The lights dimmed further, sending chills through my body. Club music queued up, and the first model strut out in a futuristic motorcycle jacket with ultra-punk accessories, designed by a girl who called herself Verge. Then came Amy’s warrior design. The model stopped at the runway’s end and crouched into a fighting stance. Gold and black tiger stripes fanned out from the model’s eyes.
More chills. “Oh my gosh, Amy. Your design—it’s so good.”
Next up, Jimmy’s male model walked out in the look he called Gutter Mage. Every piece was black or gray. A daunting cape trailed from the model’s shoulders paired with military-influenced pants and boots.
Two more looks passed by. Sweat spread across my back. I leaned forward, trying to get some air flow to ease my nerves.
I held my breath as the current model finished her walk and … yes! My model glided onto the runway. The strapless gown hugged her body perfectly at the top. Jewels sparkled at the hip in an asymmetric pattern, and the skirt moved with her like smooth waves.
Des squeezed my hand. “It’s amazing. And bonus styling with the loose, knotted hair. So not expected.” She held up her fist for a bump, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the gown. I’d made that with my own hands, and it didn’t suck. It wasn’t falling apart.
After the models finished their individual walks, they all walked again in a single file line. Everyone in the room stood and clapped as the final model made her circuit. I jumped up clapping for them, for my friends, for me.
The program director stepped behind the podium again, detailing more congratulations and listing some of the designers in attendance tonight. Actual designers, viewing our work! Professor B. told us designers were invited, but to see them here—another dream being realized.
We moved on to the internship awards. My group’s blog post project won an Interactive Fashion award, and we were each given a certificate. More to add to my design school portfolio. Then, the individual program track awards.
“For best project, business track,” the program director paused for maximum drama. “Desiree Williams!”
I flew out of my seat, clapping. “Yeah, Des!” I snapped her picture at the podium at least twelve times.
Several more awards were given out but all I could think of was the runway and my model in her amazing gown.
After deliberation from the judges, the program director returned to the podium. “And first place for the runway show fashion track goes to …” The sound in the room dulled to silence. “Amy Fujima!”
Amy rocketed from her seat. She threw her arms around the program director, who stood at least six inches taller. I grabbed my camera to capture the moment.
Desiree leaned in to me. “You okay?”
Okay, I wished I’d won, but truth? I hadn’t expected to win, only to finish. My dress walking the runway was a daydream-worthy moment. I’d finished an entire gown myself. I wasn’t a hack. Amy’s design was well constructed, creative, and her model rocked it on the runway. I hadn’t won, but I wasn’t being voted out either. This wasn’t reality TV—this was the start of my fashion career, right here.
Still, I was glad the lights were low in case my face showed any weird reactions.
“Corny as it sounds, I’m just glad I finished,” I answered Des. “Amy deserves the win.”
She also deserved to know the truth about me. Amy had been a good friend to me from day one, and I let her believe I attended prep school and dated Ethan. I continued to let her believe the lies.
As guests filtered out, and party music turned up, I chatted with the other designers, keeping my eye out for Amy. Every moment she broke conversation with someone, a new person jumped in. This was a big night for her. Amy cradled her award statue in her arm, smiling and talking excitedly. This night wasn’t about me, and it wasn’t my place to bring her down. For now, that truth needed to wait.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Mila!” I’d barely gotten one leg on solid Laurenti property when Abuelita’s hug took me over. She’d practically yanked me from the car. “You are skin and bones!” She tugged at my jeans’ waist. “Don’t tell me you caught the fashion model disease—the one where they starve themselves with cotton balls.”
She had to have been reading the tabloids. “I haven’t lost weight. My clothes fit is all.” As in, they weren’t layered on or hanging off me.
The palm trees, the brick-pavers drive, and our little house with its little porch and shutter-framed windows. Home. I was home. I squeezed Abuelita again.
An assault of floral scents hit me at once walking in through the back porch. Our own flower garden burst forth in reds, pinks, and purples. Abuelita called it her disco garden. She gathered every bright-colored flower she could find, rather than the carefully selected palette of hues planted around the rest of the Laurenti estate. I had the feeling I’d be spending more time back here.
Mami emerged from the driver’s side, already on her cell phone discussing a catering job. She’d listened to me blab the whole way home from the airport about the runway show and my gown, which was packed in a garment bag I’d chosen as carry-on. On the way back, I’d convinced her to stop at my favorite bakery in Little Havana for cupcakes and pastelitos.
Inside, sunlight settled against the walls. Everything looked smaller than I remembered. I dashed for my room—Johnny the Singer, holding down the fort, exactly where I’d left him. Home.
Food waited for me back in the kitchen. I recapped for Abuelita as I chowed down. I handed over my phone, showing her pictures from the runway show, of New York—everything.
“And you saw the boys,” she said, not as a question but as a statement. She already knew I’d seen Ethan and Liam in New York because we’d talked about the meeting the following day. Or at least, she’d asked about it and I’d told her how Liam saw me back to the dorm in the cab. How everything turned out great. All true minus the party and the drama.
“Um, yeah.” I shoved a spoonful of rice and beans into my mouth.
“That was so good of the family to check on you. What good sons! Liam is such a gentleman to take you home the way he did.”
Ah, Abuelita gushing about the Laurenti boys. I never minded before because of my Ethan fascination, but now? Now, this might become a problem.
Mami came out from her room wearing a knockout turquoise dress, spiky heels, and salon blowout hair. A chunk of pork thwunked from my fork onto my plate.
Abuelita’s side-eye zoned in and she made a clucking sound. Mami’s heels clicked against the tile in the entryway. She took her keys from the hook.
“Where are you going?” I asked. Looking like that.
“I have to run out.” She picked up a purse I’d never seen before. Big with designer logo lettering and a chunky gold emblem hanging from the strap.
“But, I just got home.” And I wanted to know about that purse.
She paused at the door. “I have an interview.”
“On Saturday?”
“A catering job.” She flashed a look to Abuelita, who wouldn’t return the gesture. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m glad you’re home, Mila. I know we only caught up a little. I’m sorry, I have to go. I promise, I’ll see you in the morning.”
We’d caught up, but only on what I’d done in New York. Nothing about what she’d been up to the past three weeks. “What was that all about?” I asked Abuelita after the door closed. “Where’d she get that purse?”
Abuelita picked up the plates and ran the faucet over them. “Your Mami has been just as busy since you’ve been away. Very busy.”
Unpacking did not sound like a good time. I swear, I’d just crammed my stuff into the Pro Traveler in New York. Now I had to take everything out again. No thanks.
I peered out the window to the Laurenti house. Closed garage doors. No cars in the driveway. The family was probably still vacationing in New York. Awesome. I needed time to get used to my new reality living in the realm of the Laurentis while not making their life—Ethan’s lif
e—my focus. No worries about running into anybody.
I grabbed my headphones, flipped to my music streaming playlist, and headed out the back door. I sat at our small patio table, pulling up my RunwayGirl12 account. Where I usually felt a thrill in finding hundreds of heart-shaped Likes when I tapped open my account, today, not so much. A hollow feeling centered in me. I’d gotten used to virtual affirmations. Little zings of excitement at other people looking to me for fashion inspiration.
All those Likes came from high-fashion runways I had no part in. I was inspiring people, but not with anything I made myself. What was the point? For the first time in two years I’d missed three days in a row of posting. Normally, I’d be frantically scouring fashion blogs for content, cross-checking which brands were trending. The hollow sensation spread. I felt … nothing.
Amy suggested I post my own work, but how could I make my hippie scarves look as high fashion as a runway show? Ugh. Too much work. I slipped the phone into my shorts pocket (shorts! A revelation!) and found myself walking to the stables.
Hay and horse smells mixed with humid summer air, all familiar and comforting. Magnus greeted me with a whinny and soft nuzzle to my hand. As I pet him, I let my mind wander. At the internship, workshops and meet-and-greets filled every moment. I shared my living space, my eating space, my everything. Now, I had room to breathe. Time for me.
I turned up the volume on my music. I closed my eyes, swaying to a summer party song I’d chosen on my playlist. Amelia’s Happy Music. Just me and my music and my own thoughts—
My body collided with something solid. Solid but moving. My eyes flew open and I gasped, my own voice drowned out by the swirling beats in my ears. I ripped my earbuds free. “Liam? What are you doing here?”
Never mind I’d just asked Liam Laurenti what he was doing at his own house, but what was he doing now? He scrambled for something on the ground.
Oh no. “Is that?” I moved around him and crouched. On the dirty stable floor sat a phone with lightning bolt cracks streaked across the screen.
Liam looked up at me. “Hey, Amelia. You’re back.”
“Your phone!” I pointed to the ruined device. “I did that? I’m so sorry!” I’d slammed right into him, lost in my own daze.
Liam stood and wiped the phone against his shorts. “It’s okay. I should have used a case.” He looked down at the dirt striped across his cargo shorts. “It’s dirty in here.”
I went for the stable broom, where it propped against the wall in its usual spot. I started sweeping.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I’ll do it.” Liam reached for the broom.
I pulled it back, keeping the broom out of reach. “It’s my fault. Let me.” My cheeks flamed. I shouldn’t have been so careless. I shouldn’t have treated this stable like it was mine to roam around in. “I promise I’ll pay to fix it or get you a new one.” I’d borrow the money from Mami and pay her back with catering-job money. I still had a few weeks left of summer to pick up shifts.
Liam grabbed a dustbin and squatted beside the pile I’d swept. Reluctantly, I pushed the dirt and bits of hay into the bin he held. I watched him dump the contents into the trash barrel by the door. “It’s seriously fine. This phone is just a tester.”
“A tester?”
He pulled a different phone from his other pocket. “This is my actual phone.”
Uh, okay. Maybe this was what wealthy nerds did—collected smartphones and experimented with them. “No, I should still replace it. I just need a day or two, if that’s cool. I mean, I already owe you one.” I really did not want to rehash our experience at the warehouse party, but there it was, out of my mouth and into the air.
Liam blinked like he had trouble focusing. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, Liam, I do.” My words came out more powerfully than I expected. I felt raw and open and exposed knowing Liam had seen me so low in New York. Humiliated that he’d seen me destroyed at watching his brother kiss another girl when I had no business being jealous in the first place. Plus, I couldn’t not think about how I’d just busted Liam’s very expensive phone. “I’m sorry. I just got back. I thought you and your family were still in New York, and I shouldn’t have been wandering—”
“Hey.” Liam walked closer, his hand reaching toward me but not touching. “I walked up to you while you had on headphones. I’m lucky you didn’t deck me.” He lowered his hand, seeming to realize he was about an inch from making contact.
I couldn’t help laughing. Like I would hit the son of the family who paid and housed us. Like I’d hit anyone. Though, I’d knocked the phone right out of his hand. “I’m sorry again, about the phone. So, what are you doing back so soon?”
He shook a longish strand of hair from his brow, but it didn’t move, stuck by sweat. “We came in last night. Dad is still in New York, but with everything going on here, Mom wanted to get back.”
“What’s going on?” Abuelita hadn’t mentioned anything. Neither had Mami.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s stupid. A family friend wants to film some stuff at our house. Hey, so how did your project turn out? Amy said there was a runway show.”
Right—Liam and Amy had been chatty at the party. “My gown, it turned out great. Really great, actually. I’m proud of it and it moved so beautifully on the runway. Seeing my work on a model was amazing. Oh, and Amy’s costume won first place.”
His face seemed to light up at Amy’s name. “Cool. Awesome. Hey, so at your internship, did you work in teams? Did you incorporate technology into your design process?”
Well, that was specific. I told him about the tech lab, the group projects, and visiting studios to see their process from idea to production. I mentioned my group award for the blog. And my gown again, because it was awesome. I was gushing. Was I gushing? Ugh, I was gushing.
Liam nodded along. “Yeah, wow. Your internship sounds similar to my tech camp, with the groups and projects. Well, minus the fashion part.”
This was strange, Liam and I talking like this. Most of the time when I saw Liam I smiled politely and stayed out the way. We weren’t friends. But talking to him now, this felt like friends. I’d spent so long only considering Ethan’s interests. I hadn’t spent much time thinking of Liam at all.
“I should go,” I said. “I haven’t called Maya yet. And for real, I’ll reimburse you for the phone.”
I started toward the stable exit when Liam’s fingers grazed my arm. He’d definitely made contact this time. “Wait. I know how you can repay me. I don’t need you to repay me, but since I know you will even if I tell you not to, I have another way you can help.”
“Oh. What?” The sensation left by his touch left phantom imprints on my skin.
“It’s better if I show you. Here.” He scooted an overturned, empty feed bucket into the aisle, the underside encrusted in dried mud. He pulled a second one out, this one cleaner, and moved it toward me. With his non-busted phone, he turned on the screen and started tapping. He handed me the phone.
I was too curious to do anything else, so I sat and took the phone. An icon with the word FitRoom was the only item on the home screen. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching me. He nodded, so I clicked.
A loading icon spun until the screen switched to a group of headings: My Closet, My List, My Shops. I clicked around and found clothing categories with interactive photos. “What is this?”
“Keep going.”
I tapped a shirt and text popped up: Try on? I clicked Yes. The screen changed and an image of a model appeared with the shirt overlayed on top of her. Pretty cool.
I scrolled through the prepopulated My Closet items. Shirts, accessories, jeans. There was even a hot-pink bra. Tapping the bra fit the item over the model, though lopsided and the scale was off.
“Did you make this?” I asked.
“Yeah. I know what you’re thinking already—me and fashion.” He tugged at his faded shirt, which featured a math equation across the chest. Upo
n further inspection, the equation appeared to have a punch line. “But an app like this has so much potential. I started it months ago to enter into a young entrepreneurs’ app creation competition. It’s to set myself apart in my college applications. But then …”
I looked up. “Then what?”
“Thing is,” he went on. “I have a problem. I sort of maybe got in over my head.” He ran a hand through his hair—no product in it to slow his fingers. “I got into researching the market for fashion and consumer lifestyle apps and found a definite gap in the market. I started getting all these ideas.” He glanced at me, unsure about going on until I nodded for him to continue. “I poked around, seeing if any companies might be interested in buying my app.”
“And?”
“And I found an interested buyer.”
“Liam! That’s amazing!”
“It is?”
I laughed. “Um, hello. Yes! You made a thing and someone wants to buy it! It’s like when I sold my first handmade scarf at a craft fair Abuelita signed me up for. It was at our church, in a basement, but whatever. I made forty-seven dollars!” Okay, so forty-seven dollars was pocket change for a Laurenti “This is great. What’s the problem?”
He blew out a breath of air. “I’m stuck. I’ve got the code down, and have a contact to do some graphics work for me. It’s everything else. I don’t exactly … know fashion. I need help.”
“And you want my help.” My fingers tingled at the possibility. Helping Liam with a fashion app sounded interesting and challenging. The whole idea was so unexpected, but perfect at the same time. I couldn’t imagine Liam needed my help for anything, but he clearly recognized the value of my internship.
“Yes. But you don’t have to say yes,” he added quickly. “It’s not your responsibility—”
“I’ll help you, Liam.”
“There’s more.” He scuffed his shoe sole against the floor. “I’ve got three weeks before I present my beta for the app.”
Honestly, I had no idea if three weeks was a time crunch. He’d been working on the app for months. I’d only had a few weeks to make my gown and I managed fine. “Let’s do it!”
Alterations Page 12