by Sheryl Berk
“Stole? That is a very harsh word. I would say I just pointed out to the administration that I was the better candidate.”
“Better? You will never be a better teacher than me!” Mr. Kaye insisted.
Mickey didn’t know what to do or say—but she had to defend Mr. Kaye somehow.
“He is!” she said, jumping out of her hiding spot. “He’s the best teacher. He knows everything about fashion design, and he’s helped me find my voice as a designer.”
Tony smiled. “Good for you. You see, Chester, you are just where you should be. Who needs Paris?”
Mr. Kaye gritted his teeth. “My students will win the runway competition this year, and you will eat your words,” he vowed.
Tony smiled. “Then I wish you well. May the best teacher win.” With that, he turned and left Plush.
“Mr. Kaye…are you okay?” Mickey asked gently.
“Why were you fraternizing with the enemy?” he bellowed.
“The enemy? Tony didn’t seem like the enemy. He seemed like a nice guy.”
“He’s a liar and a thief,” Mr. Kaye answered. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing!”
Once again, she had no idea what her teacher was going on and on about—so she just nodded her head in agreement. “I can see you don’t like each other very much.”
Mr. Kaye took a deep breath. “He is not to be trusted. I don’t know why he’s here in New York, but it’s no doubt to sabotage me.”
Mickey actually liked Tony’s idea about Gauguin’s bold colors, but she could never tell Mr. Kaye where it had come from. “I’m just going to find some fluorescent-pink and green silks,” she said. Mr. Kaye didn’t even hear her. He was still mumbling to himself—something about “a barracuda with no taste or style.”
Mickey noticed Jade pushing Jake toward a display of buttons and trims. “Not those buttons. Honestly, do you have any taste that’s not in your mouth?” Jade asked her brother.
Jade realized then that Mickey was watching her. “Yoo-hoo, Mickey! The burlap is in the basement,” Jade called to her. “And the bargain bin: twenty-five cents a yard!”
Mickey realized she knew exactly how Mr. Kaye felt. Tony was his Jade Lee! As much as Mickey tried to ignore them, the snarky remarks and mean jabs hurt—and they chipped away at her confidence.
She looked back at Mr. Kaye and knew she had only one option: to win for both of them.
Mickey had spent nearly all weekend staring at her dress form, Edith. She’d named her after the famous Hollywood designer, Edith Head. But now neither she—nor Edith—looked particularly happy with the result of her design. It was a simple halter-top jumpsuit, covered in assorted neon fabric squares, arranged in a woven, checkered pattern. All she could think about was what Jade had said—“Are you making a patchwork quilt?”—because that’s what her design looked like.
Aunt Olive came in Mickey’s bedroom and rested a plate of kale cookies and a cup of chamomile tea on her nightstand.
“Tough assignment?” she asked. “You’ve been at it all day.”
Mickey sighed. “Impossible. I just can’t see it.”
Olive looked at Edith. “I think it’s too tidy.” Coming from her aunt—a legal secretary and neat freak who believed in moderation, precision, and exacting detail—that sounded strange.
“Too tidy?” Mickey asked.
Olive chose her words carefully. “I think it feels like you’re trying too hard.”
Mickey rested her head on her desk. She knew Olive was right. She was trying too hard. The design wasn’t flowing like it usually did. She was thinking too much about what people would say when they saw it—and not about what she wanted to say as a designer.
“I’m calling JC,” Mickey finally said. “He’s my partner on this project, and I need his advice.”
She used FaceTime on her phone so her friend could get a look at what she’d created.
“A little more to the right…no the left,” JC said as she held up her phone to Edith’s outfit.
“Now back up,” JC added. “Way, way up. Can you leave the room?”
“Leave the room?” Mickey asked. “Why?”
“It’s just… Well, it’s not working. It looks like something I finger-painted in kindergarten! Wait…are those bell-bottoms? Eek! It keeps getting worse!”
“JC!” Mickey moaned. “You’re making me feel worse!”
“I’m sorry. I’m just being honest,” he replied. “You called me for my opinion.”
Mickey nodded. “I did. So what do you think?”
“I think you should shred that outfit and start all over,” JC suggested. “Doesn’t your aunt have one of those document shredders for work?”
Mickey gritted her teeth. “Not helping.” Then an idea came to her. “Wait! That’s it.”
“What’s it?” JC asked.
“Shred it! I should shred it!”
“Uh, yeah. Back to the ol’ drawing board.”
“No, I mean literally!”
JC looked confused. “When you get that crazy look in your eye, I should just get out of your way and let you get down to designing.”
Mickey wasn’t even listening; she had already started taking a scissor to the pant legs of Edith’s outfit.
“Okay, Mick. Bon chance! That’s French for good luck!” He clicked off his phone.
Mickey took a step back to admire her new idea. “Edith, we have a winner!” she said excitedly. “I can’t wait to show Mr. Kaye tomorrow.”
When the first-period bell rang, Mickey dashed into Advanced Apparel Arts, dragging a huge garment bag over her shoulder. JC trailed behind her, rolling in Edith who was covered in a drape cloth.
“Whoa,” South said as Mickey took the seat next to her. “Whatcha got in the bag?”
“Something I’m really proud of,” Mickey answered. “It took me a long time, but I think it’s one of my best designs.”
Jade shot her a look from across the studio. “That isn’t saying much,” she commented before taking out a compact to powder her nose. “Your best is at best…mediocre.”
JC sprang to her defense. “Why don’t you wait and see before you make your nasty little comments,” he said. “You might be eating those words.”
Jade didn’t bother looking away from her own reflection. “Whatevs.”
“They don’t stand a chance. Right, Jade?” Jake asked, looking for reassurance. “I mean, our design is sick.”
“Sick? Who’s sick?” Mr. Kaye asked. It wasn’t like him to be a minute late, but today he seemed to be dragging. “Silence!” he bellowed at the class. Then he sneezed and coughed and dabbed his bright-red nose with a hankie. “I’m sick as a dog—and do I have one of you to blame for it?”
The students all shook their heads no. There wasn’t a single sniffle—besides his—in the studio.
“My head is pounding. My throat is raw,” he said. “I’m sure it’s the flu—or the plague. You!” he snapped at Gabriel. “Present!”
Gabriel and Mars quickly rolled their dress form to the front of the room. “Our collection is inspired by Paris’s underground sewers,” Gabriel began.
“Ew!” Jade cried. “That’s disgusting!”
“Gross!” Jake chimed in. “Isn’t that place filled with whatever you flush?”
Mr. Kaye tried to silence the class but launched into a coughing fit instead.
Mars spoke for him. “Would you please keep your comments to yourselves till after the presentation?” she told Jake and Jade. “Zip it!”
Gabriel thought she was talking to him and quickly zipped the black velvet hoodie they’d designed. “See? The shape of the hood mimics the shape of the sewer tunnels,” he said.
“And we’ve accessorized it with a chain-link skirt that I welded,” Mars said.
“Very—achoo!—innovative,” Mr
. Kaye said. “And what does the rest of your collection look like?”
Gabriel pulled out a motorcycle jacket constructed from gray flannel with silver studs and a brown satin trench coat that Mars had embellished with a huge, gold skull-shaped brooch.
“It’s a bit dark,” Mr. Kaye said, squinting to get a better look at the pieces. “Then again, my vision is somewhat hazy today…”
Jade’s hand shot up. “Can I show mine now? It’ll make you feel better.”
Mr. Kaye sneezed. “Fine. You’re next.”
Jade and Jake wheeled the dress figure to the front of the room. It was draped in a red velvet cloth. “Be prepared for brilliance,” Jade said, as she triumphantly yanked the cloth away. “Ta-da!”
Mr. Kaye didn’t look very wowed—in fact, he looked half asleep! But Mickey’s heart sank. As much as she hated to admit it, Jade’s design was pretty amazing.
“I used black leather strips to create the image of the Eiffel Tower,” she said, rolling the silver, silk column gown close to Mr. Kaye so he could get a better look. “The crisscross lattice pattern you see? All hand-stitched.”
“Not by her hand,” JC muttered under his breath. “Her mommy’s seamstresses probably did it for her.”
“And this,” Jake said, “is my tuxedo jacket inspired by the architectural plans for the tower. The fabric is actually printed with a copy of the real blueprints.”
Mickey was utterly speechless. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
Jade snapped her fingers at Mr. Kaye to make sure he was still awake. He jumped to attention and scowled.
“Just one more thing,” she said. “My Arc de Triomphe trousers!” She pulled out a pair of pants from her garment bag. Each leg was embroidered to look like one of the arch’s neoclassical columns.
Mr. Kaye raised an eyebrow. “Your collection is well executed and well thought-out,” he said hoarsely. “But I fear it’s a bit literal.”
Jade’s face flushed. “Literal? I literally created a masterpiece. Three of them, to be exact!”
Mr. Kaye continued. “I think you could have pushed the envelope more,” he said dismissively. “I’m not sure I see much of you in this collection. I see Paris, but where is Jade?”
Jake elbowed his sister. “See! I told you the blueprint idea was too much. But do you ever listen to me? Nooooo!”
Jade stomped back to her seat, furious.
“South, you went solo. Let’s see what you came up with,” Mr. Kaye said, popping a cough drop in his mouth.
“I was inspired by French history,” South said. “In particular, Queen Marie Antoinette.”
Her first look was a modern take on a ruffled royal ball gown—but the skirt was short in the front and long in the back, and pearls were draped dramatically off each cap-sleeved shoulder. Her second design was a gold brocade jean jacket. Instead of studs, big faux diamonds fastened the pockets.
“And last but not least,” South said, “I call this look, ‘Let them eat cake!’” She presented a white velvet cape “iced” with pink rickrack trim.
Mr. Kaye cleared his throat. “Nice choice of materials and whimsical designs,” he said. “But the execution is a bit sloppy.” He pointed to a section of the cape where the trim was hanging loose.
South looked disappointed when she sat back down. “I really thought he was going to love it,” she said to Mickey.
“And last but not least, Mickey and company,” Mr. Kaye said, punctuating his sentence with a loud achoo!
JC ducked for cover. “Hey!” he said, checking his jacket sleeve for any smudges. “This thing took me hours!” He carefully modeled his impressionist-inspired jacket while fiercely protecting it. When Gabriel reached out to feel the fabric, JC yanked the jacket away. “Uh, uh, uh,” he warned. “The art is for looking, not touching!”
He then spun around so Mr. Kaye could see the portrait he’d recreated on the back.
“Renoir?” Mr. Kaye asked. “I don’t recall the dog in that painting being so pasty white.”
JC went back to his seat, returned the jacket to its bag, and bit his tongue. “He’s just grumpy because he thinks Monsieur Roget gave you some pointers,” he whispered to Mickey. “Don’t let him scare you. He’s all bark, no bite.”
Mickey was up next. She walked to the front of the room, unzipped the garment bag, and pulled out her Seurat wrap dress. “From a distance, we see a lovely park scene of trees and grass,” she said. “But up close, it’s actually several different shades of green fabric paint applied with a teeny, tiny brush.”
Mr. Kaye sniffed. “Yes, yes, go on.”
She lifted her third design carefully out of the bag, and Mr. Kaye’s face lit up.
“Good heavens!” he said. “What is that?”
“A Gauguin still-life evening gown,” Mickey explained. “I mimicked his long, bold brushstrokes by creating floor-length shreds of bright blue, yellow, orange, and green silk. The orange beading around the high neckline is a nod to his painted fruit.”
Mr. Kaye dabbed his eyes. Mickey couldn’t tell if the cold was making them water or if he was actually moved by what she’d created.
“Creative, innovative, groundbreaking,” Mr. Kaye said.
JC elbowed her. “He means you.”
“I’ll need some time to look at all the work closely and make up my mind, but I do think the winner is fairly evident from today’s presentations.” He picked up his box of tissues. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the school nurse.”
Mickey couldn’t stop smiling. Mr. Kaye had actually loved her designs. All her hard work had paid off. All she had to do was wait for Mr. Kaye to make the big announcement, and she and JC would be going to Paris!
“Don’t count your chickens till they’ve hatched,” Jade warned, pushing past her. “This isn’t over yet.”
Mr. Kaye was absent more than a week with the flu, and Mickey couldn’t stand the suspense. When was he going to make the announcement?
“You should put it out of your mind,” JC said. “Just forget about it.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s all I can think about!” Mickey said. “I’ve always dreamed of going to Paris.”
“It’s just another big city,” JC said, trying to assure her. “With really chic people, amazing food, breathtaking sights…”
“Ugh!” Mickey sighed. “I wish he’d just get better and get back here!”
Her wish was granted Tuesday morning when she saw Mr. Kaye coming up the steps to the sixth floor. He still looked pale, but at least he wasn’t coughing and sneezing his head off!
“Mr. Kaye!” she said, pushing JC out of the way. “You’re here! Does that mean…”
Her teacher held up his hand. “I will make the announcement over the loudspeaker before day’s end,” he told her. “Patience, Mickey, patience.”
Patience was not one of Mickey’s talents. She stared at the clock in every class, counting down the hours until the end of the day. When it was last period, she’d almost given up. Then the loudspeaker crackled and came to life.
“Good afternoon, FAB students,” Mr. Kaye’s voice boomed over it. “I know you’ve all been waiting for my decision: who will be joining me at the International Student Runway competition in Paris over spring break. After much careful contemplation while I was home in my sickbed, I’ve decided to award this very special honor to two students who showed creativity, flawless workmanship, and above all the essence of what is FAB…”
Mickey held her breath and crossed her fingers and toes.
“Without further ado, congratulations, Mickey Williams and JC Cumberland!”
Mickey jumped out of her seat and screamed. “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” She danced around Mr. Evans’s Embellishments class, tossing trim and fabric in the air, completely forgetting she was in the middle of a skills studio lab.
JC raced into the room. “Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said?”
Mr. Evans smiled and gave them both a high five. “Congrats, you two. I’m sure it was well deserved.”
When she left school that afternoon, Mickey felt like she was walking on air. It was too good to be true! Then her phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Mickey Mouse!” her mom said when she answered. “How’s my girl?”
“Fine, fine,” Mickey said. She wanted to blurt out her good news, but thought it would be better to ease into it. If there was one thing her mom hated, it was surprises. She had been furious when Mickey applied to FAB without telling her. And now, this…
“So, Mom,” she began. “Are you sitting down?” She could picture her mom standing behind the makeup counter at Wanamaker’s department store in Philly, dressed in her black smock and sensible shoes.
“Let me pull up a stool… Why?”
“It’s good news. Great news!” Mickey explained. “The greatest news of my whole life!”
“Mickey…” her mom said, already suspicious. “What did you do?”
“I won a design competition at school! I get to go to Paris!”
Mickey waited for her mother to say something, anything.
“Hello? Mom? Did you hear me?” she asked meekly.
“I did.”
Mickey feared there was a lecture coming—or worse, a stern “You’re grounded, and you’re not going anywhere” speech.
“Mom, why aren’t you yelling?” Mickey asked.
“Because I’m so thrilled for you!” her mother finally replied. “It was always my dream to go to Paris, and I never quite made it because life got in the way. Oh, Mickey, this is wonderful.”
Mickey stared at the screen on her phone. Had she heard right? Was her mom actually happy for her and giving her the okay?
“Sooo, I can go…with JC and Mr. Kaye?”
“I’ll have to get all the details, but yes, you can go. How could you not go to Paris?”
Mickey hung up and headed for the corner to wait with the other students for the bus back over the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan. A white limousine pulled up right in front of her, and someone rolled down the window.
