Amy’s comment about Liam being hot—how crazy was that? Liam had always been Ethan’s nerdy shadow. Hints of his brother existed somewhere in those shared genetics, but sloppy clothes and awkwardness pretty much buried any hotness. Cute. I could see cute.
The bathroom door opened and I shoved the frame back beneath the papers. I stuck an empty plastic cup on top. It teetered, tipped, and rolled off the window ledge, hitting the floor.
Desiree made an audible huff. She ripped back her covers and folded herself into bed, rolling so her back faced me.
She’d told me to find her when I’d gotten myself sorted out. I could wait until the last day, when we were packing. Or I could talk now.
“Desiree. Do … do you have a minute?”
A muffled moan-groan sounded.
Not a no, at least. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you about Ethan being my boyfriend. I guess it was too embarrassing to admit why I brought his family’s picture with me to New York. And I brought it because I wanted to believe there was more to our relationship. I let you believe Ethan was my boyfriend because it was easy. And because … because I liked it.”
I’d liked pretending, but I couldn’t keep pretending if I wanted to do anything with my life.
I waited for Desiree to respond. The sheets rustled, but that was it.
“I … I wasn’t sure what to expect being here,” I continued. “I didn’t expect you’d be so awesome. What I thought was an innocent lie—and I know, that’s a really stupid way to put it, how is lying innocent or guilty? Isn’t lying by default guilty? Or … anyway. The lie got out of control. I let it get that way, and I’m sorry.”
Desiree rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Whatever you tell Amy and the others is up to you. With me, I just want you to be real.” Her words came out thick. “I don’t want to be lied to. I don’t know how to be friends with someone who can’t trust me.”
If I trusted Des, I would have told her from the start my family worked for Ethan’s. But, I hadn’t wanted to give anyone here a reason to look down on me. Not when I already felt unprepared, untalented, and totally out of my element. My stupid lies had gathered together, as if a slip stitch could hide the seam between my two worlds. Instead, they made me feel worse.
I grabbed the Laurenti photo, sending the piled-up papers to the floor. “It is weird, right? Who carries a picture of a guy and his family who she’s just, like, stalking? I’m pathetic. More than you even know.”
Des sat upright and crossed her legs. “Ethan wouldn’t have invited you to the party if you were a stranger stalking him. What I think is you built up this idea of him, and now you realize it’s not true. You thought you could sell that idea to us and we’d never know.”
“Saying Ethan was my boyfriend sounded better than saying I’ve spent half my life crushing after a guy who barely knows me.”
“Leaving home has a funny way of bringing that stuff to light.”
If I hadn’t come here, how long would it have taken for me to figure out? Through the next school year? Another year until Ethan came back for the summer from college?
“Amelia.” Des crossed over to my bed. “If that’s your deepest secret, that you don’t have a boyfriend and your family works for rich people, then you’re doing this life thing pretty well.”
“That sounds pretty stupid when you say it out loud.”
“Maybe the stuff we’re most scared of isn’t really so scary.” She let that sit for a minute. “We almost had to close my mom’s store. The business is doing better now, but for a while my dad worked two jobs to pay our bills. My family doesn’t make huge bank. I would never have asked for the money to come here; I was too scared. My family encouraged me to come after my boyfriend suggested it. Here I am Miss Supposed Independent, and my boyfriend is the one telling me what I should do.”
“He cares about you,” I said. “You have a plan and you’re not ashamed to talk about what you’re good at. So what if you needed some encouraging.”
“I have too much I want to do to let fear stop me. It just sucks when fear does stop me, even for a second.”
I thought over the times I let fear take over. When my art teacher asked for a volunteer to help at a local student art show, I wanted to say yes but I let others raise their hand first. When Ethan would show up and I had a million rehearsed things to say, but forgot them all. When I didn’t have the guts to submit the internship application.
“Des, I’m really sorry. I wish I’d told the truth up front. And I’m sorry you were embarrassed talking with Ethan. I never realized I could hurt you like that.”
Desiree’s eyes were watery at the corners. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. I don’t want this”—she pointed between us—“to end when we go back home. I want to keep this up. Who knows, we could end up back here for college. Promise me you’ll be straight with me.”
I swallowed back my emotions or I’d lose it. “Promise. Also, the pool boy. I really was talking to Liam on the phone that day, he just wasn’t cleaning the pool.”
Desiree snickered and covered her mouth. She laughed again, this time louder. “I cannot believe you tried to sell me on a pool boy story.” She playfully shoved me. “That was desperate.”
I fell back against my pillow and laughed. After such a serious conversation, it felt all kinds of wrong to laugh, but I couldn’t stop. Big loud bursts of laughs. “I know. I’m a terrible liar!”
Desiree’s shoulders shook from silent laughter. She took in a breath and let it out laughing. “That is truly sad. I knew something was up when you brought in a pool boy. A pool boy could not have been for real.”
“I’m sorry! I’m the worst!” My eyes were wet from crazy-happy-stress-relief tears.
“All right now, we can move past all this.” Laughter rumbled over a few more times. “You good?”
I nodded. “I’m good. And I’m super sorry.”
She hopped off the bed and turned to help me up. “Now that we’re all clear, let’s raid the vending machine.”
I braced myself for the crisp slice of sharpened scissors, waiting to feel lighter from inches of my hair falling to the workroom floor. This was it. I had to be brave.
“Amelia, open your eyes. I’m not going to hack off your hair.”
I cracked an eye open. Avery stood several paces ahead of me, scissors now sheathed in her custom purple leather pouch. Amy was busy repinning a seam, and Des had her laptop open on a worktable. No one gathered around to see my big transformation.
“I only want to trim the ends and add in texture,” Avery explained. “I’m not licensed, but I watch a ton of YouTube.”
Right. I’d thought for sure once she got near my thick and rather unmanageable hair she’d want to go extreme like a Tess spiky do.
Barely ten minutes later, I ran a hand through my hair and for once it didn’t get stuck. The length still hit below my shoulders, only it lay flatter and more smooth.
“Now for the real fun.” Avery plunked a metal-edged toolbox onto the table next to me. She flipped open the lid, which split in the middle with compartments folding out to either side. Eye products, face creams, brushes, blushes, bronzers, powders, glosses, and color palettes piled up together. It was like a Sephora free-for-all inside that thing.
Avery studied my face, went for a product, put it back, and tried again, all while muttering about brightening masks, primers, and serums. I could have sworn she said the words “eye wand.” Hey, if she wanted to wave a Tinkerbell spell at my eyes, as long as I could still see, why not?
I just wanted to feel a little newer. Since Des and I made up, a light had flipped on in my life. I’d heard people say that before, but I never understood until now.
I’d been hiding. In so many places in my life, I kept myself aside and out of the way. My clothes I layered on to cover up my body. I hid my face behind heavy bangs I was always back and forth about growing out or keeping. Getting dressed t
his morning, none of my clothes felt right. With Des’s sharp eye, she took layers away. Instead of my usual tank top, multiple necklaces, long skirt, and scarves, I wore a cap-sleeved blouse and fitted crop pants, courtesy of Des’s and Tess’s closets, since both of them were nearest in size to me. A cropped pant never hit these legs before. I still wore a beaded necklace, but I wound it around twice so it was shorter, and paired with my usual flats.
“Okay,” Avery said, straightening but not taking her focus from me. She craned her neck to the side, then slid her head back the other direction like an owl with a keen eye for style. “I think we’re good.”
I took a breath as she passed over a handheld mirror. I flipped it up to face me. “Wow.” I laughed. “I look … like me.” Instead of dark liner and heavy-layered shadows, my eyelids faintly shimmered. My lashes were longer but in a natural way. My skin glowed and my cheeks appeared fuller while my face was more contoured. All of this, and I didn’t look like I was wearing makeup at all. “I love it!”
I shot up and hugged Avery, which felt a little weird once I had my arms around her—I barely knew this girl. Then again, she’d just spent the last forty-five minutes intimately acquainted with my hair and pores.
“I thought you’d make me look like a Kardashian,” I confessed as we parted.
“Did you want to look like Kardashian?” Avery looked worried.
“No! I mean, it’s pretty on you, but it would look fake on me.”
“It would look amazing on you if you’d let me do it the right way, but I have the feeling you wouldn’t like it. Natural really suits you.”
“You look great!” Des stood with Tess and Amy who watched me. So I did have an audience!
“We should go somewhere,” I said. Now that I looked as awesome as I (mostly) felt, I wanted to road test my new confidence. “Anywhere. We’re in New York. In summer!”
“Is your ex still around?” Tess asked.
Amy and Des practically cut her down with laser stares.
“Let’s keep this interns only,” I told her. But even the mention of Ethan couldn’t shake my mood. What happened, happened. I’d experienced a taste of Ethan’s life, his friends, the parties. This was about me, about my life. I needed to figure out me on my own, and my friends were helping me.
As we packed up the workroom, I envisioned myself in a whole new way: surrounded by friends, walking through the city, with every opportunity ahead.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I did it. I’d finished. My gown was complete.
After a girl’s night out sharing tapas and salted caramel sundaes, followed by karaoke (in a narrow shop where the door propped open and people on the street stopped to belt out the chorus), instead of feeling exhausted, I was exhilarated. Today was our last day of workshops and project time. Every moment felt important.
I stepped back from the dress form, my fingers raw and sore from focused work on my seam finishes. My back ached. I’d barely slept this week. A tingling built up inside and spread through to my hands and toes. I did this. I made this.
“Amelia, your gown looks amazing!” Des walked into the workroom, moving past tables crowded by every intern in the design block scrambling to finish their projects. She threw her arms around me. “I feel like a proud mama! An auntie, maybe. I don’t know. I’m proud. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” I couldn’t stop smiling.
We had the workroom until midnight, but I managed to finish early. A hair and makeup plan for my model was set. Everything was ready for tomorrow night’s Final Fitting Runway Spectacular (the legit, actual name in the brochure). I was ready for the runway.
“I’m heading to the tech lab,” I said to Des, who trimmed seams for Amy. One final step was needed for my project, and using a laptop would be easier than my phone for finishing my accessory Pinboards.
In the lab, I opened Pinterest and organized the accessories I’d tagged earlier. Four separate looks to coordinate with my gown. I condensed each look into its own inspiration board thumbnail and printed them out. Those added to my portfolio along with the design notes and sketches I put together following all the guidelines Professor B. pointed out. Bonus: I could use this in my applications for design school.
I moved the cursor to close out the browser window. My hands hovered over the keyboard. My old Pinboards. They stared back at me from the screen, full of tainted memories. I felt a hundred pounds heavier all at once.
A lifetime had passed since I sat in my bedroom scrolling through images of prom dresses and happy couples. One eye on the virtual fantasy, the other watching over the Laurenti house. Hours I’d spent fastening daydreams onto a digital canvas. More hours cultivating the boards, removing looks I no longer cared for, and adding pictures of guys with Ethan-like qualities. Famous soccer players, models, TV stars. Imagining myself in endless scenarios, never once working up any courage to do anything real with those fantasies.
My cheeks flushed. No one else was in the tech lab, and I still felt the need to minimize the browser to a smaller view. No one needed view my shame, meticulously organized and labeled or not.
So, embarrassing. These boards weren’t me anymore. Everything wrapped up in these themes seemed like outdated, two-seasons-ago trends.
I couldn’t move forward knowing these boards existed, even as private boards. Hanging on to virtual dreams would keep weighing me down.
Besides, I didn’t need to be scared of losing Ethan. I didn’t have him now, so he wasn’t mine to lose. I had friends, family, design ideas. School with honor society and potential costume work for the drama department, once I worked up the nerve to apply. I had plenty going on. Ethan had his own life and I had mine.
I tapped the Delete icon. This time when the text popped up asking if I was sure I wanted to permanently remove the Pinboard, I didn’t hesitate. I clicked Delete Board.
The board and its images vanished from the screen. All of it gone into the void, along with the fantasy.
Back home, the Laurentis’ staff-kitchen blender was one of those commercial-grade types that could blend anything into hot soup, which was what was currently happening to my insides. Abuelita would be shushing me right now if she heard me fretting over my gown and the runway show. I heard her voice in my head: Amelia, you are so talented! You have nothing to worry over.
A model scurried by in a robe and slippers, her hair half in rollers.
Desiree told me the same thing this morning as we dressed for the day. Most of our belongings were packed, since Des was heading out to her aunt’s house later tonight for an early flight out tomorrow.
“This has been amazing,” she’d said while scooping the last of our dorm decor into her bags. “Everything we’ve been through—I won’t forget it.”
I wasn’t prepared for this. I was terrible at good-byes. Everything I owned I could make a case for a sentimental reason for keeping. With Desiree, I couldn’t hold on to her—she had a life back in San Francisco and dreams of her own. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to move to Miami?” I had to try.
She slid an easy arm over my shoulders. “Video chat. I’m all about it. You’re going to keep me accountable about my business plan—don’t let me forget it all when I see my boyfriend and want to get lazy hanging out all the time.”
“Same for me. I mean, to check in with me about fashion goals, not um …” the boyfriend stuff.
“Oh, I’ll be asking about that, too,” she said, reading into what I hadn’t said.
“The fantasy Pinboards are gone; I promise.” Though going home to Miami, the real life fantasy, er, guy, would be around regularly for me to run into. I’d have to learn to avoid him until all traces of lingering crush eroded. “I’m going to miss you, Des.” I swallowed back the emotion clogging my words.
“Girl, me too.”
Now, here I stood backstage waiting on the Final Fitting Runway Spectacular to begin. Beyond heavy black curtains looking out into the school’s multipurpose room, an illumi
nated stretch of elevated stage ran half the length of the room, and folding chairs lined up in rows along either side. A spotlight centered on the starting point of the runway, where the school name and logo projected onto the curtains. The NYFI name rippled along the fabric folds. With the dimmed lights, this had the vibe of a real runway show. Five hundred and forty posts on RunwayGirl12—I knew what runway shows looked like.
Amy zipped over, her hair a rare state of flyaways. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod are we really doing this?”
“It’s happening.” I took a breath. I’d been fine all morning, telling myself this was like a school program back home. Then I’d peeked out at the growing audience. There were way more people here beyond the student interns. Invited guests. Some of them looked very fashion savvy, like designers and … I envisioned a blue pinstripe suit and a smart tie on a pale, prim man. Tim Gunn showing up? Crazy pants. No way would Tim Gunn be here.
“What if Tim Gunn is here?” Amy squealed.
My nerves!
“All right,” Professor B. announced, clapping. “Designers, head out to the viewing area so you can see the show yourselves.”
Amy’s jaw dropped open. “We have to leave backstage? But my garment!” She looked back at her model who tugged at the hem of her fitted vest.
I was as shocked as Amy. “I thought we’d get to watch from back here.” Though I didn’t see any video screens. Right—not TV.
Amy and I found seats next to Des and Jimmy. Tess and Avery sat in front of us. Tess turned and held up crossed fingers.
Our fearless program leader, majorly working sequins, walked to the head of the runway. “Hello, and welcome. You’ve made it! This is the end of our summer program, the most intensive high school student fashion workshop in the country. To each of you who designed a look for your thesis, congratulations. Now, let’s get this party started!”
Alterations Page 11