by Sheryl Berk
“Let her take her coat off first,” Mrs. Jansen said, chuckling. “As you can tell, Kendyll is a little excited.”
“A little? I’m so psyched!” her niece said. “No one is going to have a gown like this.”
“Especially not Gigi,” Mickey reminded her with a wink.
“May I offer you some tea?” Mrs. Jansen asked, bringing in a silver platter stacked with mini sandwiches.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Mickey said, helping herself to a tiny triangle filled with ham and cheese. “My aunt is a vegetarian, so her idea of a yummy after-school snack is a tofu fritter.”
Kendyll wrinkled her nose. “Eww, gross! Do you live with your aunt?”
“I do,” Mickey said. “So I can attend FAB in New York. My mom is back home in Philly.”
“We really are a lot alike,” Kendyll added. “I live with my aunt Elinore while my mom and dad live in Boca. So I can shoot magazine covers and ads and stuff here in the city.”
“I don’t make you eat tofu fritters,” Mrs. Jansen pointed out.
“No, but you do make me eat those weird little broccoli pies sometimes for breakfast!”
“They’re called quiche,” her aunt remarked. “I make delicious broccoli-and-cheddar quiche for brunch.”
Kendyll shook her head no, and Mickey giggled. After she had stuffed her face with sandwiches and scones, she took a pile of sketches out of her bag. They showed the black-and-white photo dress from every angle.
Neither Kendyll nor Mrs. Jansen said anything. Mickey looked from face to face, trying to figure out what they might be thinking. Did they hate it? Was it all wrong? She cleared her throat and nervously twirled her hair around her finger.
“Divine,” Mrs. Jansen finally proclaimed. “You were right, Kendyll. She’s quite a talent.”
Mickey breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I want to use these photos for the print,” she said, pulling a stack of Granny Gertie’s pics out and laying them across the coffee table.
“She’s beautiful! Who is she?” Kendyll gasped.
“My great-grandma.”
Mrs. Jansen took out her checkbook. “So we’re all agreed then. You’ll make this dress for Kendyll, and we will cover all the expenses and however many hours you put into it. Will this be enough to start you off?”
She ripped out the check and handed it to Mickey. It read, “Pay to the order of Mickey Williams: Five hundred dollars.”
“I can’t,” Mickey said. “I can’t take all this money. It won’t cost nearly that much because I’ll make the fabric print myself.”
She thought about how excited she had been when Gigi offered to pay her that for her purse. But now it felt selfish.
“Mickey, a big fashion designer gets a lot of money to make a gala gown,” Kendyll tried to explain. “Thousands and thousands.”
“I know, but I’m not a big designer yet. And you’re giving me a chance to be one. Let me make the dress, and if you like it, we’ll figure out a way for you to pay me back. For now, all I need is about fifty dollars to buy the silk I need for printing. I found some great marabou in the FAB scrap bin and the most amazing, delicate lace trim for the neckline.”
“Waste not, want not,” Mrs. Jansen said, writing Mickey another check for fifty dollars.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mickey said. “My mom showed me how to shop for flea-market finds, and my aunt Olive never wastes anything. She’s a whiz at whipping up a whole week’s worth of dinners out of leftovers.”
“Sounds like someone could learn something from you,” Mrs. Jansen said, patting Kendyll on the knee. “Kendyll is a shopaholic.”
“I can’t help it.” She shrugged. “Fashion is my passion.”
“Mine too,” Mickey said. “I can show you some really cool ways to recycle old clothes into whole new outfits. See this skirt?” She pointed to the red plaid mini she had chosen to wear this morning. “I made it out of an old lumberjack shirt I got at the thrift store for six dollars. I thought the black fringe on the bottom would make it a little edgier.”
“I love it. It looks like something off the runway,” Kendyll marveled. “You create magic, Mickey. You’re like a fashion fairy god-friend or something!”
Mickey laughed. “Wow, no one has ever called me a fairy god-friend! I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“You should,” Mrs. Jansen said. “We’re very impressed and very excited to see the dress come to life. When do you suppose you can come back for Kendyll’s first fitting?”
Mickey tapped her pencil on her chin. “Well, let’s see… I was supposed to go home to Philly this weekend, and I promised JC I’d hang with him Sunday night. But I could cancel both. This is more important…”
Kendyll hugged Mickey. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “And I can’t wait to tell everyone who asks me at the gala, ‘Who are you wearing?’ that I’m in an original design by Mickey Williams!”
• • •
“Wait, you’re standing me up again?” JC groaned. “Mickey, this is the second time in a week!”
“JC, I’m really sorry,” Mickey apologized. “But I have this huge project I need to get done.” What she really wanted to tell him was, “I have two huge projects: one for Apparel Arts, one for Kendyll Jansen!”
“The Met Gala thing?” JC asked.
Mickey gasped. “What? Huh?” Had she let something slip?
“Mr. Kaye’s assignment—isn’t that what you’re working on?”
“Oh, yeah!” Mickey said, covering. “Yes. That’s it. I have to get my gala dress all finished to present in class on Monday, and I haven’t even started.”
“You said you’ve been working on it nonstop,” JC reminded her. “Remember?”
Mickey tried to think fast. “Well, I scrapped the old idea. Now I’m doing a whole new one. I’m trying to impress Mr. Kaye. You know, because I got in trouble and all?”
“Uh-huh.”
Mickey had a feeling JC wasn’t buying her story, but there was nothing she could do about it. She needed the weekend to work on the dress for Kendyll, and she needed to come up with a design for Mr. Kaye.
“Fine.” JC sniffed. “Do what you have to do. Madonna and I will muddle through without you.”
Her mom was equally annoyed. “Mickey, that’s three weekends in a row you haven’t come home,” she complained. “I’ve forgotten what you look like.”
“I’ll send you a selfie. The blue highlights in my hair are awesome,” Mickey teased. “I promise I’ll take the train home next weekend.”
“That’s what you said last week…and the week before that,” her mom said. “I think you’re working too hard.”
“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Mickey tried to convince her. “You want me to do well in my classes, right?”
“Of course I do,” her mom said, relenting. “But I miss you, Mickey Mouse.”
“I miss you too, Mom. But you’re going to be really proud when you see what I’m making.’”
Her mom smiled. “I’m always proud of you, peanut,” she said. “I just feel like you’re keeping something from me.”
Mickey gulped. How did her mom guess? “Don’t be silly!” she said, pretending to laugh. “What would I be keeping from you?”
“I dunno,” Jordana answered. “But I know my kid. Something is up.”
Mickey hung up and hoped she had put her mom’s concerns to rest. All she had to do was get through the next three weeks before the gala. Then everything would be revealed, and her mom and JC would understand and applaud her. She hoped…
Mickey spent all weekend stitching together Kendyll’s gown from the fabric she had printed at FAB. She loved how the photos of Gertie seemed to leap off the silk. From a distance, it was a striking black-and-white pattern; but up close, the tintype photos were vibrant and dramatic and had a silent-movie
feel.
“Planning on coming up for air?” Olive asked, poking her head into Mickey’s bedroom and sewing studio.
“Not just yet,” Mickey said, focusing on the stitches needed to hem each handkerchief layer. “My machine is giving me trouble again, so I need to do this all by hand.”
Olive tried to sneak a peek, but Mickey grabbed the dress and hid it under her sewing table. “It’s not ready to be seen,” she said.
“I’m sure it’s perfect,” Olive said. “But I think it could use one little thing.” She pulled out a velvet box and handed it to her. “I found this and thought you should have it.”
Mickey gently eased the box open. “The pearls! Gertie’s pearls!”
“I thought it would be the perfect accessory,” Olive said, smiling.
Mickey hugged her. “It is. You sure you don’t mind?”
“Mind?” Olive replied. “They’ve been sitting in my drawer for years. They need to get an airing.” Mickey knew Kendyll would simply flip out when she showed her the vintage necklace. The string was a bit frayed but seemed strong enough.
“So your project’s due Monday?” Olive asked.
Mickey was suddenly seized by panic. She had been spending so much time on Kendyll’s dress that she’d barely given her Apparel Arts assignment a second thought. Monday was only two days away!
“I guess it is,” she told her aunt. “I’m gonna be working day and night to get it done.”
Olive nodded. “Then you’ll need my famous kale cookies to keep you awake,” she said. “I’ll go bake up a batch. Maybe two.”
Mickey looked at her sketchbook. She had quickly come up with a masquerade-themed dress using black-and-white diamond patches fitted together to resemble a jester’s costume. Compared to Kendyll’s dress, it felt silly. But she had no choice; she had to show Mr. Kaye something—anything but the real gala gown she was making. She began cutting triangles out of scraps of fabric and stitching them together, hoping something magical would take place and her laughable dress would be transformed into an A+ outfit.
But all she could think about were two little words that Jade loved to throw in her face: “As if!”
• • •
Apparel Arts was first period Monday, and Mickey had a finished dress to show Mr. Kaye. Even if it wasn’t perfect, at least it wouldn’t be another incomplete.
“You have to see mine,” Gabriel said, pulling a jumpsuit out of his garment bag and setting it on his dress form. “I was inspired by chess pieces.” She noticed that he had made his own textile as well, silk-screened with images of black and white bishops, queens, kings, and knights. The hat that went with it had a giant cross on top, like a king piece.
“It’s amazing,” Mickey said, feeling the soft, silky fabric. “Mr. Kaye is gonna love it.”
Mars’s look was equally stunning: a black wire-mesh skirt over an off-white velvet catsuit. She had paired it with an enormous medallion necklace fashioned from the bottom of a soda can. “I made the jewelry myself,” she said. “I wanted it to feel like industrial meets feminine.”
Jade and Jake had teamed up on theirs: complementing black-and-white tuxedo looks. Jake’s was a black pantsuit with wide-legged trousers, while Jade’s was a white strapless gown with a chiffon balloon skirt underneath a tiny, cropped black satin jacket. Even Mickey had to admit, both outfits were breathtaking.
South had gone with black hip-hop-inspired harem pants and a white off-the-shoulder cashmere sweater. Around the neckline and cuffs, she had hand-stitched tiny seed pearls. “Wow,” Mickey said. “The detail is amazing.”
South smiled. “I’m really proud of it. I think it’s my best work yet. Lemme see yours.”
Mickey pulled her dress out of its bag. The skirt was made of jagged, diamond-shaped satin patches, and the collar curled high around the back of the neck. South looked at it, confused. “It’s, it’s…interesting,” she said. “Maybe a little too literal? It feels like a costume for a costume party. Or maybe a clown dress?”
Mickey winced. “Is it that bad?”
South wrinkled her nose. “Kinda. It just doesn’t feel like you, Mickey.”
Mr. Kaye came in, glanced at Mickey’s dress displayed on its form, and raised an eyebrow.
“Mackenzie, this is yours?” he asked.
Mickey shrugged. “Um, yeah. I guess it is.”
“This is your dress for the Met Gala Ball?” her teacher repeated.
Mickey nodded. “Seems like it.” If only she had spent more time thinking it through! Or if only she could show Mr. Kaye what she had really been working on. He would love the Kendyll gown so much more.
He scribbled some notes in his grading book, then continued making his way around the room, checking everyone’s work. When the bell rang for the next period, Mr. Kaye pointed directly at Mickey and motioned for her to come speak to him at his desk.
“Are you telling me that this is what you are putting on Kendyll Jansen to wear to the Met Gala?” he asked her when everyone else had left the room. “Good heavens! Are you trying to humiliate us both?”
Mickey looked shocked. “What? You know about Kendyll?”
“I surmised. I didn’t think Mrs. Jansen would call me in such a panic unless there was a gala gown at stake.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” Mickey begged him. “I promised. No one can know.”
“I assume this is not the actual dress,” he continued. “I hope and pray it isn’t.”
Mickey pulled the real gown out of her garment bag, the one she was taking to Kendyll for a fitting this afternoon.
Mr. Kaye examined it closely. “The stitches are flawless,” he said. “All hand done?”
“I had no choice,” Mickey said. “My sewing machine is on its last legs.”
“And the textile is breathtaking—you made it as well?”
“See this?” she said, pointing to a photo of a woman in a flapper dress and fur jacket. “That’s my granny Gertie on the set of a Gloria Swanson movie.”
“Clever. Resourceful. Authentic,” Mr. Kaye muttered under his breath.
“Is that good?” Mickey asked hopefully.
“It’s your best work yet,” he said. “It shows an expert hand, a critical eye, and a luminous imagination.”
“Can I have it back?” Mickey asked softly. “I kinda have to fit it to Kendyll today.”
“Not yet,” Mr. Kaye insisted. He took a slip of paper out of his desk drawer, scribbled something on it, and folded it in half. “Now you may.”
Mickey zipped the gown back in its bag just as Mr. Kaye handed her the paper. “Open it,” he said. “It deserves review.”
Mickey closed her eyes and unfolded the note. Please, she silently prayed, let it be better than a 2! On it was 4+ written in bright-red pen.
“My first 4+ of the semester,” he told her. “Extremely well-deserved.”
Mickey beamed. He liked it! He really, really liked it! “Thank you,” she said simply.
“Don’t thank me,” Mr. Kaye told her. “You did this all on your own. I predict Mrs. Jansen will be very pleased. Do send my regards.”
“Um, could I maybe not?” Mickey asked. “Just ’cause it’s supposed to be a secret?”
Mr. Kaye pretended to zip his lips shut. “And I predict great things ahead for you, Mackenzie. As long as you continue to do this kind of work and believe in yourself.”
Kendyll came out of her aunt’s dressing room and twirled around. The handkerchief layers swirled around her and settled gently around her ankles. Mickey couldn’t believe her eyes: the gown fit her like a glove.
“I don’t know what to say,” Kendyll said, looking at herself in a full-length mirror.
“Say you like it,” Mickey replied, crossing her fingers. “Say it’s okay?”
“Okay? It’s gorgeous!” Kendyll replied. “I
’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
Mrs. Jansen nodded and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “It makes me teary,” she said. “Exquisite. Simply exquisite.”
Mickey fussed a bit over the V in the back. “Maybe I’ll bring this up a half inch,” she said. Then she checked the fit around the waist and hips. “And maybe taper this just a tad?”
“Mickey, I can’t thank you enough,” Kendyll added. “It’s everything I dreamed my first Met Gala gown would be and more.”
“Oh! I almost forgot!” Mickey took the velvet necklace box out of her bag. “These were Gertie’s. My aunt Olive let me borrow them. You can wear them—if you want.”
Kendyll took the delicate pearls in her hands. “Oh my gosh. Are these vintage? From the twenties?”
“Yeah, I know. They’re a little beat up. You prob don’t want to wear them…”
“I do!” Kendyll said, cradling them in her palms. “May I? They’re so special.”
“Sure,” Mickey said. “Maybe a little silver polish would fix up the tarnish on the clasp?”
Mrs. Jansen took the pearls from her niece. “Don’t you worry,” she assured both of them. “I’ll take care of it.”
Kendyll continued marveling at the dress in the mirror. “How did you do the antique lace ticking around the neckline?” she asked. “It’s so precisely placed.”
“All by hand,” Mickey said. “It actually turned out to be a good thing that my sewing machine is about to die.”
When Kendyll had taken the dress off, Mickey packed it up to take home and make a few more adjustments.
“I can bring it back to you this Thursday,” she told the Jansens. “No prob.” That actually left her the weekend to go home to Philly and Friday afternoon to make up with JC.
“Perfect,” Mrs. Jansen remarked. “And then it’s only two more weeks till you can tell the world our little secret. I know it must be very hard for you to keep it from your family and classmates.”
“It is,” Mickey admitted. “But it’ll be totally worth it when Kendyll rocks my design on the red carpet.”