by Chloe Taylor
“I’m not ready for this,” he said. “Besides, isn’t the boy supposed to ask out the girl?”
“It’s a Sadie Hawkins dance,” Zoey explained. “Everything is vice versa.”
“What has Mr. Dear Abby told you so far?” Mr. Webber asked.
“Don’t ask anyone to ask the guy if he likes me or to ask him to the dance for me.” Zoey sighed. “Which stinks, because that’s what I was planning to do.”
Her father patted the sofa. Zoey sat down next to him. He put his arm around her.
“Honey, having a relationship means taking risks with your ego, but most of all with your heart. Sure, you get hurt sometimes, but when you meet the right person, it’s just . . . the most incredible feeling in the world.”
“Like it was with Mom?” Zoey asked, leaning her head against her father’s shoulder.
She felt his sharp intake of breath. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up her mom.
But then her father stroked her hair gently. “Yes, honey, like it was with your mom.”
He picked up her hand. “Wow, Zo, your nails are very . . . green.”
“They’re not just green,” Zoey said. “They’re Gargantuan Green.”
“More like Nuclear Meltdown Green,” Marcus said.
“Dad . . . do you have any advice?” Zoey asked.
Her father closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were glistening.
“Zoey, if I had my way, my advice would be to stay my little girl forever.”
“Daaaad . . .”
“I know, I know, that’s not an option. So my advice to you, Zo, is just be yourself. And if the kid is too dumb to say yes, that’s his loss.”
“Dad’s right, Zo,” Marcus said, “Be cool.”
Somehow, Zoey didn’t feel any better about the thought of asking Lorenzo, because if there was one thing she wasn’t, it was “cool.”
“I like your nails,” Lorenzo said before social studies class started. “Cool color.”
“Um . . . thanks,” Zoey said. “My brother said it looked radioactive, but I like it.”
Lorenzo laughed. “Now that I think about it . . .”
“I like bright, cheerful things,” Zoey said.
“I can tell by your clothes,” Lorenzo said, grinning.
Just then Mr. Dunn started class, leaving Zoey to wonder if Lorenzo thought that was a good thing—and to summon up the courage to pop the dance question after class.
She kept rehearsing different versions in her head of how to ask Lorenzo out. When Mr. Dunn called on her, she had to ask him to repeat the question.
“What is the teaching style pioneered by a philosopher in ancient Greece?”
Luckily, Zoey remembered the answer. “The Socratic method.”
Mr. Dunn looked at her over the top of his glasses. “Correct, Miss Webber, but I’d appreciate it if you paid attention.”
Zoey heard snickering from the back of the room, where Ivy, Shannon, and Bree Sharpe were sitting. She was embarrassed and flustered—about as far from cool as she could possibly be. But Priti was expecting her to ask Lorenzo today, and Zoey wasn’t sure which was worse: asking Lorenzo or facing a disappointed Priti.
Zoey was beginning to wish they’d just cancel the dance. Well, not really, because then she wouldn’t be able to make the amazing dresses she was designing for her friends—and maybe for herself, if she ever got a date.
When the bell rang, she picked up her books and tried to maneuver herself next to Lorenzo as he walked out of the room so she could try to get him alone. But just as she was within a foot of him, Ivy pushed past her, almost knocking Zoey off balance.
“Hey, Renzo!” she said. “Are you walking to lunch?”
Lorenzo shrugged. “Uh, yeah.”
“Me too,” Ivy simpered. She put her hand on his arm. “Come on—let’s go.”
Bree and Shannon followed behind Ivy and Lorenzo. Zoey’s shoulders slumped. How was she ever going to get Lorenzo alone to ask him to the dance?
“Did you ask him?” Priti demanded before Zoey even sat down at the lunch table.
“No.” Zoey sighed. “I tried. I spent the whole period psyching myself up to do it.”
“What happened?” Priti asked.
“I was trying to get him alone, and then guess who barged in?” Zoey asked.
“I bet I know,” Libby said. “Ivy.”
Zoey nodded. “We were talking before class,” she said. “He said he liked my nail polish.”
“He noticed your nail polish? That’s a good sign!” Priti said.
“Maybe,” Kate said. She’d already taken hers off.
“Definitely,” Libby said.
Zoey felt a little more hopeful. Maybe she’d get a chance to ask Lorenzo tomorrow. Or the day after that. If Ivy didn’t ask him first.
Mrs. Holbrooke dropped off Priti at Zoey’s house later that afternoon on her way to pick up Tara and Sashi, Priti’s sisters, from the high school. “I won’t be long,” she warned. “Be ready to leave when I get back.”
As soon as her mother started backing out of the driveway, Priti grabbed Zoey’s arm and whispered, “GUESS WHAT?!”
“What?” Zoey asked. “And can you let go of my arm before it falls off from lack of circulation?”
“Oh sorry,” Priti said. “But . . . Felix said yes!”
“Wow!” Zoey exclaimed. “Tell me everything!”
They flopped onto the sofa in the living room.
“So . . . how did you ask him? What did he say?”
“I walked up to him, made a little small talk about homework, and then asked him if he wanted to go to the dance. And he said yes. Well . . . actually he said, ‘Sure.’ ”
“It’s the same thing, pretty much,” Zoey said.
“You have to invite Lorenzo now, Zo! And we need to find someone for Libby. And Kate . . . I don’t understand her. She’s so pretty, she could ask anyone, but she doesn’t seem to care.”
Talking about the date situation just made Zoey’s stomach twist into knots again. Luckily, she knew how to get Priti to change the subject.
“So, do you have any ideas about your dress?” she asked.
“Oh yeah!” Priti said, her eyes lighting up.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Zoey suggested. “I can start sketching out some designs.”
“Yes!” Priti said. “I’m thinking sequins. Lots of sequins! With a V neck and a scoop back.”
Sketching for Priti was so different from designing for Kate, because Priti had such definite ideas about what she wanted.
“No, not like that,” she said, pointing to the fall of the skirt Zoey had sketched. “A bit shorter. But not too short or Mom will freak out.”
Zoey erased yet another line. She was almost relieved when the doorbell rang and Marcus called up the stairs that Mrs. Holbrooke was back to pick up Priti. It was easier for her to get ideas on paper first, and then let everyone make suggestions.
As soon as Priti left, Zoey sketched out a few more ideas for her friend. Then she turned to a fresh page, blank with possibility, and tried to envision her own dress. But doing that made her think about having a date . . . and about asking Lorenzo. Sighing, she closed her sketchbook and decided to do homework instead.
- - - - Chapter 3 - - - -
A Pretty Dress for Priti!
Guess what? My friend Priti came over yesterday and told me . . . she has a date to the dance! We got right down to business, a.k.a. what to wear! I sketched out a few dresses (all of which involved sequins, because Priti loves to sparkle), but this one is the main contender. Now I just have to get sewing. Gosh! Sewing on all those sequins is going to take forever. Hopefully, it’ll be worth it: Her dream dress for her dream date!
The thing is, now that Priti has a date, I can’t keep avoiding the Big Ask. It’s my turn, and the clock is ticking.
I almost asked You Don’t Know Who yesterday, but it didn’t happen. I guess I’m scared! I’ve been distracting myself by re
ading The Misfits by James Howe for English. Bobby, the narrator, wonders if when they graduate and go out into the Grown-Up World, it won’t be him and the other Misfits who feel out of place, but the kids who are making their lives miserable. He wonders if the rest of the world outside of middle school and high school is made up of people who are called misfits because “they’re just who they are instead of ‘fits’ like everybody else.” I can’t stop thinking about that. I wonder if that’s true.
One thing that is a misfit: the zipper on Kate’s dress! I must have measured wrong because it kept puckering. I had to redo it five times. And here I thought Kate’s dress was going to be the easy one! Well, gotta run. Wish me luck with You Don’t Know Who!
“Does it ever get old, working in this amazing store?” Zoey asked Jan, the owner of A Stitch in Time. She’d begged Aunt Lulu to bring her to buy fabric for Priti’s dress.
Jan propped her rainbow-striped glasses up into her long dark hair. “Never. Especially when I have fun customers like you.”
“Every time I come in, it’s like walking into a cave of buried treasure.” Zoey sighed. “I want to buy everything.”
Aunt Lulu chuckled. “Well, since you’re on a budget, Zo, let’s focus on what you need.”
“I know,” Zoey said, taking the list out of her pocket.
Jan lowered her reading glasses onto the end of her nose and took the list. “So which designs did you go with?”
Zoey still couldn’t believe Jan read Sew Zoey and recommended it to her customers.
Zoey flipped open her sketchbook and showed Jan the design Priti picked for her dress.
“Stunning,” Jan said. “You’re crazy talented.”
“That’s what I tell her,” Aunt Lulu agreed.
Zoey felt like the sun was beaming from her chest. If Lorenzo walked into A Stitch in Time (as if!), she would walk right up to him and ask him if he wanted to go to the dance.
Jan helped her pick out the best value fabric, and then they went to the huge wall of sequins and accessories.
“You can buy this stretch sequin trim instead of sewing each one on individually,” Jan suggested. “It’ll save you a lot of time.”
“Great!” Zoey said. She was already worrying about getting her friends’ dresses made before the dance and still having enough time to create something amazing for herself.
As if she could read Zoey’s mind, Jan asked, “So when are you going to show me the fabulous dress you’ve designed for yourself?”
Zoey looked down at her Converse sneakers. “I . . . um . . . haven’t made it yet.”
“Why not, honey?” Aunt Lulu asked.
“Because I haven’t got a date,” Zoey mumbled.
“You haven’t asked the Mystery Man?” Jan said.
“No,” Zoey said mournfully. “Just thinking about it makes me feel sick.”
“Honey, sometimes you just have to fake it till you make it,” Aunt Lulu said. “I’ll be really nervous about getting a big client, but I won’t show it.” She put her arm across Zoey’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “I walk in there and act confident, like I believe I’m the best person in the whole world for the job, even though I’ve got butterflies in my stomach and pray they don’t see my knees shaking.”
“Really?” Zoey said. She couldn’t imagine Lulu being scared of anything.
“You bet. And you know what? After a few minutes, I don’t just fool my client into believing I’m confident, I even fool myself.”
“It’s all up here,” Jan said, tapping Zoey’s forehead gently with her finger. “I want you to go home and design yourself something totally Très Chic–worthy. The trim is on me. “
“Thank you!” Zoey exclaimed, giving Jan a hug.
“On one condition. On Monday, I want you to march right up to Mystery Man and ask him to the dance. Deal?”
Jan stuck out her hand. Zoey took it and shook. “It’s a deal.”
As soon as Aunt Lulu dropped her off at home, Zoey raced up to her room and curled up on her bed with her sketchbook and pencils. Now that she had a plan to ask Lorenzo to the dance, it was time to imagine the perfect dress. Her pencil hovered above the page, but . . . nothing. Usually she couldn’t sketch fast enough to keep up with all the ideas in her head. After twenty minutes of frustration, she snapped her sketchbook shut and went over to her sewing table to start work on Priti’s dress. At least her friends would have fabulous dresses.
When the phone rang in the middle of dinner, Marcus said, “I’ll get it.”
“Yeah, Zoey’s here,” he said. “Who did you say was calling again?”
Zoey almost choked on her lasagna. Could it be Lorenzo, asking her to the dance?
“Hey, Zo—it’s some lady named Rashida Clarke. She’s the producer of Fashion Showdown.”
“Seriously?” Zoey exclaimed, jumping up so quickly, her chair fell over backward. “Why is she calling me?!”
“I don’t know,” Marcus said, his hand over the mouth of the phone. “Why don’t you talk to her and find out?”
“Fashion Showdown?” her father asked. “That reality show you watch?”
Zoey nodded excitedly as she took the phone.
“Hi, this is Zoey.” She was barely able to breathe.
“Zoey, so happy to reach you. My name is Rashida Clarke, and I’m the producer of Fashion Showdown, a reality show about—”
“I love Fashion Showdown,” Zoey said. “I watch it all the time!”
“Terrific!” Rashida said. “The reason I’m calling is that we’ve seen your blog, and we’re very impressed with it and your designs. We’d like to ask you to be a guest judge on the next episode of the show. It’s a challenge to design dresses for a high school prom, so we want a teenage judge who knows more about fashion than the average teen on the street.”
Zoey was speechless. It was a dream come true.
“Are you still there? I know this is very last minute—our original judge was a high school designer, but she had to back out.”
“Yes . . . I’m here. And I’d love to do it. Just . . .” Zoey wanted to do the show more than anything. But she had to tell Rashida the truth. “The thing is, I’m not in high school. I’m only in seventh grade.”
She held her breath, waiting, hoping that being in middle school wouldn’t be the end of her shot at stardom.
“Don’t worry about that, Zoey. You’ll be terrific,” Rashida said. “I’ve read your blog, and you’ve got a better design eye than people twice your age. You’ll be doing us a huge favor by stepping in at the last minute like this.”
Zoey exhaled. She couldn’t believe that this was really happening—that she would be going to New York City to be a guest judge on Fashion Showdown!
Rashida was telling her all the details, but Zoey was too excited to take in any of it.
“Can I speak with your mom?”
It was as if Rashida had thrown a bucket of cold water through the phone receiver.
“Um . . . my mom . . . isn’t . . . here. You can speak to my dad, though.”
Her father gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he took the phone from her hand. It wasn’t Rashida’s fault. She didn’t know. Most of the time Zoey was okay with it. But when people asked to speak to her mom, it reminded her of what she was missing.
“So what’s this all about, Zo?” Marcus asked.
“Oh nothing,” Zoey said. “Just that I’VE BEEN ASKED TO BE A JUDGE ON FASHION SHOWDOWN! ON TV!”
She danced around the kitchen while her father wrote down notes on a pad.
“Cool!” Marcus said. “My little sister, the TV star.”
“If you load the dishwasher, I might just give you my autograph,” Zoey said.
Her father hung up.
“Dad, I hate to break it to you, but Zoey’s already turning into a diva,” Marcus said.
Zoey’s father wrapped her in a big bear hug that lifted her off her feet.
“My little girl, a TV star!” he said. “I’m
so proud of you!”
“I won’t be on TV if you break my ribs,” Zoey squeaked.
Her father set her back on the floor. “Sorry, sweetheart.” His warm hand rested gently on Zoey’s cheek. “Mom would have been dancing around the kitchen with you.”
There it was again. Zoey hated that empty space beneath her ribs.
“So what’s the deal?” Marcus asked. “And when am I going to see my sister’s face on the flat screen? Hey, Zo, I’ll lend you my zit cream.”
“Oh, thanks a lot, Marcus!” Zoey said. “I hadn’t even thought about having a zit on TV. Now I’m going to worry so much, I’ll probably get one!”
“Calm down,” her dad said. “Even if you do get one, the show’s makeup artist will cover it up. No one will see it.”
“Even in high definition?” Zoey asked.
“Even in HD,” her father reassured her. “As for seeing Zoey’s face on the flat screen, they’re going to call me back with all the travel details for the trip to New York. Until it’s finalized, we have to keep this between us.”
New York! One of the top fashion capitals of the world. And Zoey wasn’t just going to be there. She was going to be a guest judge on Fashion Showdown!
“There’s one problem. They want you there Thursday night because they start taping really early on Friday. I don’t know if I can get off Thursday, because we have a game.”
“What about Aunt Lulu?” Zoey asked. Fashion Showdown was one of the reality shows she and Aunt Lulu loved to watch together. A trip to the Big Apple to see the sights—and the stores—would be a lot of fun with her aunt.
“Good idea. Fashion Showdown is probably more up her alley.”
“I could take Zoey,” Marcus offered. “I’d love an all-expenses-paid trip to New York. I’ve always wanted to check out the music venues.”
“Sorry, kiddo. Zoey’s chaperone has to be an adult, eighteen or older,” his father said.
“Why is everyone so ageist?” Marcus complained. “It’s not fair.”
“You focus on taking your upcoming driving test,” Mr. Webber said. “I’ll call Aunt Lulu to see if she’s free to take Zoey.”
