Fashion Academy

by Sheryl Berk

  “I’m just trying to fit in,” Mickey insisted. “You should see how Jade dresses! Everything has a designer label.”

  Her mom looked concerned. “You never used to care what other people wore,” she reminded her. “Don’t you always tell me, ‘I gotta be me’?”

  Mickey wished she knew where that girl had gone. The only time she could truly be herself was when she designed for class. As long as she looked and acted like Kenzie Wills, no one laughed or made fun of her when she turned an old rock T-shirt into a couture gown. Kenzie could do anything! Mickey, on the other hand, was a walking fashion disaster.

  “I’m still me,” she said, taking a bite of waffle. “I just want to save the creativity for my designs.”

  “Fine,” her mom said. “As long as you don’t let Jade or anyone else change you.” She wiped a smudge of chocolate off Mickey’s mouth with a napkin. “I love you just the way you are.”

  • • •

  Back at school on Monday, Mickey shifted nervously in her seat as Mr. Kaye took a stack of papers out of his briefcase. “This is your last challenge,” he said. “Give it one hundred and ten percent—your grade is depending on it. The top students in each of the three grades will present collections at the Runway Showdown.”

  Mickey read the sheet carefully:

  Style should be as simple as A-B-C. Use these three letters to inspire an alphabetical outfit!

  Mars’s hand went up immediately. “I don’t get it. Are we supposed to use letters in our design?”

  “You could,” Mr. Kaye replied. “It’s open to interpretation.”

  Mickey’s mind began racing. What could she use that started with those three letters?

  Mr. Kaye wrote the number twenty on the SMART Board. “This is your budget,” he said. “No more than twenty dollars, and I want to see receipts this time, Miss East.”

  South blushed. “Okay, maybe I did spend an itsy-bitsy bit more on the yard of vicuña for the last challenge…”

  “Stick to your budget and stick to your voice as a designer,” Mr. Kaye warned. “Wow me!”

  Mickey sat with a huge dictionary on her lap, racking her brain for inspiration. “Aardvark, air conditioner, anchovy…” she read aloud. None of them sounded appealing or made any sense for a fashion design.

  “Your cauliflower casserole is on the table,” Aunt Olive called from the kitchen.

  Mickey ignored her and kept flipping pages. Olive poked her head inside the bedroom doorway. “I’m glad you’re studying so hard, but you need to take a break. Dinner is ready,” she said.

  “I’m not studying,” Mickey groaned. “I’m trying to break my designer’s block.”

  Olive sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you stumped on? I’m very good at the Sunday crossword puzzle. Maybe I can help.”

  Mickey closed the dictionary and rested her chin in her hands. “I need to come up with a design that uses three things beginning with the letters A-B-C,” she explained. “I really wanted to do a jumpsuit in black and white—something graphic.”

  Olive scratched her head. “By graphic, do you mean you want it to have pictures on it?”

  Mickey shrugged. “I guess. Something I could make a pattern out of.”

  Olive nodded. “I think I have something that would work for your A-B-C theme…”

  She went into her room and dug out a large box of photographs. “Let me see. Oh, yes. Here’s one.” She handed Mickey a photo of a small gray-and-white bird. “American pipit. He was quite a character. Likes to bob his head back and forth. That could be your A.” She rummaged through the box until she found the other birds she was looking for: “B is for blackbird and C is for cactus wren.”

  Mickey looked through the photos—they were nice, but what did birds have to do with fashion? Then an idea struck her like lightning: “I could screen these bird images on white silk, create palazzo pants and an asymmetrical shoulder…”

  “I don’t know what you’re saying, but if your designer’s block is broken, can we eat supper?” Olive asked.

  “I’m saying you’re brilliant, Aunt Olive!” Mickey said, hugging her.

  “I am?” Olive replied, slightly flustered. “I mean, I am!”

  • • •

  The day of the presentation, all of FAB was buzzing with excitement. Mickey carried her design in a garment bag over her arm and couldn’t wait to unveil it.

  “Coming through! Coming through!” Jade shouted, pushing past her as Tinsley the assistant rolled a small clothing rack behind her. “You!” she barked at Gabriel. “Help Tinsley lift it up the stairs.”

  Gabriel obeyed, and Jade rewarded him by shoving him out of the way. Mickey had no doubt that Jade’s design was going to be over-the-top—especially if it required a clothing rack to carry it in!

  “What do you think of my design?” JC snuck up behind her. He was wearing a vest made out of CDs.

  “I thought your name was JC, not CD,” Mickey teased.

  JC grinned. “I was going for a knight in shining armor look—either that or the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. Do you like my ABCs?”

  He twirled around so Mickey could read each of the CD labels. “Pop stars?” she asked.

  “Pop divas. Ariana, Britney, and Cher,” JC replied. “Aaliyah, Beyoncé, and Carey, Mariah. Cool, huh? Bogart was getting rid of his collection, so I got the idea to string them together with fishing line.”

  “It’s amazing,” Mickey said admiringly.

  “It’s hideous,” Jake said, walking by them with his garment bag. “That pile of plastic is never going to make it to Runway Showdown.”

  “Really? What did your mommy make for your presentation?” JC tossed back. “Because we all know that you and Jade never do anything by yourselves.”

  Mickey elbowed him. “Don’t bother, JC. Like Mr. Kaye always says, ‘Let the design speak for itself.’”

  “And my design is saying, ‘I’m so much better than either of yours!’” Jake laughed as he skipped up the steps.

  Mickey hoped he wasn’t right. She had to make it to the top three. She just had to.

  As Mickey unzipped her garment bag, the students in her class all elbowed each other to get a first look.

  “Let me see!” Mars insisted when Gabriel pushed in front of her.

  “Stand back, give the princess some air,” he said. “Go ahead, Kenzie.”

  “You are such a suck-up,” South told him. “As if Kenzie wants to give you the time of day.”

  Mickey didn’t know what to say! She’d never had anyone fight to be her friend before, and she surmised it had nothing to do with her and all to do with her lies.

  Luckily, Mr. Kaye walked in before a brawl broke out. “Roll your dress forms to the front of the room and line them up,” he instructed. “Let’s see how they stack up next to each other.”

  Mars had chosen her ABCs from the world of gemstones: “Amethyst, bloodstone, and coral,” she explained. “I recycled some of my personal jewelry collection to create a cocktail dress that shines.”

  Mr. Kaye jotted down some notes. “It’s an interesting take on the little black dress, but I’m not crazy about the fabric you chose,” he said. “It’s a bit heavy for evening.”

  “I tried silk,” Mars explained. “But the gems were too big and heavy and kept ripping it. So I had to use flannel.”

  “Flannel is for pajamas and lumberjacks,” their teacher snapped. “Next!”

  Gabriel’s design was a purple hooded cape that draped to the floor.

  “I don’t understand,” Mr. Kaye said. “Where is your ABC theme?”

  “Don’t you get it?” Gabriel said, chuckling. “I made ‘a big cape’!”

  Mr. Kaye groaned. “Next!”

  South was especially proud of her design—she’d airbrushed graffiti words on a white denim jacket
. They read “Artistic. Bold. Cool.”

  “You’re quite a graffiti artist,” Mr. Kaye remarked. She beamed. “But I’m not quite sure you’re a designer just yet.”

  When he came to Mickey’s design, he circled around it once, then twice, then a third time. She’d accessorized the bird print jumpsuit with a white feathered boa.

  “It’s striking,” he commented after she explained each of the birds’ names and how she silkscreened each one onto the fabric in delicate detail. “And the line of the pants is perfection. Palazzo pants can be very tricky, but yours are just the right balance of sleek and billowy.”

  Mickey smiled. So far, so good. “My only critique is the boa. A bit much, don’t you think? I get the feather reference, but it overpowers your jumpsuit. A good designer knows when less is more.”

  Mickey winced. There went her four plus. But everyone’s design had some flaws as well. She hoped she’d scored high enough to make the final cut.

  “We will be announcing the top three students for Runway Showdown at two o’clock over the loudspeaker,” he told the class when he was finished inspecting their work. “If your name is called, please report to my office for instructions. If it isn’t, back to the drawing board and better luck next semester.”

  • • •

  As she sat in math class, Mickey stared at the clock on the wall waiting for it to reach two p.m. She knew there was a ton of competition in each of the three grades. JC told her that Mr. Kaye oohed and aahed over Jade’s design: a pink cropped angora sweater with a Battenberg lace collar and a white chiffon floor-length skirt.

  “It was luxe to the max,” he said. “I could totally see it on the runway.”

  At two sharp, a voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention,” Mr. Kaye said. “I have the names of the three finalists who will be competing in the FAB Runway Showdown this semester.”

  Mickey held her breath. “In eighth grade, Charlie Hirsch; in seventh grade, Jade Lee; and in sixth grade, Kenzie Wills!”

  “Good for you, Kenzie!” her algebra teacher Ms. Rothstein cheered.

  Mickey raced to Mr. Kaye’s office, where Jade and Charlie were already waiting. Jade gave Mickey a dirty look as she took a seat beside her.

  “Congratulations on coming this far,” Mr. Kaye said. “Now the real work is ahead of you.”

  Mickey gulped. What had she gotten herself into?

  “You will create a capsule collection consisting of four distinct looks,” he continued. “The collection should be a reflection of who you are as a designer—the real you. That said, it must be cohesive, and it must be wearable.”

  Mickey’s mind was racing! An entire collection? Where would she get the money to buy that many materials? She doubted Aunt Olive had another pair of old curtains she’d let her cut up!

  Mr. Kaye seemed to read her mind: “The school will provide you with a fabric budget of two hundred and fifty dollars at ’TUDE Fabric. Be smart with how you spend it and feel free to recycle any scraps or materials you already have. Are there any questions?”

  “It sounds like a lot for one person,” Mickey said softly.

  “It is way too much for one person,” her teacher agreed with her. “Which is why we are allowing each of you to choose one fellow FAB student to assist you.”

  “I choose my brother Jake,” Jade said.

  “I want Dylan Ruff,” Charlie said.

  “Of course you do,” Jade protested. “He won Showdown last spring.”

  “That leaves you, Kenzie,” Mr. Kaye said. “Who do you choose?” Mickey didn’t even have to think about it. There was only person at FAB who had been on her side since day one. “JC. I choose JC,” she said.

  “Hah! The doggie duds dude!” Charlie snickered.

  Mr. Kaye hushed them and continued. “After you’ve created each look, you will fit it on a model, style it, and send it down the runway in front of an audience.”

  “How will we be judged?” Mickey asked. “What are you looking for?”

  “Skill and style,” Mr. Kaye said simply. “And of course creativity, originality, and fashion flair. But it won’t be just me judging you this time. There will be three other surprise celebrity judges joining me, and you can invite all your family and friends to come to the show.”

  “My mom will be so excited,” Jade cooed. “I bet she’ll tweet about it!”

  “What about our models?” Charlie asked. “Where do we get them?”

  “You can pick four of your friends to walk the runway in your designs. Again, choose wisely.”

  Mickey was just trying to take it all in—it felt overwhelming and thrilling at the same time. She had no idea what to design for her collection or who she would pick to walk the runway for her. It was so many decisions to make in such a short amount of time!

  “You have one month to put it together,” Mr. Kaye added finally.

  One month! Mickey felt the room starting to spin. How could she do this all in just four short weeks?

  “I suggest you start planning immediately—the clock starts now,” Mr. Kaye said, dismissing them. “Next stop, Showdown!”

  “So what are you gonna sew?” Annabelle asked, pouring hot fudge on top of a cup of strawberry froyo. “Do you have any ideas?”

  Mickey shook her head. “JC and I’ve been brainstorming for days, but I can’t come up with anything good enough. Nothing that reflects the real me. Everything I think of feels boring or wrong.”

  They sat down at a table and dug into their sundaes. “Do you think maybe you’re thinking too much?” her friend suggested. “I mean, when I do a dance routine and all I focus on is the steps, I usually mess it up. Sometimes you have to just let your mind go blank and feel the beat. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Kinda,” Mickey said. “You think I should just let it come to me.”

  “Exactly!” Annabelle replied. “Close your eyes and try and picture your designs walking down the runway.”

  Mickey did as her friend suggested, but all she could see was a parade of models wearing cabbages on their heads! “It’s not working. I have no idea who the real me is anymore.”

  “You look a little different, but you’re still the same old Mickey,” Annabelle reminded her. “Who else puts cookie dough bites, yogurt chips, marshmallow fluff, peanut butter, and Fruity Pebbles on their froyo? Eww!”

  Her mom wasn’t much help either. “Why don’t you do a collection of animal prints,” she said, as they strolled the rows of vendors at the Sunday flea market. She held up a zebra-print scarf. “How about this for inspiration?”

  “Pass,” Mickey said. “It has to be more special than that.”

  “Oh, this is so you!” her mom teased her, picking out a leopard faux-fur hat and plunking it on Mickey’s head. Mickey laughed but quickly went back to feeling anxious over her looming deadline.

  Back in NYC, no matter how many fashion magazines she flipped through, her ideas felt flat and uninspired. She ripped page after page out of her sketchbook, crumpled them into a ball, and tossed them over her shoulder.

  “What happened in here?” Aunt Olive asked, noticing a mountain of scrap papers littering the floor. “Designer’s block again?”

  “Not just a block,” Mickey replied, frustrated. “A whole wall! All my ideas are awful!”

  Olive crossed her hands over her chest. “You don’t say. That bad?”

  “Worse than bad,” Mickey told her. “They’re going to kick me out of FAB for being a failure.” She felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes and tried to hold them back.

  “Did I show you my new briefcase for work?” Olive asked out of the blue.

  “Your briefcase?” Mickey asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Olive went to the living room and returned with a bright purple leather tote with
gold studs around the seams. “Do you like it?” she asked.

  Mickey nodded. “It’s great—very Valentino Rockstud. But it’s not something you’d usually go for.”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” Olive said, tossing it over her shoulder. “A very smart, young fashion designer taught me a thing or two about accessorizing. I think I could dial it up a notch every now and then.”

  Mickey smiled. “Really? I inspired you?”

  Olive squeezed her hand and smiled. “You did. I might even consider putting purple streaks in my hair on the weekends…”

  • • •

  Mickey decided it was time to stop moping and start moving. She headed straight to Mr. Kaye’s office Monday morning to get his advice.

  “I can’t tell you what to do,” he said sternly. “It has to come from inside you, Kenzie.”

  Mickey winced when he called her by her “fake” name.

  “It’s really Mickey,” she corrected him. “I know I told you and everyone else to call me Kenzie, but it’s not who I am.”

  “I know,” Mr. Kaye replied. “And I think that’s your problem. You’re pretending to be someone you’re not, and it’s holding you back.”

  Mickey thought about what he was saying. But when she started at FAB, no one liked her or gave her the time of day when she was plain old Mickey Williams from Philly. Still, she’d been lying to her teacher—and she wasn’t sure how he would take that. What if he was angry with her? What if he reported her to the principal and they revoked her scholarship?

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Mr. Kaye prodded her.

  “My dad really isn’t a Finnish fashion designer,” she confided. Then the truth came pouring out: “He’s not rich and famous and neither am I. I’ve never met a king or queen before or even been to Finland once!”

  “You don’t say.” Mr. Kaye tried not to smile. “And do you think any of that matters? Goodness, Coco Chanel started out as a clerk in a hosiery store!”