by Chloe Taylor
“And besides,” Kate went on with a teasing smirk, “what do you have so far, Miss Fashion Guru?”
Zoey looked down guiltily at the lone tank top she was holding. “I know. What can I say? I’m not having much luck, either.” She looked back up at her friends and then let her eyes roam the racks of clothes. “I think my problem is that I have something in mind,” she said. “And I don’t think I see it here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Priti.
“I have an idea of what I want to wear . . . but I’m starting to wonder if it even exists.”
“Well, let us help you find it!” Priti said.
“Should we look somewhere else?” Kate asked. “There are a lot more stores in the mall. Though . . . maybe we should eat first. . . . I’m starving. Food. That’s what I want. Are there any good stores on the way to the food court?”
“Kate, it’s only eleven thirty!” Priti laughed.
“Here. Want some gum?” Zoey reached in her bag and pulled out a pack.
Kate shook her head. “I shouldn’t . . . the braces.” Then she reached out her hand and took a piece. “Oh, what do I care? They’re coming off soon. Thanks,” she said, popping it into her mouth. “But remind me to spit it out before we meet my mom. She doesn’t want me to chew gum and risk popping off another bracket.”
“So what are you looking for, Zo?” asked Priti, whose braces weren’t coming off soon, so she watched Zoey put the gum back into her bag.
Zoey shrugged. “I’d show you guys if I had my sketchbook,” she said. “I’ve been drawing a bunch of ideas for clothes at Camp Lulu. Hey, do you want to come home with me and see them? Maybe you could sleep over?”
“I’m in!” said Priti instantly.
“Me too,” said Kate. “Let’s go ask my mom.”
Mrs. Mackey had driven them all over after Kate’s morning swim meet and had left them to shop on their own while she got her glasses fixed. She had the kind of lenses that turned into sunglasses as soon as she stepped outside. Somehow, though, one eye had stopped changing and was permanently dark.
“Hang on, guys!” Priti held up her free hand. “I still have to try all this stuff on!”
“Well, hurry,” Kate said. “I could eat a shark.”
Priti did her best to power through trying on the pieces she’d picked out, but she still had to decide what to buy.
“I think the key is getting a few basics,” advised Zoey. “Things that mix and match with one another. And that you can totally reinvent depending on how you wear them. Like that hot pink cardigan with the funky buttons . . . You can wear it over a tank top,” she told Priti, “or turn it around and button it up the back and push up the sleeves. It’s like two for one!”
“Sold!” said Priti. “And I need the teal and floral shirts. And those black skinny jeans. And that adorable green skirt with the teensy-weensy polka dots.” She paused for a second, holding up a pair of bright red jeans. “These are perfect, right?”
“Right,” said Zoey. “They’re so fun!”
“Okay, that’s all true,” added Kate. “But, Priti, that’s a lot of clothes. Are you sure your parents are going to be okay with it?”
“Well, my mom took pity on me. It’s my first time shopping for school, so she’s letting me buy a few outfits,” she said, but decided to keep the receipts, just in case.
Zoey stepped up to the register with a new pair of jeans, a navy-and-fluorescent-green-striped tank top with gold buttons on the side, and an amazing patterned bangle bracelet. Zoey slipped the bracelet on her wrist.
“I know this is going to sound funny, but this zigzag bracelet makes me happy,” she said, smiling at Kate and Priti. “It’ll go with everything, too.”
“Awesome!” Priti said. “That’s what my sisters call a ‘signature accessory.’ What about you, Kate? Did you find anything you love?”
Kate was clutching a few pairs of jeans and some T-shirts, but didn’t look convinced. “I’m sorry, guys, but I really don’t want these jeans, even if you like the way they look. I can’t move in them,” she said with a groan. Until, that is, Zoey reminded her of one important fact:
“You know, if you don’t get anything new, Kate, you’re going to have to wear your old uniform to school.”
“Yeah, talk about standing out,” Priti playfully informed her.
“Okay, fine.” Kate sighed, letting a smile sneak out. She picked up a gray T-shirt and some jeans that were clearly a size too big for her.
“Are you sure about those?” asked Zoey.
“I’ll grow into them,” Kate said.
“Okay, but try this too,” Zoey said, adding a preppy shirtdress to the pile. It was in Kate’s favorite color, pale blue, and had a sporty white stripe down the side. It looked cute but comfy.
Mrs. Mackey walked in and found them just as Kate was getting ready to pay. Kate’s mom was wearing her typical summer weekend ensemble—a white shirt with the collar turned up and a pair of khaki pants embroidered with little green ducks. Her lenses had been fixed, and both eyes smiled eagerly at them.
“So, how did you girls do? Need any fashion advice?” she asked.
Zoey wisely rejected the temptation to look at Priti or Kate.
“Nope, we’re all good, Mom. Zoey was like our own personal fashion consultant,” Kate said. “But how about we stop for ice cream? I’m starving!”
“Sure!” said her mom. Then her grin turned to a frown. “Katherine Quinn Mackey! Are you chewing gum?”
- - - - Chapter 3 - - - -
“Honestly, Zoey, these are just awesome!” Priti slowly turned through the pages of Zoey’s latest sketchbook, pausing to ooh and aah over every one. “How’d you keep this a secret all summer? You’re brilliant!”
“No, I’m not, I swear!” Zoey said shyly. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to keep it a secret. I just was doing them for fun . . . not to show anyone.”
“Well, they’re so cool!” Kate said, nodding as she leafed through the other older sketchbook. “Ooh! I like this dress—with the bows on the shoulders.” She pointed to a red gown with a neckline that plunged into a deep V that Zoey had dreamed up after watching an awards show on TV.
“You do?” Zoey eyed her.
Priti peered over and looked surprised too.
Kate started to blush. “Not for me,” she said quickly. “For someone, you know, grown up.”
The girls were holed up in Zoey’s bedroom, lined up like piano keys across her bed.
“Here’s a dress I thought might work for school, if I could find it,” Zoey told them, pointing at a sketch of a delicately pleated dress. “But I don’t know if I love it anymore.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Priti. “It’s amazing! I knew you were a good artist, Zoey—but you’re a born designer, too.”
“A born designer? I wish!” Zoey said. Priti was probably exaggerating—as she sometimes did—but the thought of it made Zoey’s cheeks burn.
“Where do you get all these ideas?” Kate asked.
Zoey shrugged. “I don’t know . . . Magazines? And TV, I guess. But mostly I just start drawing and somehow they just kind of . . . come out.”
“You know what I think?” said Priti, suddenly serious.
Zoey looked at her. “No. What?”
“I think these would make for a really awesome blog.”
Zoey’s right eyebrow went up and she chuckled as she pushed herself to her knees. “Yeah. A blog. Right. So what do you guys want to do now?” she went on, dismissing the thought. “Want to see if my brother left any ice cream in the house?”
“Yes!” Kate started to spring up, but Priti pulled her back.
“I’m serious!” said Priti. “Can’t you see it, Zoey?” She held up Zoey’s open sketchbook in front of her and waited for her to nod.
But Zoey couldn’t see it. Not at all. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean a blog,” said Priti. “Like the one Justin Bieber has. Only abou
t this.” She pointed to Zoey’s sketchbook. “Instead of about going on tour and stopping by the TODAY Show and being gorgeous.”
Zoey laughed, then frowned. “Oh, come on. Who would read it?”
Priti shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I do.” Kate spoke up.
“Who?” asked Zoey.
“Us!”
“Ha-ha, thanks, Kate,” Zoey said, her face turning a little redder with embarrassment.
“Yeah, us! Exactly,” said Priti. “Why not try it, Zo? We’ll help you. It’ll be fun!”
“And you won’t have to write much,” said Kate.
“Plus, it’s easy,” Priti assured her. “Seriously. You know, my mom even has one, and she hates computers. So how hard could it be?”
“Let’s check it out. Where’s your laptop, Zo?” Kate asked Zoey, scanning the room.
Zoey pointed to her desk. Her laptop was there, buried under her stack of fashion magazines and Coco Chanel coffee table book.
Kate brought it back to the bed and lifted the top. Zoey typed in her password and then let Priti bring up her mom’s blog.
The title “Karma Mama” ran in elegant type across the top of the page. Below it was a picture of what looked like a typical, delicious dinner at the Holbrooke house.
“ ‘Masala Mondays: Chicken Tikka Masala.’ ” Kate read the caption. “Yum! That looks good.”
“It’s a lot of Indian recipes,” Priti apologized. “And the occasional story about us. No! Don’t read it!” She grabbed Kate’s hand before she could scroll down to see more pictures and posts. “It’s really embarrassing.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s awesome!” said Zoey. “You know, your mom’s a great cook. I made some pancakes inspired by those coconut cardamom desserts she makes. What are those called again?”
“Burfis?” said Priti, shy for once.
“Well, they’re my favorites! The pancake version didn’t turn out so well, but that’s not the point. It’s really cool that she has a food blog.”
“Thanks, Zoey,” said Priti. “I guess it is kind of cool.”
But Zoey still wasn’t sure how her sketchbooks could turn into a blog.
“So you basically just follow the website’s directions,” Priti said. “We’ll choose a blog template, scan and upload the sketches . . . type in something about them—and bam! Done.”
“Fun!” said Kate. “Let’s do it.”
“Sure. Why not?” Zoey finally agreed. She was positive it wouldn’t be as easy as Priti described, but actually, when they got started, it wasn’t all that big a deal. They went to the blogging website that Priti’s mom used and scrolled through pages of templates. One caught Zoey’s eye right away.
“That one?” said Zoey, pointing to the screen.
“I love it! Wow, that was even easier than I thought,” said Priti.
Zoey clicked on the select button. Then another window popped up asking for a name for the blog. “Oh right. We have to think of a name.”
“Something catchy and simple,” said Priti. “So people can remember it.”
“Hmm,” said Zoey, with a long, drawn-out pause. “I have no idea.”
“Neither do I,” said Kate.
“How about something simple, like ‘Zoey’s Blog’?” Zoey asked, tentatively typing it in.
“Maybe that’s too simple,” Priti said as she watched her. “That could be a blog about anything. Let’s have fun with it and find a name that just screams ‘fashion’ the second you hear it.”
“Good point,” Zoey told her as a notice popped up. “Besides, it looks like some other Zoey with a blog already beat us to it. Okay, next?” She set her elbows in front of the keyboard and let her chin rest on her hands, then turned to Kate. “Any ideas?”
“Well . . .” Kate’s smooth, tan forehead wrinkled as she tried to think. “How about . . .” She bit her lip. “No, never mind. That’s silly. Mmm . . . well, how about . . .” She twirled her hair. “No, that wouldn’t work. It’s even worse.”
Zoey sighed.
“Hey, I know!” said Priti. “How’s this: ‘Fashion Passion.’ ” She beamed. “What do you think?”
Zoey squinted. “I don’t know. I get it, but it sounds kind of intense . . . and so not me.”
“Ha!” Kate laughed. “Sew you! Get it? Because you ‘sew’ clothes? Hey, maybe that’s it. Sew Zoey! And spell it s-e-w instead of s-o!”
Priti’s face lit up and she started nodding. She turned to Zoey to see what she thought.
Zoey cocked her head for a second. Then she grinned. “It’s kind of cute.”
“But wait, do you know how to sew?” Kate asked Zoey.
“Well . . . a little, but not much,” Zoey said. “Not enough to make clothes like this. How cool would that be?” She pointed at a page in her sketchbook.
“No worries, Zo. You’ll pick it up fast, I bet. It’s the perfect name. Let’s type it in,” said Priti, “and hope that it’s not taken yet.” The girls held their breaths and crossed their fingers.
A little green light showed up next to the name “Sew Zoey.”
“Got it!” yelled Kate, hugging Zoey.
“Awesome!” said Priti, jumping up and down.
The girls played around with the design a bit more, but soon the Sew Zoey blog was up for the entire world to see.
“Now you just need to upload a photo of one of your sketches and write something,” said Priti.
“Like what?” Zoey asked.
“Anything! What you think about fashion. Who you are. Why you’re starting this blog.”
“Okay . . .” Zoey smiled and bent over the keyboard and began to type away:
Hi, everyone! I’m Zoey—and this is . . . (drumroll, please) . . . My First Blog Post on my very first blog! As you can see, I like to draw crazy, fabulous clothes. I definitely don’t consider myself a “designer”—but I hope to become one someday. That or an archeologist. Or maybe both . . . We’ll see! My current fashion idols are Blake and Bauer and (of course!) Daphne Shaw, so yes, you might notice some shameless reinterpretation of past seasons now and then, I’m sure. I’m kind of (okay, very!) new at this, so bear with me while I figure it out. Though, if you’re reading this, you’re either (a) one of my best friends (Hi, girls!) who talked me into this and are looking over my shoulder right now or (b) someone who googled one or both of these words and got here by accident (Hi to you too!), in which case you’re probably not planning to come back. But feel free to . . . I’ll be here blogging and sketching and sewing! Sew long for now!
She clicked post and there it was. Up for anyone to read.
“You’re funny!” Priti giggled, and then she logged Zoey out. She pulled the page back up and logged into her account. “Now I’m going to be your first comment,” she declared with a giant grin.
Dear Sew Zoey, I love your blog! I would totally buy that dress if you made it! Keep up the good work!
“Ooh, let me add a line!” Kate said, moving in on the keyboard.
Btw, your blog name is SEW good!
“There!” Kate hit enter. Then she picked one of Zoey’s sketchbooks back up. “You know, I really would wear some of these clothes if you made them. Think you could?”
“Oh, I don’t think so, at least not yet.” Zoey shook her head. “I can make a skirt, maybe, with my aunt’s help, but that’s about it. . . .” Then before she knew it—without any warning at all—a lump wedged itself deep in her neck.
“What’s the matter?” Kate asked quickly, reading the new look on Zoey’s face. “I’m sorry. . . . What did I say?”
Zoey sighed. She wanted to answer Kate. It just wasn’t an answer she wanted to talk about. Her mom was a subject she never brought up much with her friends. After all, what was there to say? Kate and Priti knew her mom was dead. It was just a fact of life—like that Kate was an only child or that Priti was Indian American.
“No, you didn’t say anything wrong,” said Zoey. “It’s just . . . all this talk about
sewing made me think about my mom. She sewed all the time. . . . She made half her clothes. And my brother’s. And mine. I didn’t really know her, but I miss her sometimes.”
She leaned over and reached across her bed to pick up something from her nightstand. It was a photo in a frame covered with polka-dot cloth. A pretty young woman smiled out from it, holding a baby on her hip. Zoey’s friends noticed two things about the pair almost right away: Their dresses matched, and even matched the fabric on the frame, and that Zoey and the woman had exactly the same smile.
“She made us matching outfits for my first birthday. See?” Zoey said.
“You look so cute!” said Priti.
“Did she make the frame too?” asked Kate. “That’s so . . .” She put her hand gently on Zoey’s shoulder. “That’s really cool, you know?”
“I know.” Zoey smiled. It really was. “It was something she loved doing . . . and I know she would have taught me a lot . . . if she were here.” Zoey let out a breath. “Hey, you want to see something else?” She hadn’t meant to interrupt their fun—or hers either—with such a sad subject. She carefully set the picture back down on the nightstand where it belonged. “Check this out.” She slid off her bed and crossed her room to her closet and slid the doors wide apart.
“Come on.” She nodded to her friends to follow, and as they did, she pushed the carefully color-coded clothes in her closet way back to the left side of the rack. Then she reached into the right side of the closet and slid a whole other group of clothes out. “Ta-da!” she said.
“What are these?” asked Priti.
“My mom’s clothes. She made them!” Zoey said. “Aren’t they awesome?”
“Your mom sewed all these herself?” Kate said. Her eyes grew huge as she leaned in close. “Wow! Look at all of them.”
She and Priti took in the collection, including Zoey’s mother’s birthday dress. There was also a flowy white sundress, a pink cardigan, paisley pants, and all sorts of other clothes. They looked like things you’d find in a really cool store—and probably spend a fortune on.
