Fashion Face-Off

by Sheryl Berk

  “Yes! You rocked your presentation!” her bestie said. “Nice work, Mick.”

  “Nice work from both of you,” Mr. Kaye interrupted. “Ms. Rollings was quite impressed with your final project, young man.”

  JC leaned back in the chair. “Yeah, it was pretty spot-on,” he joked. “Get it? Dalmatian spots?”

  Mr. Kaye scowled. The only one allowed to make fashion puns was him. “I’ve asked you both here today because FAB has a fantastic opportunity,” he continued. “I’ve been asked to send two of my top students to audition for Assignment: Fashion Jr. Are you familiar with the show?”

  JC leaped to his feet. “Familiar? Are you kidding me? I can recite every episode by heart! I’m a super fanboy!”

  Mr. Kaye looked at Mickey. “And you?”

  “Well, I like it a lot,” she said. “And I watch it every week. But sometimes I don’t agree with the judges. I mean, everyone is entitled to their own fashion opinions, right?”

  “I feel faint,” JC said, hyperventilating. “I’m gonna be on Assignment: Fashion.” He offered Mickey his arm. “Pinch me. Please!”

  “You understand this is only an audition,” Mr. Kaye repeated. “You have to do the work and prove yourselves to the judges. It’s a foot in the door but no guarantee.”

  “An audition?” Mickey asked. She pictured herself having to sing and tap-dance for the show’s producer and host Helga Floom.

  “You will bring your final project and present it to the judges. They will ask you a few questions about yourselves as students and designers. Be honest, be smart, and be sure of yourselves. They are looking for twelve kids to compete on a one-episode junior challenge.”

  Mickey knew it was a huge long shot they’d choose her. JC knew the show inside and out and had a much better chance. But still, it was pretty amazing that Mr. Kaye had picked her.

  JC finally recovered from his excitement. “Don’t worry, Mick. I’ll give you a crash course in all things Assignment: Fashion,” he whispered to her. “We’ll both get on the show and become huge TV stars!”

  Mickey smiled. She didn’t care about being a star; she cared about her work being seen.

  “Did I mention the prize if you win Assignment: Fashion Jr.?” Mr. Kaye asked, checking his notes.

  “No,” JC said. “What is it? A complete sewing studio from Singer? A spread in Teen Style magazine? Five hundred dollars toward starting your own label?”

  Mr. Kaye stared. “You really do know the show quite well, don’t you?” he asked JC. “Yes, all those things. But it’s actually five thousand dollars.”

  Mickey gasped. Five thousand dollars! She could take her mom and Aunt Olive on an amazing summer vacation with that money! Somewhere exotic—like Hawaii, where she’d always dreamed of going. The pineapple pancakes must be amazing there…

  “I could afford to redesign Madonna’s room with that money. She’s been wanting a canopy dog bed,” JC said.

  Mickey rolled her eyes. Was that the best thing he could think of to spend his money on? His dog?

  “Don’t count your cash before your collection,” Mr. Kaye warned him. “There’s a long way to go before winning—like getting on the show first.”

  JC stood up and yanked Mickey to her feet with him. “Not a prob,” he assured FAB’s esteemed design department head. “We won’t let you down.”

  Mr. Kaye raised an eyebrow. “I hope not.”

  The set for Assignment: Fashion was a lot larger with many more moving parts than appeared on TV. It was housed on two floors in a university in the New York City Fashion District. There was the sewing room with rows upon rows of machines and work stations; a hair room with blow-dryers, curling irons, and shelves of styling products; a makeup room with hundreds of cosmetics and brushes neatly laid out at mirrored tables; and of course, the runway and judges’ panel—a long stage with three swiveling seats at the side.

  Mickey and JC reported bright and early on a Saturday morning for the screening process and took a look around before checking in.

  “If anyone asks, we’re lost,” he told her. “I just gotta be in the room where it happens!” He sat down in a judge’s seat. “Helga sits here.” He sighed heavily. “I’m in Helga’s throne.”

  Mickey shook her head. Getting JC to focus and not act all fanboy wasn’t easy. “We better get to the green room before they give away our spots,” she said, pulling him along with her.

  Seated in the green room—which was really bright pink—were more than two dozen middle-school kids clutching garment bags, sketchbooks, and sewing kits.

  “There are a lot of people auditioning,” Mickey said, looking around.

  “Are you kidding? This is just one day,” JC informed her. “They’ve been auditioning for at least a month—this many kids each day. The competition is fierce.”

  Mickey gulped. She felt her chances getting smaller and smaller.

  “Okay, follow my lead,” JC instructed her. “We’re not about to sit here all day.”

  He walked up to the woman who looked like she was in charge. She had dark hair pinned back in a severe bun and was carrying a clipboard.

  “Pardon me,” he began. “We are the representatives from FAB. You’ll want to make sure we’re at the top of the list and get to meet with the judges right away.”

  The woman didn’t flinch. “What’s a FAB?”

  “Are you kidding me?” JC screeched, but Mickey quickly put her hand over his mouth.

  “It’s our middle school. We should be under Mackenzie Williams and Javen Cumberland.”

  The woman ran her finger down the sheet. “Yes, I have you.” She wrote two numbers on stickers. “Put these on. That’s how the judges will refer to you.”

  Mickey looked at hers: number 24. JC was 8.

  “Have a seat.” The woman motioned to a couch in the corner. “It’s gonna be a while.”

  Three hours later, they were still sitting and waiting. No one was speaking to anyone else. They were all too nervous or bored. One boy was snoring in the corner, and a girl was polishing her nails.

  “I bet he has an amazing portfolio.” Mickey pointed to a boy who was wearing a yellow tie, a purple shirt, and orange high-top sneakers. “He looks like he has a lot of personal style.”

  JC wasn’t listening or even attempting to get to know anyone. Friendly was not an option; this was war.

  “Unbelievable!” He pouted. “They’re taking two kids an hour. At this rate, we’ll be here till Christmas!”

  Mickey chuckled. “Not quite. But maybe till dinnertime. And you’re getting hangry already.”

  She handed him a snack that Aunt Olive had packed.

  “What is this?” JC asked, examining the strange green oval.

  “Kale cookies,” Mickey answered. “They’re not as bad as you’d think.”

  JC wrinkled his nose. “I have one of Madonna’s doggie biscuits in my bag. I’d rather eat that.”

  Just then, the woman with the clipboard walked into the room. “I need numbers eight and nine,” she said.

  Mickey shoved JC. “That’s you! You’re up!”

  JC bowed his head as if he was saying a little prayer. Mickey patted him on the back. “You got this,” she said. “Go work your JC magic.”

  Her friend took a deep breath, rose from his seat, and followed the woman out of the room, never looking back.

  Mickey figured with a last name starting with W, she’d be the last one to audition. So she kicked her feet up on the table and rested her head on the couch pillows.

  The boy in the yellow tie suddenly walked over and took a seat next to her.

  “Hey,” he said simply.

  “Hey,” Mickey replied. She wasn’t sure how JC would feel about her fraternizing with the competition, but he seemed nice enough. And he had dark wavy hair and sparkly blue eyes…
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  “I’m Jonah Zimm.”

  “Zimm,” Mickey said. “Your name starts with a Z.”

  Jonah smiled. “The girl can spell!”

  “No! I mean, I’m Mickey Williams.”

  “Oh, a W,” the boy said. “So we’re probably the last two to be seen today.” He pointed to his sticker. “I’m number twenty-five, right after you.”

  Mickey nodded. It was nice to know she wasn’t going to be sitting here all alone when everyone else was done. “What school do you go to? I’m at FAB,” she said proudly.

  “You mean fashion school? None. I’m self-taught. Well, actually my grandma taught me how to sew. I made this shirt and tie.”

  Mickey looked at the intricate black stitching on the cuffs and collar of his shirt. It was flawless. “You did this?” she said, taking his hand to get a better look at the cuff.

  Jonah grinned. “Yeah, I did. It’s kinda my thing. I’m all about the details.”

  “Impressive,” she said. “My teacher Mr. Kaye would be wowed.”

  “Ya think?” Jonah asked. “I’ve always wanted to go to FAB, but my parents don’t think fashion is a serious career choice. They’re both lawyers. They want me to be a litigator or a judge or something.”

  “And you want to be a designer?” Mickey asked.

  “More than anything—the next Karl Lagerfeld, Isaac Mizrahi, or Zac Posen. I’m going to run my own billion-dollar fashion empire! I have sketchbooks just filled with ideas. I figure if I can get on this show and win it, maybe my family will take me seriously.”

  “Can I see some of your sketches?” Mickey asked.

  Jonah obliged, taking out a book from his messenger bag. “See this one? I call it ‘Moon River.’ I want to create a white fabric with a holed Swiss cheese look, drape it into a goddess gown with a long flowing train, and pair it with moon boots that I design to match.”

  “You make footwear too?” Mickey asked. “That’s amazing.”

  “Well, you have to have accessories to fulfill the vision, you know?”

  Mickey did know. It was why she made sure her shoes, tights, hat, bag, and even hair highlights worked with her outfit every morning.

  “And this one is made from seaweed,” he said, flipping the page.

  “Nuh-uh! Real seaweed?”

  Jonah nodded. “It’s an eco-friendly material…fabric from the ocean. I read about it. One day I’ll make a mermaid-tail evening gown out of it in a vibrant emerald green.”

  Wow, Mickey thought. That put her cabbage T-shirt to shame!

  “I think you’re really talented, Jonah,” Mickey said. “I’m sure the judges will love your work.”

  “Who knows?” he said, putting his feet up next to hers on the table. “I mean, you never know what they’re looking for.” He pointed to a girl coming into the room, dressed in head-to-toe pink. “It could be her.”

  Mickey sat straight up and stared. She’d know that rhinestone tiara headband anywhere!

  “Jade!” Mickey whispered, pulling a couch pillow in front of her face. “Quick, hide me!”

  “You know her?” Jonah asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Mickey replied. “She goes to my school.”

  “Well, that explains the great sense of style…” He was referring to her faux fur jacket and Chanel backpack, which she’d casually slung over one shoulder. “What’s with the tiara? Is she royalty or something?”

  “Oh, she’s something, all right,” Mickey said. “And somehow she’s managed to worm her way into this audition.”

  “Mickey,” Jade said, strolling over. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Mickey came out from hiding. “What are you doing here? Mr. Kaye didn’t invite you.”

  Jonah stood up and offered his hand. “I’m Jonah. And you are?”

  “Disgusted,” Jade replied with a sigh, “by the horrific lack of talent represented here. My mother will be appalled.”

  “Your mother?” Jonah asked.

  Mickey held up her hand. “Don’t go there. You’ll be sorry.”

  “Why yes!” Jade seized the opportunity to brag. “My mother is Bridget Lee, the fabulously famous fashion designer—and in fact, one of Helga’s dearest friends.”

  Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Let me get this straight. Your mom is besties with one of the judges, and you’re competing? How is that fair?”

  “I didn’t say I was competing.” Jade smiled slyly. “I’m just helping with the screening process. Helga values my opinion.”

  “Oh!” Jonah said, oozing charm. “Of course she does! Who wouldn’t? So you can put in a good word for me, right?” He winked. “Would ya, could ya?”

  “Perhaps,” Jade said. “I did just tell the judges not to seriously consider your little bowwow boyfriend, Mickey.”

  Mickey leaped to her feet. “You did not! Jade, that’s horrible! JC worked so hard for this, and he’s crazy talented!”

  “Crazy, yes. Talented? Not so sure.” Jade looked around the room, surveying the remaining candidates. “But then again, compared to this sad bunch…”

  “Let the judges make up their own minds,” Mickey pleaded with her. “Please!”

  Jade grinned. “So let me get this straight. You don’t want me to tell Helga to choose you and not JC?”

  Mickey’s face went pale. Was Jade actually suggesting she sell out her best friend for a place on the show? JC would be devastated—crushed! He ate, slept, and breathed Assignment Fashion. She couldn’t let Jade take that away from him, even if it meant destroying her only chances.

  “Just one word, and JC is history…and you’re in,” Jade baited her. “Of course, he’d probably never speak to you again…”

  So that was her game! She wanted to ensure that Mickey and JC were no longer friends. “No,” Mickey insisted. “Don’t say anything.”

  Jonah took Jade by the arm. “Well, I’m okay with you saying anything you want about me to the judges.” He gazed into her eyes. “So is your mom as pretty as you are?”

  Jade blushed. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  Mickey pretended to gag. Couldn’t Jade see that Jonah was only flirting with her to get ahead in the competition? But then again, he did seem a little interested.

  “What did you say your name was? Sapphire? Ruby?” he asked.

  “Jade,” she said, giggling.

  “Oh, that’s not a precious enough stone for you! Your mom should have named you Diamond.”

  Mickey groaned. “I just ate a kale cookie, and you people are making me sick.”

  Jade took Jonah’s arm. “You’re number twenty-five. That’s the last one to audition,” she noted. “We can’t have that!” She peeled the sticker off his shirt and crumpled it into a ball. “No need to wait that long. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to Helga.”

  “Maybe we can grab lunch too?” Jonah offered. “I’d love to hear all about you.”

  “You would?” Jade asked, batting her eyelashes. “There’s so much to tell!”

  As they walked toward the green room door, Jonah glanced over his shoulder and winked at Mickey. Then he put his fingers to his lip to signal her to keep quiet.

  Mickey sank back into the sofa. Great, she thought. Now she was back to being last in line, and Jade was surely going to sabotage her chances with the judges before she ever even got her turn. And poor JC—he didn’t stand a chance. Not with Jade meddling. They’d both go home empty-handed. But at least they’d do it together.

  “Mackenzie Williams?” The woman with the clipboard stuck her head back inside the green room door.

  Mickey snapped to attention. “Yes! That’s me.”

  “You’re up.”

  Mickey looked around the room at all the other students who had numbers lower than hers.

  “You sure? I’m number twenty-four.”
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  The woman put her hands on her hips. “Would you like a written invitation?”

  “No! Coming!” Mickey said, gathering her sketchbook and garment bag.

  When she got to the set, she saw that all three judges were seated in their swivel chairs at the side of the runway. Helga was gabbing away to her dynamic duo: Jack Rosen, one of the biggest fashion designers in the world, and Lena Gomez, creative director of Teen Style magazine. Then she noticed a fourth figure standing with them: JC!

  “Mickey!” JC suddenly waved at her. “Come and meet the gang!”

  Mickey couldn’t believe it. Helga had her arm around him!

  “This is my BFF Mickey,” JC said, introducing her. “And Mick, these are Helga, Jack, and Lena.”

  Helga smiled, flashing perfect, white supermodel teeth. “JC told us so much about you.”

  “JC told you?” Mickey tried to wrap her brain around what was happening. “I’m sorry… I’m a bit confuzzled.”

  “In thirteen seasons, we’ve never quite met anyone like him,” Jack explained. “He’s a walking encyclopedia of all things Assignment: Fashion. Our superfan extraordinaire.”

  “I think we need to hire you as a consultant,” Helga chimed in. “You know more than I do.”

  JC nodded. “Go ahead. Ask me anything. Anything.”

  Lena clapped her hands together: “Who was the winner of season two’s avant-garde challenge?”

  “Easy!” JC said. “Finola Hierro. She made those cool yoga pants out of the Sunday Times.”

  “Yes!” Jack cheered. “The extra, extra paper challenge! I loved that one.”

  “Okay… Here’s a bonus question,” Helga piped up. “Who accidentally sent his model down the runway in a pair of trousers without a zipper?”

  “Oh, so simple!” JC boasted. “Liam Weill, season four semifinals. He didn’t have a zipper that matched his gold brocade suit, so he sewed his model into the trousers and had to cut her out. Awkward!”

  “Yaaaaaas!” Jack cheered. “You nailed that one!”

  “And he stitched that one!” JC shouted back, high-fiving him.

  Mickey stood there, positively speechless. So much for Jade ruining JC’s chances. The judges loved him!