by Chloe Taylor
Zoey nodded. “Uh-huh. Well, not everything. Not the jeans and stuff. But a lot of it. I used to play dress up in them, but then I asked my dad last year if I could have them for real. I don’t take them out that much. But just knowing they’re there makes me feel, you know, in a way, that she’s close. When I was little, I’d even kind of talk to them and pretend she was wearing them. I was just imagining it, but it was nice to pretend.”
“Sorry, Zoey,” Kate said, giving her friend’s arm a squeeze.
“Me too,” added Priti, but she wasn’t somber for long. “If your mom could sew like this, I bet you could too.”
“Really? Well, we still have her sewing machine in the basement . . . or maybe the attic. . . . I’m not sure.”
“What are you waiting for?” Priti crossed her arms in front of her, as if she’d just settled the whole thing. “Start making your own clothes so you can pick up where your mom left off!”
Kate smiled at Zoey. “Yeah, you totally should,” Kate told her. “Your mom would want you to, don’t you think?”
Zoey started to shrug, but as the question sank in, a happy tingle made her nod. “Maybe . . . yeah, she probably would. Okay.” Just thinking about it made her smile.
The next morning, after Kate and Priti went home, Zoey found her dad in the garage stretching before his five-mile Sunday jog.
“Hey, Dad?”
“Hey, hon. What’s up? Did your friends already go home?”
Zoey nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for letting them stay over. I hope we didn’t keep you up.”
“Me?” He shook his head. “Nah. But I am sorry they couldn’t stay for our secret-ingredient pancakes. What should we put in them today?”
The pancakes had been a Sunday tradition for years now, ever since they got the idea from Zoey’s favorite cooking show (at the time). She and her dad would make the batter and pick out a secret ingredient to spice them up . . . then they’d serve them to Marcus, whose challenge was to guess what was inside. Sometimes it was easy, like chocolate chips or bananas or crushed Oreos (yum!). But lately Zoey had been trying things like candied ginger with peaches on top or those toasted coconut with cardamom pancakes inspired by Priti’s mom’s dessert. That one had really stumped Marcus: He guessed buttermilk, sour cream, cinnamon, clove, and caramel before finally giving up . . . and digging in.
“I don’t know, Dad. . . . Do we have any ricotta?”
He nodded. “I think we might.”
“That, with some lemon zest . . .”
“Mmm. A classic.” He winked. “Sounds good! So, like I said, what’s up, Zo?” he went on, grinning. “Wanna join me for a run?”
“Uh, no.” Zoey shook her head as her dad’s hopeful grin turned into a playful pout. She nodded to the heart-covered boxers that she’d slept in and the flip-flops she’d put on to walk outside.
Her dad chuckled and went back to stretching. “Okay, well, maybe next time.”
“I actually had a question for you, Dad. I was wondering—” She stopped, and without even thinking she swallowed the question back down. She’d rehearsed it a dozen times in her head, but it was suddenly a whole different thing trying to get it out. What if she broke her mother’s precious machine? What if mentioning it made her dad sad?
Her dad, meanwhile, crossed his arms as worry rearranged his face. “Go on. What happened . . . ?” Then he got a little twinkle in his eye. “Does a boy want to take you to a movie or something? I thought we had a few years before that stuff.”
What?
“No!”
Zoey closed her eyes and actually felt her ears turn red. The very idea her dad had gone there made her want to evaporate right then.
“Well, what?” her dad prompted.
Zoey opened one eye and decided to just say it before he came up with something even more insane and embarrassing. “Can I . . . could I . . . may I use Mom’s sewing machine, Dad? Please? I promise I’ll be very careful. But I totally understand if you say no. It’s just . . . I think I might like to make clothes . . . like she did . . . and I think I’m old enough. . . .”
She looked at her dad, and he looked at her, and before she knew it, she was wrapped in his arms.
“Honey, I think that’s a great idea,” he said. “It’s time that thing stopped collecting dust.”
- - - - Chapter 4 - - - -
Sew Cool!
So who knew that blogging would be so much fun? I might like it as much as I love polka dots, which is a LOT. Polka dots just make me happy, you know? So, in honor of National Polka-Dot Day (which I think I just made up), I’m attaching a drawing of a polka-dot dress and an outfit with a similar pattern of hearts and stars instead of dots. What do you think?
But as much as I like polka dots and showing you my drawings, virtual clothes just aren’t as much fun as real clothes—at all! So, I’ve decided to start sewing. Small hitch in the plan: The most complicated thing I’ve sewed myself is a tote bag I decorated with fabric paint at day camp a million years ago. (Okay, okay, it was two years ago!) I’m going to use Mom’s sewing machine tomorrow, but I thought I’d practice with a good old-fashioned needle and thread tonight, just to get in the sewing mood. Dad’s thrilled. . . . He said if I’m sewing, I might as well sew buttons on some of the shirts that have been stuck in laundry purgatory for ages. . . .
But I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that I prick my fingers every time I try to sew. Every. Single. Time. I think the only solution is to buy TEN thimbles and wear one on each finger. Problem solved, right?
The thing is, this is hard. Harder than I thought it would be. And they’re just buttons! I know my mom loved sewing, so I’m hoping it’s in my genes . . . Get it? In my “jeans”? Shameless fashion-pun alert! It’s cheesy, I know, but it’s my blog and I’ll pun if I want to. So, on that note, I’m going to get back to sewing. Well, sort of. Wish me luck!
Sure enough, the sewing machine was in the basement, and as soon as he got back from running on Sunday, Zoey’s dad brought it up. There wasn’t really a place in Zoey’s room to put it, so it went on the dining room table instead.
“Are you sure it’s okay here?” Zoey asked her dad, even though they never used the room.
He nodded and smiled the half smile that went with thoughts of Zoey’s mom. “Oh yeah,” he told Zoey. “It’s where it always used to go.”
Zoey followed the directions for how to thread the machine, or tried to, but it was really complicated. She did the best she could and then got up to find some fabric to sew.
In the linen closet, Zoey found an ancient, fraying sheet that she knew nobody would miss. She folded it in half and slid it under the presser foot of the machine—the part that looked like a little ski.
Okay, it’s go time, she thought. She gave the foot pedal a tap and the machine whirred instantly to life . . . and then choked to death just as fast, making an awful crunching sound.
Uh-oh! What was that?
Zoey was sure that she had broken it, but after she pulled out a wad of tangled thread, everything seemed to be okay. Still, when she gave it one more shot, the exact same thing happened again. Plus, when she looked at the fabric, there weren’t any stitches in it.
“That doesn’t sound good,” said Zoey’s brother, Marcus.
“This really isn’t as easy as it looks,” Zoey said, discouraged. In fact, it wasn’t easy at all, and Zoey decided it was time to call for reinforcements. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed the number of the only person she knew who could help.
“Hi, Aunt Lulu? I have a fashion emergency,” Zoey said as she slumped miserably before the machine. “Any chance you could help me learn how to sew?”
On Monday at Camp Lulu, Zoey had a crash course in Sewing 101. Aunt Lulu started with teaching Zoey how to thread the machine for real.
“You have to loop the bobbin thread onto the needle thread first,” said Aunt Lulu.
“Oh right!” Zoey said. “That would help!”
Things went much
better after that.
Aunt Lulu tossed a bag of fabric swatches onto the table. “Let’s start with the basics,” she told Zoey. “Sewing two pieces of fabric together by stitching in a straight line.”
“Okay,” Zoey said. She picked up a few swatches, and Aunt Lulu helped her pin them together and slide them between the presser foot and the throat plate.
“Ready to give it a go?” she asked. “You don’t have to pull the fabric through. This thingamajig moves it along while you press the foot pedal. It’s called a ‘feed dog,’ I think.”
“Feed dog, really? That’s a funny name,” said Zoey, with an amused look. “Are you sure you aren’t making it up?”
“Not really,” said Aunt Lulu, cracking a smile. “But it’s so odd it must be true, right? Okay, give it a whirl!”
Zoey sat down and placed her foot on the pedal that made the machine run, holding the fabric down with her hands. Okay, this is it, she thought, giving herself a pep talk. Ready, set, sew!
She started off pressing on the pedal very lightly.
It was so light that nothing happened.
Then she tried pressing a little harder, stopping and starting to see what the thread was doing. The machine jerked along.
“Try to keep the speed at a steady pace, Zo. It just takes practice,” Aunt Lulu told Zoey.
Zoey pressed her foot down firmly this time. The needle whirred up and down until she could hardly see it, and the fabric raced through the machine in a blur.
She tried to stop, but it was too late. The line of stitches ran right off the edge of the fabric.
“Whoa, there,” said Aunt Lulu. “A little less gas next time.”
“Oops!” said Zoey. Her heart was racing. It took her a second to work up the courage to look at the fabric. When she did, there was a mostly straight line of stitches. “Hey, look at that! The stiches look pretty good, right?” She paused and squinted a little. “Something’s off, though. What is it?”
Aunt Lulu laughed. “Now it’s my turn for an ‘oops’! I forgot to tell you about seam guides,” she said. She pointed to the little lines etched in the throat plate of the machine. “Next time try to look at these lines while you sew. They help you keep the stitches straight and parallel to the edge of the fabric.”
“Gotcha,” Zoey said. “I’ll just try that again.”
Soon Zoey mastered sewing in a straight line and moved on to the backstitch.
“So, you just sew back and forth over the first and last few stitches to keep them from unraveling, like tying a knot when you sew by hand,” Aunt Lulu explained.
“Cool! What’s next?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure. You know, I’m pretty rusty,” Aunt Lulu said. “Your grandma taught me and your mom to sew when we were little, but I haven’t sewn actual clothes in ages. Your mom was the seamstress in the family. She had the patience for sewing dresses,” she remembered fondly. “I stick to simple things, like drapes and pillows.”
“Ooh! Can I make a pillow?” Zoey asked.
“You know, that’s a great project to start with.”
Aunt Lulu had a closet full of fabric samples and let Zoey pick some out. Zoey settled on a print with pink and orange stars to make into a pillow for her desk chair.
She cut two matching squares out of the cloth and pinned it along the edges, then she started to sew up one side. It went so smoothly and so quickly that before she knew it, she’d stitched up all four sides.
“That’s going to be hard to stuff now,” her aunt gently teased. “But I guess that’s what seam rippers are for, right? We’ll fix this in a jiffy.”
She quickly opened up the seam and showed Zoey how to add buttonholes along the side. Still, it seemed like it needed something else. . . .
“Hey! I have an idea,” Zoey said. “Can I have some white fabric? I’m going to stitch a Z for Zoey on the front.”
“Perfect!” said Aunt Lulu. “Then we just need some buttons and batting to stuff it with. . . .” She grabbed her car keys. “To the fabric store!”
Zoey had seen A Stitch in Time before at the shopping center, but she’d never been inside. All she could think when she stepped through the doors was, Where has this place been all my life?
It was as big as a supermarket, but instead of aisles full of food, there were rows and rows of fabric bolts. She took a deep breath. It had a smell . . . like a pet store or a pizza place has a smell you instantly know. This place had one that was cool and clean and new and full of ideas. Zoey breathed in again. Possibility! That’s what the smell was!
Up at the front were calicos for quilting and prints with characters, like talking bugs and princesses. Then came the good stuff—silk, satin, wool and corduroy, velvet, denim, flannel and fleece, fluffy tulle and delicate lace, plus a whole section full of fur and feathers, which were clearly and fabulously fake.
And then, then came the whole wall full of buttons . . . How was she ever going to pick out one kind? She was drawn at once to the ones that looked like enormous jewels . . . but then there were some that were shaped like daisies, and frogs, and fish, and even skulls. She wanted them all! At last, she settled on big, sparkly stars made out of rhinestones. On the way down the aisle she passed the wall of ribbons and tassels and zippers. She could hardly look. They were so pretty, they made her eyes hurt.
Her aunt, meanwhile, quickly located the aisle with batting, then found Zoey and followed her hungry gaze around the store. “You know, while we’re here,” she said, “we should pick out a pattern, so you can make something else. Don’t you think, Zo?”
Zoey’s face broke into a wide grin, which was an answer and then some.
The pattern books were laid out on a tall U of counters in the middle of the store. They were as big and heavy as paving stones, and several times as thick.
“Let’s start with something for beginners,” said Aunt Lulu as she lifted a book’s glossy cover and opened it to the E-Z tab.
There seemed to be a little of everything, Zoey thought as she browsed. There were patterns for skirts and tops and dresses and even a doggie raincoat. . . .
“Looking for anything special?”
Zoey looked up to see an older woman with long, jet-black hair. She was wearing a green leopard-print blouse that tied at the neck and a blue skirt.
“Not really . . . ,” Zoey answered.
Aunt Lulu put her hand on Zoey’s shoulder. “My niece is just learning to sew,” she explained. “So we’d like to find something easy.”
“Ah!” The woman rubbed her hands together. “Then you’ve come to the right place!” A pair of rainbow-striped reading glasses dangled from a beaded chain around her neck. She slipped them on and peered down at the pattern page.
“This book is good,” she said. “But I have another one. Wait right here.” She spun around and heaved another book off the counter behind them and lugged it over to where Zoey stood.
“Now . . .” The woman opened it. “I’m assuming you want a pattern size that would fit you? I took the liberty of grabbing a petites pattern book. Those should fit you pretty well, at your height.”
“Ooh, these look good!” Zoey exclaimed. On the very first page she saw the cutest pajama pants. If she got right to work, she thought, maybe she could wear them to bed that night!
A few pages later there was a picture that immediately caught her eye: beach cover-ups. She needed one. And so did Priti and Kate!
“Now, those are cute!” said Zoey. “Maybe I can make some for my best friends too. We’re around the same height. Well, Kate’s a little taller.”
“That’s a great idea! And it should fit your friends too. It’s a forgiving cut,” the woman agreed. “You know, you could make that one out of terry cloth—or even a nice woven cotton.”
Zoey nodded. “Maybe I could also mix it up. You know? Do a little of both?”
The woman turned to her, grinning, and tilted her head back a few degrees. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” she asked Zoey.
/>
“Zoey.”
“I’m Jan,” said the woman. “And I can tell already that I like you a whole lot, and I like your style, too.” She slid her glasses down her nose and eyed Zoey up and down, nodding in approval of her gray collared sleeveless top, red ruffled skirt, and orange Converse. “I have an idea for how to pull it all together.” Then she ran over to the wall of ribbons and snipped a short length of minty green silk ribbon.
“May I?” Jan asked, pointing at Zoey’s collar. Zoey nodded, and Jan tied the ribbon around her neck in a pretty bow. “There. The finishing touch, I think. Or you could use the ribbon as a headband, if that’s more your thing.”
“Very nice!” said Aunt Lulu.
“Wow,” said Zoey as she glanced at the mirror and then back at Jan with a big smile on her face. The ribbon really did pull everything together. She never would have thought of that! Zoey wasn’t quite sure what to say, but Jan didn’t seem to mind. She shut the pattern books decisively and took Zoey’s hand in hers.
“You just wait here,” she told Aunt Lulu. “I’m going to take good care of your niece.”
Zoey grinned and waved good-bye to her aunt as she trotted off with Jan.
“This is where the magic happens,” Jan said when they came to a long row of metal drawers. They held all the actual patterns, she told Zoey, and she showed her how to use the numbers from the books to find the ones she wanted to make.
Then it was off to the maze of fabrics, which Jan knew like the back of her hand. She steered Zoey away from the pricey designer silks (“thirty dollars a yard”) and to simpler cottons and jerseys (“so much easier to sew with—and to wash”), and before Zoey knew it, she had yards of material.
Jan even threw in an armful of remnants—leftover pieces that were too small to sell. “I know you’ll do something divine with these. Just promise to show me what you make,” she said.
Still, by the time the notions were added—which was a word Zoey learned meant everything from thread to buttons to trim—Aunt Lulu and Zoey’s little shopping trip had become expensive.