by Sheryl Berk
“Ouch,” JC replied. The Chihuahua hidden in his bag barked in agreement. “Madonna seconds that. She says, ‘That’s ruff!’ Get it? Rough?”
Mickey wasn’t amused. “It isn’t funny, JC.”
“Sorry—a little doggie humor. How did you get an incomplete?”
“I didn’t do my homework,” Mickey said.
“Well, that’ll do it! Why? You’re so on the ball, Mick. It’s not like you to blow off a Kaye assignment. It makes him see red!”
“I know!” Mickey exclaimed. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m just blocked. I can’t think of a single thing!”
JC nodded. “I see. You’ve caught designeritis.”
“What?” Mickey gasped. “Is it serious?”
“Very,” JC said, trying his best to keep a straight face as he teased his friend. “It comes on all of a sudden, without any warning, and can last several days without proper treatment.”
“Oh no! Is there a cure? What should I do? Should I see a doctor?”
JC nodded. “Meet me after school, and I’ll take you to a specialist.”
Mickey nodded. “Okay—if you’re sure it’ll work.”
JC smiled mischievously. “Have I ever led you wrong?”
JC guided Mickey down a long alleyway in the East Village to a small storefront with no sign or awning. Black shades covered the windows.
“What is this place?” Mickey asked nervously. “Is it safe? It looks a little sketchy…”
“Of course it’s safe, silly,” JC said, ringing the front bell. “Madge is a good friend and an expert when it comes to designeritis.”
“Madge? Who’s Madge?” Mickey said.
A woman dressed in an eighties-style hot-pink jumpsuit with huge padded shoulders opened the door. Well, at least she doesn’t look dangerous, Mickey thought. Just a little retro…
“That’s my name—don’t wear it out!” the woman said, ushering them inside. Her platinum-blond hair was tied in a huge, pink lace bow on top of her head, and she had stacks of rubber bracelets on both arms. Mickey noticed that this was no doctor’s office. In fact, it looked like an eighties memorabilia store. Hanging from the ceiling were several disco balls, and on the walls were old record album covers and posters of eighties pop stars. An autographed Pat Benatar picture hung over the cash register.
“I don’t get it. How is this gonna help?” Mickey asked, confused.
“Give it a chance, Mick. It always works for me,” JC assured her.
Madge cleared her throat. “Don’t be rude, JC. Introduce me to your friend.”
“Madge, Mickey…Mickey, Madge,” JC said.
Mickey smiled shyly. “Hiya.”
“I like your pink highlights,” Madge said, noticing Mickey’s hair. “And the pink combat boots—nice touch.”
“Mickey’s one of a kind,” JC said proudly. “But right now, we have a grave situation. She has an extreme case of designeritis.”
“You don’t say,” Madge said, looking concerned. “That bad, eh?”
“The worst I’ve ever seen,” JC replied.
Madge disappeared into the back of the store and returned with a huge carton of what looked like old records. “Debbie Gibson? Tiffany? Joan Jett? No, wait! Annie Lennox!”
JC shook his head. “I said this is serious.”
Madge blew a huge pink bubble with the gum she was chewing. “I hear ya. Step back…”
She placed a record on an old turntable and gently rested the needle on the vinyl disc. “Dress You Up” began blasting.
“Early Madonna—good for whatever ails you!” Madge said and started singing along to the tune with JC.
Mickey rolled her eyes. “JC, this is ridiculous. How is this going to cure my designeritis?”
“Let yourself go,” Madge advised her. “Feel the music and let it inspire you!”
JC grabbed Mickey and gave her a spin. “Come on, Mick. Have you forgotten that fashion is supposed to be fun? Exciting? Uplifting?”
“I’m sorry,” Mickey said. “It’s just not doing it for me.”
“Then try this,” Madge said, pulling another disc out of her carton. “This one never fails.”
As soon as the song started playing, JC’s face lit up. “My fave! ‘Causing a Commotion’ from Madonna’s classic movie Who’s That Girl. Crank it up, Madge!”
“Just let it fill your heart,” Madge said, taking Mickey by the hands. “Doesn’t the music make you feel happy?”
Mickey squeezed her eyes closed and tried to focus on the beat. “Um, no, not really. I just keep thinking of that incomplete on my homework.”
JC sighed when the song ended. “Mickey, you’re not trying.” He held out his hand for Madge to give him a piece of bubble gum. “Seriously, I think you’re contagious. You’re making me feel sad and uninspired now.”
“Tutti-frutti, Berry Bubble, or Watermelon Blast?” Madge asked, producing a fishbowl filled with wrapped pieces of gum that she kept beneath the counter.
“Lemme see that,” Mickey said suddenly, grabbing the bowl away from JC.
“Gee, if you want a piece of gum, just say so.” JC sniffed. “Pushy, pushy.”
“This…” Mickey began. “This is it.”
JC and Madge looked at each other, puzzled.
“Ya lost me there, Mick,” JC said. “What’s it?”
“Bubble gum,” Mickey exclaimed. “I’m cured!”
Bright and early before Tuesday’s classes started, Mickey knocked gently on Mr. Kaye’s office door.
“Mackenzie, come in,” he said. “I was expecting you.”
“You were?” Mickey asked. “But how? I didn’t make an appointment.”
“I knew it wouldn’t take you long to break your designer block if you put your mind to it. What have you got for me?”
Mickey pulled her sketchbook out of her backpack. “I was thinking I could create a vinyl bag with a pink plastic window in the center.”
“And the shape?” Mr. Kaye asked.
“Round—like a bubble,” Mickey said confidently. “With a shoulder strap made out of gum wrappers woven together that can also double as a belt so you can wear it on your hip. I’d reinforce the strap, of course, with plastic.”
Mr. Kaye studied the sketch without saying another word. Mickey held her breath and crossed her fingers.
“Good,” he said finally. “Carry on.”
Mickey smiled. “Really? It’s okay?”
“It’s better than okay. I said it was good,” her teacher repeated. “Don’t make me change my mind about erasing that incomplete.”
Mickey skipped down the hallway and found JC in his usual spot waiting for her.
“Well?” he asked her anxiously. “Did he like it?”
“Yup,” she said, beaming. “He said, ‘Carry on.’”
JC handed her a pack of gum. “Then you better start chewing. I told Madge to save you all her gum wrappers too. Between the three of us, you’ll have your It bag materials in no time.”
“I think I’m going to call my bag the Pop Star,” Mickey said. “What do you think?”
“I think the old Mickey is back,” JC said, noting her paisley-print blouse and yellow plaid skirt. “And hopefully here to stay.”
• • •
The week Mickey had to complete the project flew by, and this time, she couldn’t wait to reveal her work to her class. She was so proud of how it turned out that she wore it to school that day—with a matching dip-dyed pink denim jacket she’d made as well, and pink high-top sneakers. She was waiting for the school bus on the corner of Columbus Avenue near Olive’s apartment when a young woman in a ponytail and sunglasses jogged by. She suddenly stopped in her tracks, turned around, and stared at Mickey.
“Excuse me,” she said. “That bag you’re wearing? Where di
d you get it?”
Mickey’s mom had warned her about talking to strangers, so she simply smiled and said nothing.
“Oh! You’re afraid to talk to a stranger!” The woman smiled. “I’m not a crazy person, honestly! It’s just that bag… It’s amazing. I want it!”
Mickey clutched her purse tightly. “Help! Someone help me!” she started shouting and reached for her phone to call 911, just as her mom had instructed her. A man walking his dog came to her aid. “Everything okay, miss?” The dog snarled at the woman.
“No! She’s trying to steal my bag,” Mickey said. “I’m calling the police.”
“Wait!” the woman said, pulling off her glasses. “I’m not a mugger. I’m a model!”
Mickey’s mouth practically hit the pavement. “You’re Gigi! You’re Gigi Harlowe! The supermodel!”
“Oh! Can I have your autograph?” the man asked, handing her a napkin from his pocket for her to sign.
Gigi pulled a pen out of her fanny pack. “Yeah, sure.” The man took a selfie, then continued on his way. But Mickey was too excited to stop gushing. “No one at FAB is going to believe this! Gigi and me…me and Gigi…on the same street!”
“Sh!” Gigi pleaded with her. “Please keep it down. I just gave the paparazzi the slip in the park.”
“I can’t believe it’s you! I’m talking to you! I saw you on the cover of this month’s Vogue—oh, and in the Style section.”
“Can you tell me where you bought that bag?” Gigi pressed her. “I really need it.”
“I didn’t buy it,” Mickey explained. “I made it.”
“You made it?” It was now Gigi’s turn to be shocked. “What do you mean? Are you a fashion designer?”
“Yes! Well, kind of. I’m a fashion designer in training. At the Fashion Academy of Brooklyn.”
Gigi grabbed Mickey by the arm. “You have to let me buy it. It’s divine. And you’re sure no one else has one?”
Mickey shook her head. “Cross my stitches,” she said. “It’s one of a kind. I call it the Pop Star.”
“I must have it.” Gigi continued eyeing the bag from every angle. “I’m going to a Pink Party benefit at the Madison Plaza Hotel tonight.”
Mickey was ready to hand over her purse and let Gigi model it at the posh fund-raiser until she remembered her assignment was due today. She couldn’t risk another incomplete from Mr. Kaye.
“I can’t,” she said sadly. “My teacher will kill me. I have to present it to my Apparel Arts class this morning.”
“Okay, okay.” Gigi gave in. “But you can get it to me after school, right?”
Mickey nodded.
“Let me give you my cell, and you can text me when you’re done with it. I’ll get you the address of where I’ll be,” Gigi insisted.
“Your cell phone? You’re giving me your phone number? So I can text you?” Mickey felt dizzy with joy.
“Yes. How else will you get it to me on time? Gimme your phone.” She quickly typed her number into Mickey’s contacts. “So send me a text later today and let me know what time. I’ll figure out where we can meet up—I’ve got a crazy day of shooting around the city.”
Mickey was trying to process what Gigi was saying. It sounded too good to be true. As if it wasn’t all wonderful enough, Gigi added, “I’ll pay you three hundred dollars. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Three hundred dollars? You’re paying me three hundred dollars?” This time, Mickey couldn’t keep her voice down. No one had ever paid her for one of her designs—much less a world-famous supermodel with 15 million followers on Instagram! She wanted to sing it from the city rooftops!
Gigi sighed. “Okay, five hundred dollars—but that’s my final offer.”
Mickey had to pinch herself to make sure this wasn’t all a dream.
“Are we cool?” Gigi asked, checking her watch. “I gotta finish my run and get to the shoot.”
“Cool,” Mickey answered, still dazed.
“Awesome!” Gigi waved and jogged off just as the FAB school bus pulled up. The bus driver honked his horn. “Mickey, are you getting on or just standing there?” She felt like she was in a trance as she took a seat in the back of the bus. She checked her phone, and there it was in her contacts: Gigi Harlowe. She typed a quick message—Great meeting u!—to see if it was real or if Gigi had just been pulling her leg.
Her phone dinged, and she read the response: Great meeting u 2—c u later!
“You won’t believe it!” Mickey said when she finally found JC waiting outside his History of Buttons and Bows class. He was trying to juggle his backpack, a huge garment bag, and Madonna’s pink quilted doggie carrier when Mickey raced over and started shaking him.
“Easy! Easy! Dog on board!” he reminded her. “Madonna’s got a sensitive tummy, and she’s very susceptible to motion sickness…”
“You will never believe what happened this morning. Not in a million years. Try to guess,” Mickey dared him.
“Let’s see… You won the lottery? Madonna offered you a job as one of her backup dancers?”
“Better!” Mickey said, pumping his arm once again. “JC, I think I’ve died and gone to fashion heaven!”
JC raised an eyebrow. “Really? What happened?”
“Gigi Harlowe wants to wear my bag!” Mickey twirled around and showed him her finished bubble purse dangling off her shoulder. “She said she has to have it!”
“Nuh-uh!” he gasped. Now it was his turn to jump up and down—despite poor Madonna’s whimpers. “What? How? When? Where?”
“It all happened so fast,” Mickey tried to explain.
“Every detail. Start at the beginning,” JC insisted. “Don’t leave anything out.”
Just then the first-period bell rang. “Sorry, JC. I can’t be late for Mr. Kaye’s class,” Mickey said. “I’ll tell you later. At lunch.”
“What? You can’t leave me hanging like this!”
Mickey hurried down the hall but called out behind her, “Don’t worry. We’re hanging with Gigi after school today!”
• • •
All through the Apparel Arts presentations, Mickey couldn’t help but smile and giggle to herself. She barely paid attention to any of her classmates’ presentations or Mr. Kaye’s critiques. All she could think about was what had happed this morning. What if a photo of Gigi wearing her purse made this week’s Style section in the Sunday New York Times? What if every celeb in New York wanted to own the Pop Star purse?
“Mackenzie?” Mr. Kaye asked, noticing how distracted she seemed. “You’ve been very quiet. I hope that doesn’t mean you have nothing to show us…again.”
“Oh, I do!” Mickey said proudly. She went to the front of the class and held her bag in the air. “I call it the Pop Star,” she explained. “Get it? Like the pop of bubble gum, but also an eighties pop-star vibe?”
Mr. Kaye was silent. He walked around Mickey, examining the bag from every angle. “I was pleased with your concept for the design,” he finally said. “But this final work falls short. The stitches are sloppy, and the shape is slightly more oval than round on one side, which indicates a flaw in the measurements. While it reflects a sense of creativity and whimsy, I’m sorry to say it’s not your best work.”
Mickey couldn’t believe her ears. “Are you kidding me? This bag is amazing. Gigi Harlowe wants to wear it to a huge, fancy fund-raiser. She thought it was the most incredible bag she’d ever seen, and she’s paying me five hundred dollars for it!” She took a deep breath and blurted out, “What do you know anyway?”
The entire class gasped in unison. “She did not just say that,” South whispered.
“He’s going to blow his top!” Mars chimed in.
“Tell me when it’s over,” Gabriel said, covering his eyes.
“Miss Williams,” Mr. Kaye fumed. His face was bright red. “F
or your information, I happen to know a great deal. I know that this bag shows a lack of finish and flair. I know your technique leaves a great deal to be desired. And I know what separates a good designer from a great one…modesty!”
“Wait.” Jade interrupted Mr. Kaye’s scolding. “Did she just say Gigi is wearing her bag to a fund-raiser? As if!”
“I don’t care if you believe me. It’s true!” Mickey shouted. Her eyes stung with tears. “You may all think I’m a talentless joke, but Gigi Harlowe likes—no, loves—my design.” She ran out of the room to the girls’ bathroom, bolted the stall door behind her, and cried. How could Mr. Kaye be so negative? Why did he always have to criticize everything she designed? Why couldn’t he just appreciate her work like Gigi? And why did Jade always torment her and make her feel like a nothing?
Just then her phone dinged with a message. 4:30 Madison Plaza Hotel, Penthouse Suite A. Don’t be late! Thank goodness for Gigi! Maybe they’d become BFFs. Maybe Gigi would have her over to her palatial Hamptons estate or ask her to be in her red-carpet entourage at the MTV Awards. It was all happening so fast. Take that, FAB!
Mickey dried her eyes and went to her next class. She’d prove to Mr. Kaye, Jade, and the rest of them that she was a great designer. When Vogue featured a picture of Gigi wearing her Pop Star bag, she’d show them—and they’d be very, very sorry.
“Pinch me, will ya?” JC asked Mickey as they entered the big, gold revolving doors to the lobby of the Madison Plaza Hotel.
“Pinch you? Why?” Mickey asked.
“So I know this isn’t just a dream…a big, beautiful dream.”
“It’s real,” Mickey said. “You and I are going to bring Gigi Harlowe my bag, and she is going to rock the red carpet wearing it at tonight’s Pink Party fund-raiser.”
“I feel a little woozy,” JC said, pretending to swoon. Mickey pinched him lightly on the arm. “Ouch!” he said, rubbing it. “I was kidding!”
“No time for fainting,” Mickey said, eyeing the immense lobby. Everything was adorned in gold: the banisters of the main staircase, the giant vases filled with fresh orchids, even the ceiling. “We have to figure out where the elevator is and get this to Gigi ASAP.” They wandered past the marble reception desk.