Heather and I are going to Lazenby’s after school to see what they carry. You know, to get an idea of what they’re looking for. Can you come?”
Katie’s expression turned pained. “Mega bummer! I’m going with my mom to sort out the fabric mess. But if you see something cute, buy two!”
“So I can make you twice as jealous?” I asked with a grin.
Katie giggled and hugged herself. “Just think of it, Vanny. Our designs at Lazenby’s!”
But when Heather and I walked into the store later that afternoon, all I could think of was turning around and walking back out. The air smelled musty and felt damp, and the clothing on display by the entrance made me wonder if Lazenby’s shoppers got beat up on a regular basis. Lots of pastels, floral prints, polka dots . . . everything babyish that I’d given up when I learned how to tie my shoes.
Heather gestured to all the clothes with a flourish. “Ta-da! Do you like them?”
I liked that I wasn’t wearing them.
“They’ve certainly come up with a lot of uses for yarn” was all I said. “I would’ve never thought to knit a vest.” I squinted at it. “Or decorate it with butterflies.”
Heather gasped. “V, look at how cute!” She rushed to a clothing rack and pointed to a sweater set and plaid skirt. “I could pair this with my fake pearls.”
And then be mistaken for someone’s grandma, I said to myself.
“Sure,” I said aloud. “That would be nice.” I pushed items along the rack and studied them. “In fact, it’s probably your best option.”
Heather tilted her head to one side. “V, I successfully combined clothing and accessories. Normally, you’d proudly carry me across the room on your shoulders.”
“And then I’d drop you because I’m clumsy,” I said with a nod.
Heather giggled. “Then what’s wrong? I figured you’d be gushing over all this stuff.”
“Close,” I said, “if you change the word ‘gushing’ to ‘throwing up.’”
Her eyes widened. “What? You really think they’re that bad?”
She looked so personally offended that I reached for her arm. “Sorry; they’re fine. Just not my style. I prefer something with a bit more sass, you know? Something edgy and daring.”
A saleswoman walked over, clad in a sweater set of her own, with shoulder pads that could’ve doubled as pillows. “Hello, girls! Are we looking for something special?”
“We’re looking for something edgy and daring,” said Heather.
The saleswoman took in Heather’s outfit: green henley, denim skirt, and tights. Then she took in my outfit: purple leggings, striped knee socks, and a charcoal tunic.
“You’re looking for something edgy?” she asked Heather.
Heather frowned and crossed her arms. “You say that like it’s hard to believe, but I’m pretty tough. As we speak, my grandma is ordering me extra-spicy Szechuan food in the restaurant two doors down.”
The saleswoman smiled. “Very well. And what do you consider daring?”
Heather thought for a moment. “Asking a boy out, red lipstick, and jumping out of an airplane.”
The saleswoman nodded slowly. “I meant in fashion.”
“Oh!” Heather turned to me. “What do we consider daring?”
“You know, sharp angles, bright colors, buckles and zippers for decoration,” I said.
“Right!” Heather pointed at me. “All of that.”
The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we don’t carry much of that here. Lazenby’s is refined and classic.” She gestured to Heather as she said this.
I frowned. “But refined and classic isn’t my style.”
The saleswoman smiled. “Well, there are other stores in the complex, dear.”
Lazenby’s was refined, classic, and snobby. I was starting to wonder why I even cared to impress its buyer.
“Just out of curiosity, how much does this store sell a month?” I asked.
The saleswoman arced a brow. “We do well enough that we’re signing millionaire-model Trinity Fawn to our next ad campaign.”
“Trinity Fawn?” I squeaked. Having her wear the clothes I made would be a dream come true!
Someone else came in through the entrance, and the saleswoman smiled at us once more. “If you’d like to try something on, just let me know.” She walked off to help the new customer who definitely looked more like she belonged there.
I turned to Heather. “I have to have Trinity Fawn in my fashions.”
Heather wrinkled her forehead. “Vanessa, you heard the lady. They don’t carry your style here.”
“Then I’ll just have to come up with a style they do carry,” I said with an emphatic nod. I pulled out my cell phone and brought up the camera.
“But I thought you hated this stuff,” said Heather. “What are you doing?”
“Getting some design ideas,” I said, snapping a few pictures of the clothes around me. “You’ve got to give the people what they want, right?”
Heather frowned. “V, you’re not gonna . . .”
“I’m totally gonna,” I said with a firm nod. “My fashions aren’t what they’re looking for, so it’s back to the drawing board.”
CHAPTER
3
In the Name of Fashion
Even my photo printer seemed to hate the outfits at Lazenby’s. With every image, it gurgled and whined as I printed out what I’d seen in the store.
“Sorry,” I told it as I picked up the latest photo it spat out. “I feel your pain.”
I tacked the photo to the corkboard wall of my bedroom, along with others I’d placed in the shape of a frownie face.
There was a knock at my door, which was thrown open a second later. My brother, Terrell, never knocks and my mom always waits for me to answer, which meant it could only be one person.
“Hey, Katie,” I said, not taking my eyes off the wall.
“Vanny, things are really happening!” She paused when she saw the pinned-up photos. “Aw. Why is your wall so sad?” She stepped closer to study the photos. “And why are those clothes so Titanic?”
Now I looked at her. “Titanic?”
She nodded. “Huge disaster that men, women, and children want to get away from.”
I tapped the wall. “This is the current stock at Lazenby’s. And these are the best of the bunch.”
“Yeesh.” Katie made a face. “We are gonna seriously have to wow the polka dots off their socks.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” I said. “Especially if we want to work with, oh, Trinity Fawn.”
I got exactly the reaction I was expecting from Katie, and then some.
She gasped. “Trin . . . Trin . . . You . . .” She pointed at me. “You got us a chance to work with Trinity Fawn?”
I waggled my hand from side to side. “She’s going to be the new model for Lazenby’s, so if they carry our line, chances are she could be wearing our tops.”
Katie finally breathed and steadied herself on my desk chair.
“That’s why I’m working on some new designs that’ll be more their style,”
I said. “What have you been up to?”
In an instant, Katie’s energy was back up to a thousand. She gripped my arms. “Vanny, we have the crimson fabric. And it is so red. Like raw beef red. At least, I’m assuming. I don’t eat cow.”
“Great!” I said. “Although, after seeing what Lazenby’s has, I’m not sure it’s right.”
“And Tim and I came up with some swag for our VIP bags!” She ignored my comment and reached into her purse, producing a shiny purple bag about the size of a deck of cards.
I smiled at it. “Are we giving away doll clothes?”
Katie shook her head and thrust the bag at me. “We, my friend, are warming some legs.”
I reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of knee-high stockings. “I’ll be honest—I was expecting something more glamour and less grandma.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll actually be leg warmers. I just used these as an example.” Katie took them from me and unrolled them. There were little heart stickers randomly attached to the legs. “Pretty neat, huh?”
I gave her a concerned look. “Are we looking at the same thing? Paper hearts stuck to old lady stockings?”
Katie rolled her eyes. “You’re looking, but you’re not seeing.” She held one of the nylon legs inches from my face.
“I really hope these are clean,” I said.
“Look at the heart!” She jabbed at it. “See the letters inside?”
“KV,” I read. Then I grinned. “That’s us!”
She smiled happily. “My dad is making some custom fabric with our logo on it that we can sew into leg warmers. It’s cheap, it’s stretchy—one size fits all!”
“It’s perfect!” I said. “Although I’m not crazy about the heart logo.”
Katie held up a finger. “I thought you might feel that way.” She reached into her purse again. “Which is why I came up with these!” She pulled out a sheet of scribblings.
“What else do you have in there?” I asked, peering into her purse. “A sewing machine?”
She shook the designs at me. “Vanny! We don’t have much time! The design has to be turned in tonight.”
“AHH! Why didn’t you say so?” I settled onto the carpet and spread the scribblings in front of me, casting my vote for each. “No, no, maybe. A unicorn?” I looked up at Katie, and she shrugged.
“They’re special and magical, just like our fashions.”
I shook my head. “We want to look like professionals. This logo has to last for the rest of our lives.”
“The rest of our lives!” Katie dropped down and hugged me. “Oh, Vanny. I would love to be business partners forever. When we’re old, we can design sweaters for the other old people we play cards with!”
I laughed and hugged her back. “Well, let’s start with a logo. I like having our initials in it, so people remember it’s us and not just, say, a unicorn.” I made a face, and she pushed me.
“Me too,” she said.
I studied all the different versions of KV, which were scrawled on every square inch of the page, even on the side of the page and upside down. I tilted my head to different angles.
“You ever notice how much alike a K and a V look?” I asked. “If we combine them, you get this.”
I grabbed a sketch pad and pencil from my desk and drew what I was thinking of:
Katie gasped and picked up the sketch pad. “Vanny, this is perfect! It looks like a star—which is what we are!”
“And it would look really cute on leg warmers,” I said. “We’d just leave off the wording.”
She took a picture of the sketch. “I’m going to send this to my dad. He can have one of his designers clean it up a bit, and then we’ll have our very own fabric.”
My disappointment with the Lazenby’s visit was rapidly being replaced by excitement. “This is going to be so cool! I’m so glad Tim thought of swag bags.”
Katie nodded. “He was really helpful when I was trying to recruit models earlier, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure he was helping himself just as much as you.”
“No, no, no!” She waved her hands. “He had girls of all looks and sizes signing up! And I think Brooke was interested, too,” Katie said with a smile. “She kept watching us while she pretended to drink from the water fountain.”
I grinned. “I think she was on a stakeout, actually. Trying to catch whoever posted that advice clipping, and a few others. I’m surprised she didn’t chase you away.”
Katie smacked her forehead. “That’s why she came over and started coughing on everyone! I got a little worried when she said something about the plague.”
I nodded. “That’s how she gets us to the front of the line for crowded movies, too.”
My phone rang, and I leaned over and saw Tim’s name. “Speaking of crazy friends.” I picked it up and answered, “Please do not ask what kind of hors d’oeuvres I want at the show.”
“Hello to you, too!” said Tim. “And I wasn’t calling to ask about food. I was calling about the music.”
“Music?” I repeated.
Tim chuckled. “Oh, V. You can’t have models walking the runway in silence!”
“Oh, Tim. We’re not,” I replied. “We’re hooking my cell phone to a speaker and playing music.”
Katie stooped low and shouted into the phone. “I’ve been working on the playlist!”
Tim made a scoffing sound. “Amateur hour.”
“We are amateurs,” I reminded him. “What would you suggest?”
“Are you ready to have your mind blown? I’m thinking . . . ,” He paused for effect. “A DJ.”
I sighed. “What? No DJ, crazy.”
“Oh, no. DJ Crazy is way too expensive,” said Tim. “I was thinking of someone more up-and-coming. A guy you might have seen around school.”
Katie poked me in the arm. “What’s going on?”
“Tim wants to DJ at the show,” I said.
“Not me,” said Tim. “I don’t have that kind of talent. But Lil Chill—”
“His name is Lil Chill?” I interrupted.
“His beats are very ill,” said Tim. “And he has all his own equipment.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, I wonder who you know who could afford something like that.”
“Berkeley seriously wants to get into the music business,” continued Tim, “and he played me one of his sample tracks. It’s really good!”
I muted the phone and spoke to Katie, who’d been poking my leg. “Berkeley Dennis wants to DJ our fashion show.”
Her eyes lit up. “Awesome!”
I sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Hello? V?” Tim spoke into my ear.
I unmuted the phone. “We have runway auditions tomorrow. Berkeley can play during that, and if he does a good job, he can do the live show.”
Tim cheered. “You rock, V!”
“Berkeley better rock,” I told him. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about? Like offering free helicopter rides or having the models ride in on horses?”
Tim hesitated. “Are either of those actual possibilities?”
“Good-bye, Tim.” I ended the call and looked at Katie. “So now we’ve got a VIP section, swag bags, and a DJ.” I tried my best to sound annoyed, but as I listed off each item, I actually found the corners of my mouth curving up. We were turning into kind of a big deal!
Katie was smiling, too. “This is how it starts, Vanny! Today, Berryville. Tomorrow, the world!” She gestured to my photo wall. “We’ve already got a store interested in us.”
My smile thinned out. “But do we? Look at what they like.” I pointed to the images. “And look at what I like.” I gestured to my outfit.
There was another knock on my door, followed by silence.
“Come in, Mom!” I said.
She opened the door and then smiled at us. “Vanessa, honey, dinner’s ready. Katie, you’re welcome to stay.”
We both got to our feet, and Katie picked up he
r purse. “Thanks, Mrs. Jackson, but I should probably be getting home. Bobbi’s making TLTs tonight.”
“Your mom’s making what?” I asked.
“Tofu, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches,” said Katie.
I did my best not to throw up on her shoes because it would’ve been rude and because her shoes were really cute.
Katie let herself out, and I followed Mom to the kitchen, where Terrell was trying to make his own sloppy joe. So far he’d managed to cover every inch of the plate and completely miss the hamburger bun.
“We’re gonna have to rename these things sloppy Terrells,” I told him, taking the spoon and getting ready to pour sauce over his bun. He pushed my hand away.
“I did it on purpose,” he informed me. “I don’t like when the bread gets soggy.”
I shrugged and poured the meat sauce on my own hamburger bun. “Everyone’s got their own way, I guess.”
“So did you make any progress on those Lazenby’s designs?” asked Mom, putting a cob of corn on Terrell’s plate.
I groaned and shook my head. “I don’t get the appeal of their clothes. They’re so boring and tame. If you sewed live scorpions in the sleeves, I still wouldn’t wear them.”
Mom chuckled. “Well, that’s an image.”
“That would be cool!” added Terrell. He raised his arms, as if he had scorpions in the sleeves, and glared at an invisible enemy.
“You know, maybe you shouldn’t try looking at this from a designer’s perspective,” said Mom. “Sometimes when I’m trying to identify with a tough client, I put myself in their shoes.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’ve seen the shoes at Lazenby’s. I don’t want to.”
“Very funny,” she said, nudging me toward the table. “You know what I mean. Don’t look for what’s wrong. Look for what’s right.”
“I did that earlier,” I told her. “The result was very depressing.”
She took a bite of her sloppy joe. “You said Heather liked the clothes, right? And you like Heather, right? Try to identify with her.”
I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got a better idea!”
Mom shot me a warning look. “If you’re thinking of bringing back Van Jackson, stop.”
Confidentially Yours #6 Page 3