Alterations

by Stephanie Scott

  “Huh,” she said after a while. “Well, look at that.”

  I turned to where Desiree’s attention landed. A blond girl wrapped her hands around Ethan’s neck. She pulled him close for kiss. An I-haven’t-seen-you-in-ages-and-I’m-making-up-for-it-now-level kiss.

  I blinked hard. The girl smiled an effortless smile, mirroring Ethan’s. They moved together like the music existed for them, and the notes themselves wrapped around their bodies in a fluid symphony.

  In slow motion, my world uprooted. Piece by piece, my constructed stories tugged loose and disintegrated. “But he invited me.” My words tumbled out, dissipated by dark. He’d invited me, but I wasn’t any closer to Ethan than I’d ever been. I’d lied to my friends, and the lies were all for nothing.

  Des gave me a pitying look. “Get yourself straightened out and then come talk to me. I’m taking a cab.”

  “Des, wait!” But she waved me off, heading for the door. “Don’t go back by yourself. It’s not safe.” Desiree stopped when she reached Amy and Liam. Words were exchanged until Amy signaled to me she would leave with her.

  Liam shuffled over. “Sorry you’re having a rough night.” He looked beyond me and his expression hardened. I turned, even though I knew what I’d see. But just in case it had all been in my head, I needed to look again.

  A dull sensation washed through me. There Ethan was, the same as before. The blond girl pressed against him with her hands roaming across his shoulders and into his hair. Beside me, Liam’s defeated sigh told me he’d known. He’d known about this girl and tried to steer me away from coming to the warehouse.

  Like a trance had taken hold, I kept watching. I watched until the sight fused in my memory for life. I needed to remember this. I needed the reminder that Ethan was not mine. He never had been.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The handbag designer in my morning session the next day sounded nonsensical. My notes were scribbles I knew I wouldn’t be able to read later. Crowding the margins, I’d shaped little hearts with lines drawn through them until ink-blackened squares covered the page.

  Back at home, my family lived in Ethan’s sphere. New York was supposed to be my adventure, not his. Sure, I’d checked up on Ethan online a few times, but so what? I had something real here. Going to the party set me back, all the way back to when I huddled under my quilt drenched in flu filth watching Ethan’s life unfold out my bedroom window.

  The girl at the warehouse—clearly she and Ethan had history. I’d taken Liam’s offer of a cab back to the dorm. He paid the fare and rode back with me, which I’d told him was totally unnecessary. He kept apologizing, as if any of this drama had been his fault. He chattered on about great places to eat in New York and the whole time my shame deepened, like an entire combo platter of shame. I’d lied to my new friends for nothing, and Liam had witnessed my heartbreak over his brother live and in person. Humiliating.

  I’d hoped to have the workroom to myself this afternoon, but since the runway show was only days away, more students took advantage of the later hours. At least Des was off with her business block so I didn’t have to face her.

  Amy set a pile of fabric on the worktable next to mine. “You seem pretty bummed about everything. I can’t believe Ethan ditched you like that, even if you were on a break.”

  She’d left before seeing Ethan get handsy with that girl, whoever she was, but Tess and Avery stayed to witness it and dished the details over breakfast this morning (go figure, the one time my friends showed up that early in the cafeteria was when I hadn’t wanted them to). They’d gushed all about what a creep Ethan was to have made out with a new girl in front of me.

  I chewed at my lip. I should come clean—now. Rip off the proverbial edging tape, or whatever. With Des not talking to me, I needed a friend these last few days. I chugged a soda instead of answering.

  She chalked her fabric and began cutting. “How come you never mentioned how hot Ethan’s brother is?”

  Fizzy orange soda almost sprayed from my mouth. (Thank Mary and Joseph my mouth wasn’t aimed toward my gown and only a little dribbled down my chin and hit the floor.) I wiped my mouth. Wait, she was totally serious. “I guess Liam is … nice. Cute maybe.”

  She made an exaggerated groaning sound. “Oh come on. I get what you see in Ethan—he’s definitely hot, but Liam has that nerdy-cute thing going on. He’s like Ethan minus the ego.” She looked back at her material. “Liam had nothing but good things to say about you.”

  I eyed her for signs she knew more than she let on. Liam must not have told her Ethan was never my boyfriend. But why would he protect me?

  “Liam probably felt bad for me,” I said. “He knew about that girl, I could tell. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

  Amy’s scissors sliced once more through the fabric, then silenced. “Your feelings matter. I’d be upset if it were me.”

  Ethan couldn’t be blamed. He had no idea he was supposed to be loyal to me. No idea we’d supposedly gone out.

  My gown stared back at me. A few threads stuck out of a crooked seam. On the side, I’d tried to do a hidden zipper, but the zipper’s metal teeth were visible. Under the runway lights, the mistakes would be totally obvious. I held up a remnant of tulle and bunched the netting at the side. Maybe a giant bow would work for cover. Like a hand-sewn apology for the mess of a dress I’d created.

  Amy sucked air through her teeth. “I’m totally invading, I realize, but remember to edit. Less can be more.”

  I tossed the tulle back into the scrap heap.

  “Your project is really looking good, Amelia. It’s a great piece.” Amy ran her fingers against the bodice. “Just think, when you get home, you’ll have accomplished so much. You won’t need Ethan anymore.”

  “I don’t need Ethan now,” I snapped. I pushed back from the worktable. “Sorry, Amy. Ethan isn’t the problem.” I’m the problem.

  A cold sensation icicled its way through me. My image of Ethan, the one I’d carefully constructed over every year of my life. That image was a shadow of realness, of mostly true things strung together while ignoring what I didn’t like. At home, I wasn’t around when Ethan party hopped, and I didn’t hang out with him during the day at his private school. I didn’t know his friends. As much as I thought I knew Ethan, he spent a lot of time away from the house, where I had zero idea what he was doing.

  That realization was almost worse. Not just disappointment that Ethan wasn’t perfect, but knowing that maybe I’d fallen for someone who didn’t exist.

  I took the elevator to the lobby and added my name to the sign-out log. I was supposed to leave with a partner, the good ole buddy system, but I didn’t want any buddies.

  I walked the familiar block toward the dorm and kept going. My phone and ID holder with some cash and a subway card were all I had with me. The whole city was mine as late afternoon faded into evening. I could go anywhere I wanted.

  Where in New York City did people in movies go? Times Square and the art museum, where I’d already been. The Statue of Liberty, but that was too far to go to myself. Rockefeller Center with the skating rink, but in July? Ooh—Grand Central. So many great scenes in train stations. Like in Bust a Move: Bronx Brawl, Tamerley, the transfer student to the elite NYC dance academy, runs off until Trevor finds her at the station boarding a train to Omaha. He tells her he never knew what true passion meant until he saw her dance. So romantic. Plus, their dance on the train platform was super hot.

  I’d imagined Ethan chasing after me before—to the airport, the train station, even to the school bus. Pathetic. I was so, so pathetic. I’d let my imagination entertain every possible scenario where Ethan and I could be together. And for what? All the time daydreaming about our imagined life together amounted to lies.

  A red light at the crosswalk stopped me. My attention drifted up. The Empire State Building. One street over and up a few blocks. That’s where I needed to go.

  The lobby crowded with tourists. Unlike at Mood, where the gawker
s annoyed me, here it added to the rush. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t made it here already.

  The line took forever, and the ticket cost way more than I’d expected, but I wasn’t leaving. This was what I was doing and I was doing it for me. After passing through an exhibit explaining the history of the building, finally I exited the elevator on the eighty-sixth floor.

  The air hit me at once, heavy with humidity. Metal bars arced upward to gate in visitors, but the city reached for me from every direction, even pulling from beneath my feet. Beyond the deck, gridded streets with hundreds and thousands of buildings towering at different heights, each filled with people with their own dreams.

  I passed through the crowd to a viewpoint overlooking Central Park. What an odd sight, this massive chunk of grass and trees surrounded on all sides by steel and brick and pavement.

  Desiree had asked about my dad that day in Central Park. My dad, he was just a guy somewhere. I didn’t hate him, and I didn’t really miss him. He’d moved on when I was barely a year old. Mami showed me his pictures, especially around my birthday when we looked through my baby albums. In every picture he smiled, a subtle one from the corner of his mouth. A look less posing for the camera and more like I got this. Pride. Confidence.

  Right now, I missed him. I missed the photo version of him and all the potential he could have spread to me. I needed his confidence. My life would be crazy-different if my parents had stayed together. Better? Who knew. But different, yes different.

  I scrolled through my texts. Mami hadn’t called in days. Abuelita said she’d been moping around, so where was she now? An ache swirled in me like oil in water, slick and sticking to the surface. Homesick. Maybe even lifesick.

  I found a clear spot to sit and slid down with my back against the inside wall.

  Even if my family couldn’t afford private school or a second car, we’d always had enough. The Laurentis’ home wasn’t my home, but I never felt unwelcome. Strange, I’d only felt unwelcome seeing Ethan outside of our usual surroundings. Liam had to know I’d been lying to my friends. He’d witnessed my humiliation, my dream of being with Ethan shattered right in front of me. He’d seen everything, and pitied me.

  My Ethan fantasies seemed cheap and meaningless now. Des had shared so much with me and I’d lost her trust. I folded in tight and let the tears come.

  The lies ripped like fabric, only the fabric was me. I no longer wanted to be this scared little girl, afraid to step out, afraid someone might not like me. Afraid I might fail. Hiding behind daydreams and fantasy Pinboards. The fantasy was just that and nothing else. Des was right. I needed to get real.

  After a while, the temperature shifted, sending goose bumps across my arms. Up here on top of the world with nothing but sky overhead, I was one little dot of a person. But I had something to offer. My dreams didn’t need to be limited to Ethan Laurenti and prom. I’d made my way up here with no one holding my hand. Anything was possible.

  And I had a gown to make.

  I walked back to the school’s main building drained of emotion and energy. My feet directed me to the workroom, anyway. My project wouldn’t fix itself.

  Jimmy and another student were busy with their garments when I entered the workroom. Looking over my dress again, a sensation of relief fell over me. The dress looked pretty. The color was great, the stitching on the bodice not nearly as bad as I’d worried over. I took out my supplies and set to work.

  Knuckles rapped on the table next to me. “Knock-knock. Is this a good time for your portfolio review?”

  Professor B. I looked at the clock. Drat. Triple drat. “I missed my appointment. I’m super sorry.”

  “Amy said you’d gone back to the dorm. Are you feeling better?”

  She’d covered for me. I’d taken off and she thought enough to make up an excuse for me. “Yes. I’m good. Tired is all. Sorry again, I’ll be right there.” I gathered my design notes and followed Professor B. to her office, hearing Abuelita’s scolding voice in my head lecturing about following through on expectations.

  “Have a seat, Amelia.” Professor B.’s hair knotted at the back of her head with black tendrils framing her face. She had that gentle, arty vibe about her. I’d definitely noted her fondness for long, flowy skirts. “Let me take a look at your project plan.”

  I rummaged through my bag. Random folders, some notes with my angry doodles from earlier. “Here.” I flattened the notes and slid them across the table.

  “You must work intuitively, then.”

  “Huh?”

  She turned the notes back to face me. “This is hardly a design plan.”

  I waited for the “but your work is great!” follow-up comment. A loud and uncomfortable ten seconds of silence passed. So that affirmation was not boarding the Yay, Amelia! train.

  Okay, so the handwriting in my notes was barely legible, and my drawing skills weren’t the best, but everything displayed clearly in my head, which mattered most. “I’m usually more organized. I use a planner at home, with stickers and that fun, colorful tape—anyway. Oh! I know. Here.” I took out my phone and pulled up my Pinterest board of gown inspirations. “I use this for my design vision.”

  Professor B. looked over the images but didn’t reach for my phone to scroll further. “Amelia, you may have intuition, but part of design school is learning the process. The concepts we teach are meant to be followed and implemented. Those with natural tendencies can get by, certainly, but will go only so far in this industry without a baseline of fundamental skills. I hoped you would apply these skills here for your project. It isn’t only the final piece we evaluate, it’s all the steps you take to get there.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I’d been listening in the workshops. I loved learning about design techniques and the history of fashion movements. My notebook was filled with notes, even if lately I’d gotten sloppy.

  She looked at me, her expression gentle, but not exactly warm. “You seem to be struggling.”

  I sunk into the chair. Great. Add design work as one more thing I did horribly. I was supposed to be good at this. I was supposed to become a fashion designer. Apparently, the fashion world found me a fraud, too.

  Professor B. leaned her elbows against the desk. “Amelia, you’re talented. You’re the type of student who is naturally gifted and will excel in design school. What you lack is not talent but focus. Have you felt overwhelmed?”

  My thoughts jumbled together—how I’d taken off this afternoon, the party last night, lying to my friends. None of those things had anything to do with the internship. “I guess so. I mean, not about the fashion. Just …” Ethan. Myself. My family. “It’s kind of everything else.”

  “You’re only going into junior year—you’re one of our younger students here this summer. You have plenty of time to craft your skills. I’m hoping I can give you a few ideas and we can work on a plan for your goals. If, in fact, you truly want to pursue design school.”

  If? Of course I did. I’d always wanted to.

  The walls, the desk, Professor B. all came into sharp focus, like my brain photoflashed this for memory keeping later. I wanted to be good at this. I wanted to go to design school to become an amazing designer. The noise in my head demanding attention would need to be set aside. If I wanted this, Professor B. was right—I needed to use the skills and make my plan and nail this.

  I’d been so distracted. Had I wasted this entire experience?

  “I should get going, it’s late.” I gathered my joke of a design plan and shoved it into my bag.

  “It’s okay, I have time.” She gestured for me to stay seated. “Tell me a little about your schooling back home.”

  Professor B. and I talked about my next two years of high school. She suggested books and website resources and classes I could take at home. She asked if my school had a theater department with available costume work. I’d already wanted to join stage crew, but my high school was huge, and I’d talked myself out joining twice.

/>   “You are the only person who determines your future, Amelia. The choices you make right now will affect the rest of your life.”

  “Kind of freaky,” I said. I mean, no pressure or anything.

  She smiled. “Absolutely freaky. It’s also exciting. Choosing well now doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes. What I’d hate is for you to miss out on opportunities ahead of you.” She stood, smoothing her linen skirt and walking around her desk to open the office door. “At the same time, make sure you have some focus on the present. You don’t want to miss what’s right in front of you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Desiree couldn’t stay mad forever. Though our forever was only two more days. Two more days and then I’d board a plane back home to Miami.

  We’d each been busy enough to barely see each other during waking hours. After another field trip to a garment distributor, guest speakers, and projects, not confronting Desiree was easy.

  I was good at avoiding confrontation.

  Tonight, looking out my dorm window at the city’s buzz didn’t calm me. My elbow pressed against a sharp corner. Underneath a stack of flyers, receipts, and a city map, I uncovered the framed Laurenti photo. I’d faced it down the night of the party. I couldn’t stand to have the photo still here, but I couldn’t make myself throw it away.

  Looking at the photo now, in the brief moments before Desiree finished with her shower, a wistful pang hit. I almost wished I could go back to who I’d been before the internship. When I’d idolized Ethan. I still had another year before he left for college, and part of me believed we could still be together. Just because Ethan kissed a girl in New York didn’t mean he’d keep kissing her in Miami.

  He kissed a girl in New York. Who wasn’t me.

  The ache lingered days later.

  After talking with Professor B., I knew hanging on to those dreams was holding me back. I hadn’t intentionally been staying at home watching out the window, but how many times had I let opportunities go for other reasons? Scared? Overwhelmed? I couldn’t go back home and wait around for Ethan to notice me. It was time for me to move on.