by Chloe Taylor
“Did you make that shoelace necklace? Cool!”
“I love your bubble skirt! Where’d you get it?”
Not to mention the undeniable nod of approval that the principal, Ms. Austen, greeted Zoey with every morning. It was like an immunity booster that helped power her through the day.
Her blog was getting more followers also. A hundred new ones in a week! Where did they come from? Zoey wondered. She didn’t think it was kids from school. She hadn’t told a soul—except Libby, the new girl, who turned out to be as nice as she was shy. And Zoey had made it very clear to Kate and Priti that for now, at least, she liked keeping a wide moat between her real life and her cyber one.
She tried to update her blog every day with a new look and at least a line or two of thoughts, but sometimes it was hard to fit it in. She seemed to have twice as much homework this year as last year—maybe even more. And then there were Kate and Priti, who were 100 percent behind her blog, of course. But they were also 100 percent behind “don’t forget about your friends!” and “hang out with us!”
“You’ll be at my soccer game tonight, right?” asked Kate as soon as the season began.
And so Zoey stayed after school with Priti and went to Kate’s first home game.
That day she’d worn a white cotton sundress with green flats that she’d drawn zigzags on in permanent marker and a short-sleeved bolero jacket that she’d made out of her dad’s old sport coat. It was a brownish, orangish, greenish herringbone fabric that she’d never thought much of. But now, cut down and trimmed with brown velvet ribbon, it was positively beauteous!
There were no bleachers around the field, just grass, so Zoey and Priti stood. They waved to Kate, and she waved back as she huddled with her team around their coach. They were playing St. Bernadette’s, unfortunately, who were known for their swift and sure defeats. Zoey was not looking forward to Kate’s mood after the game, and she hoped she scored a goal, at least.
She also hoped the freshly cut grass wouldn’t stain her dress. White? What was I thinking? she wondered as she looked at the juicy green blades.
“Do you want to sit down?” asked Priti.
“Uh-uh!” said Zoey. “No way.”
“Hey, look. Here comes Ms. Austen,” Priti said, nodding down the field.
Zoey turned to see the principal gliding toward them across the lawn in three-inch heels.
Let St. B.’s have the best sports teams. We have her! Zoey thought. Was she actually feeling Mapleton Prep school pride?
Zoey had to admit that she’d never tried to imagine the perfect principal. (Had anyone even paired those two words together before?) But if she had to now, Zoey knew what she would do: She’d start with Ms. Austen—and she’d stop there too.
Ms. Austen was just really calm and cheerful and . . . reliable . . . like a TV talent show’s “nice” judge. Zoey bet there was nothing she wouldn’t do for a student, no matter how weird or unconventional that student was. And if, knock on wood, the whole school suddenly went up in flames, Zoey could see her pulling every student out of the fire—in designer heels, if she had to.
And speaking of heels, Zoey had already noticed in just a few weeks a wonderful pattern in the principal’s dress. Mondays and Wednesdays were suits. They could be pantsuits or skirts. And it had not been lost on Zoey the clever way she accessorized them. Tuesdays and Thursdays were dresses—sometimes a shirtdress or a wrap dress, but usually sheaths. And Fridays could be anything, just so it was black—and could go from day to evening (or so Zoey guessed since she had read about day-to-night outfits in magazines). In fact, Zoey had spent many a Friday morning, while Mr. Dunn droned on and on, imagining exactly how Ms. Austen might later pull off the transformation. A necklace, perhaps, and some earrings that dangled and sparkled (but not too much). Maybe she’d swap her plain heels for some strappier sandals. . . .
Today was a Thursday, and she was wearing a cobalt A-line dress with a color-block pattern.
“Hi, girls,” the principal said with a smile that made her eyes squint, so Zoey knew it was real.
“Hi, Ms. Austen,” said Zoey and Priti, almost together. They looked at each other and grinned.
“How nice of you two to come out to support the team. How can they lose, right, with you here to cheer for them?”
Priti squeezed some air into her cheeks and tried not to laugh.
Zoey shrugged and gently explained, “We’re really just here for our friend, Kate. I hate to break it to you, but our team doesn’t stand a chance.”
“No?” Ms. Austen looked out onto the field, where the game had just begun. “Oh . . . hmm . . . yes . . . St. Bernadette’s does look pretty tough.” She sighed and turned back to the girls, smiling. “That’s a lovely jacket, Zoey. I’ve never seen one quite like it before. Is it . . . vintage?” she asked.
Zoey adjusted the lapels. “Kind of . . .”
“She made it,” Priti said proudly.
Ms. Austen crossed her arms. “Really? I am impressed!”
“Well, I made it . . . but I didn’t make it make it,” Zoey quickly clarified. “I started with one of my dad’s old sport coats. There were some moth holes down at the bottom and the elbows were worn out. . . .” Zoey grinned. “And if I didn’t do something with it, he was going to wear it again.”
Ms. Austen laughed. “So you reused the fabric?”
Zoey nodded. “Yes, exactly. Basically.”
“Well, you know . . . ,” said Ms. Austen as her smile began to change. Somewhere behind her smoky blue eyes, wheels began to spin. “We’re having a fund-raiser coming up. Have you heard about it? A fashion show and auction . . .”
Zoey nodded. “Sure. For the music department, right?” She’d seen a sign in the lobby—and something on the school website.
“Exactly,” said Ms. Austen. “I’m hoping to use it to kick-start a bigger program. Maybe even a marching band. We did something like it at my last school, and it was a great success. We’re getting some dress stores downtown to donate outfits, and the students will model them—and hopefully lots of parents will bid and take them home at the end.”
“It sounds great,” said Zoey. She looked at Priti, who was nodding. “We’ll definitely go.”
“Well, I was thinking, how would you like to help out?” Ms. Austen asked.
Help? Her? Huh?
“Um . . . I don’t know,” Zoey said. She smiled back at Ms. Austen, but she couldn’t help shaking her head. The thought of walking down a runway in front of a room full of Mapleton parents gave her an instant stomachache. She could see Ms. Austen’s puzzled reaction, and she tried her best to explain. “I’m sorry, Ms. Austen, but even if it is for a really good cause . . . I don’t know if I could.”
“I’ll do it, though!” said Priti. “I mean, I’ve never modeled before, but I’ll try.”
“That’s great!” Ms. Austen smiled at her. “You’ll be wonderful, I know. But actually . . .” She turned back to Zoey. “I had a slightly different idea.”
A different idea? thought Zoey. Wait a second. Even if I don’t want to model in the show, she should still give me a chance to do it! That’s not like her at all.
So what was it Ms. Austen wanted her to do? Sell tickets? DJ? Zoey tried not to look too disappointed while she waited for Ms. Austen to go on.
“How would you like . . . I mean, I know this is a lot to ask. . . .” Ms. Austen slipped a glossy nail between her lips and bit down on the tip. “I was just thinking how nice it would be, Zoey, if you could design and donate a dress for the auction.”
Zoey scoured Ms. Austen’s face for signs that she was joking, but the principal’s expression was nothing but totally serious.
“Are you kidding?! Of course she would!” said Priti before Zoey could say a word.
“Oh, I think Zoey better answer this herself,” Ms. Austen said. “It would be a lot of work.”
Yes, thought Zoey. It would be a lot of work. It was sure to take a lot of time. . . . But to des
ign and make a dress for a real, live fashion show? How could she pass up a chance like that?
“Oh, I’d love to do it, Ms. Austen!” she said. “Thank you! Thank you so much! I will not let you down, I promise.”
“Yay!” All of a sudden, ecstatic cheers rang out.
Zoey spun around. What was that? Was the whole sideline cheering for her? Zoey was confused. . . .
“Hey, look!” said Priti, pointing. She started jumping up and down. “Kate scored a goal!”
“Yay, Kate!” Zoey shouted automatically as she started to jump too.
Yay, Kate! And yay, me! she thought. And yay, fashion show!
- - - - Chapter 8 - - - -
Mapleton Fashion Show Ideas
Muchas, muchas gracias, mis amigos, (does that count as Spanish homework, do you think?) for all your comments on my designs the other day. Those of you who said dress B was too Lady Gaga, yes, you were absolutely right. I totally see it now. And I was wondering who’d catch the obvious influence of Daphne Shaw in dress A. I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t help it. Her clothes are so amazing!
The big news is . . . drumroll, please . . . that the school principal asked me to design a dress for my school’s fashion show fund-raiser! I’m going to be designing a real dress for a real fashion show! Really! I know, right? It’s for the music department, and I’m the only student designer, and I can’t believe she wants me to do it! And this is the outfit I was wearing on the fateful day that she asked me: The white sundress was my mom’s. I had to cinch the back together with a binder clip to make it fit right, but with the jacket on top no one could tell. Oh. Oops! I guess my secret’s out. Oh well! And I made that little bolero jacket out of my dad’s old blazer. It was looking kind of frumpy before, but now it has a fabulous new life, right? And Ms. Austen LOVED it. And last but not least, see the green flats? I drew those squiggles in the middle of study hall. . . . (After I had finished my homework, I promise!) I’d say it was an excellent use of my time, don’t you think?
Well, I guess it’s back to the drawing board, then, literally. . . . I don’t have much time to design and sew this fashion show outfit, whatever it ends up being. I’m going to head to the thrift store to see if I can find some inspiration. I have a whole new appreciation now for what real designers must go through when they’re on a deadline! I feel so (kind of, maybe, a little) grown-up!
“So . . . what are we looking for exactly here?” Kate asked as she flipped through a flimsy chrome rack with the sign WOMEN’S DRESSES taped to the side.
Zoey looked over her shoulder and shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she replied. She turned back to the rack labeled WOMEN’S LONG-SLEEVE TOPS. “When I see it, I’ll know . . . I hope.”
They were at the thrift store, along with Priti, on a mission to find something—even if they didn’t know what. Something to help Zoey come up with an amazing design for the two-weeks-away Mapleton Prep fashion show. Yes, Zoey knew she had plenty of sketches she could just go with (which was what Kate and Priti had urged her to do several times), but she also knew that actually constructing any of them with her current sewing skills would be a challenge. She had no idea how to make her own patterns, and though it was something she wanted to learn, she didn’t quite see it happening in time for the show. She decided to do some kind of a twist on a classic shape.
Kate held up a bright pink muumuu wide enough to shroud her mom’s minivan. “How about this?” she called to Zoey. “Does this give you any ideas?”
Zoey winced. “Oh yeah. But you don’t want to know them. Please put that thing back.” She laughed.
“I don’t know . . . ,” Kate went on. “I think we should all try it on. Together! Hey, Priti.” She looked around. “Where’d she go?”
Zoey nodded toward the back, past the shoes, to the toys and games and books. “Guess.”
“Oh right.” Kate laughed. “Fifty-cent paperbacks. Of course.”
Zoey moved away from the shirts and joined Kate by the dress rack. She pulled out a denim dress and considered it. What was she thinking? She put it back.
“How ugly is this?” said Kate, holding up the lace-edged sleeve of a purple-rose-covered print.
“Uh, Kate . . .” Zoey grinned. “I’m pretty sure your mom has that dress in yellow.”
Kate eyed it again. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! She totally does. Oops!” She giggled and shoved it back into its place. “Don’t tell her I said that, okay? I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“Of course not. Hey, let’s look over there,” Zoey said, pointing to the end of the row, where a single, lonely, “formal wear” rack held a few dangling dresses.
Zoey had been to the thrift store enough times to be able to guess where the dresses were from. Pastels came from bridesmaids—pretty much as soon as the wedding cake was cut. Jewel colors came from high school seniors the day after their prom.
For a change, though, there was something different on the rack this time—something you didn’t see every day: an almost shiny, meringue-like wedding dress with ginormous, ruffled sleeves.
“Do you think someone actually wore this?” Kate asked, pushing its rustley neighbors aside.
“Oh, I’m sure they did,” said Zoey. “That’s the thing about fashion, you know? In the 1980s, this was it. Remember Sixteen Candles?” She checked the price tag. “Twenty dollars. You know, it’s probably worth that just for all this lace . . . if it wasn’t so yellow.” Unfortunately, it also kind of reminded her of a doily.
“Let’s check out the skirts.” Zoey grabbed Kate’s hand and started to pull her down the aisle. Then all of a sudden they heard the “Du-du-dahhhh, du-du-dahhhh, du-du-dahhhh” of the “Stars and Stripes Forever.”
Zoey spun around. “What is that?”
They both stopped and looked around until they spotted the source. It was Priti marching toward them with a lanky brass trombone, wearing a deep blue-and-yellow marching-band coat.
“What do you think?” She stopped humming and whipped her shoulders and her horn to the right and the left. As she did, Zoey caught the design on the back: a big, grinning bumblebee.
“Is it me?” Priti asked. “I’m thinking yes. Maybe I should join the new marching band!”
Whoa. Zoey wasn’t sure if it was just a feeling . . . or if a light bulb really had just gone off in her head. “Where did you find that, Priti?”
“With the toys and books and stuff,” Priti said.
“It’s amazing!”
“You think?” said Priti. She held the trombone out for Zoey to take.
“Not that!” Zoey told her. “The coat. The coat! It’s perfect!”
She reached out and traced her index finger along the gold braid that loop-de-looped along the sleeves. It curled all the way up to the shoulders, where stiff gold epaulettes rained gold fringe down over it. There were more ropes of gold crisscrossing the front, and three rows of shiny, nickel-size brass buttons.
“Really?” said Kate. She looked worried. “I don’t know, Zo. . . . It’s cool, but I don’t think this is what Ms. Austen has in mind . . . at all.”
“Yeah.” Priti nodded. “Remember, Zo. You want to make something that people will want to bid on in the auction. Don’t you?”
“Relax, guys,” said Zoey. “I don’t mean I want to use this actual coat.” At least, she thought, not for the fashion show . . . “But all this braid and fringe and buttons . . . They’re classic trimmings for marching-band uniforms. The fashion show is raising money for the music department, so it’s perfect!”
Priti turned her back so it faced Zoey. “And don’t forget the bee!”
“Funny.” Zoey grinned and turned to Kate. “So we’re good. Now all we have to do is go back home and measure you.”
“Measure me?” Kate pulled her chin in. “What are you talking about? Why?”
“So we know the dress that I make will fit you,” said Zoey. “It’s going to be kind of sporty, and I think it would look great on you!”
&nb
sp; “Make it fit me?” Kate took a step back, as if she were about to run for her life.
“Watch out!” Zoey warned as Kate nearly knocked down a rack of purses. “Anyway, just think about it, okay?” she asked.
Kate’s head began to shake. “Wait. You’re joking, right?”
“No, not really,” said Zoey. “It would be a big help!”
“I’m helping by being here with you. And I’ll go to the show . . . to watch and cheer you on. But I’m not walking down a runway or anything. No way. Sorry, Zo.”
Zoey sighed. “Okay, then . . . Priti, you’re hired.” She turned to her friend. Priti would walk down anything, no problem. So why wasn’t she smiling back?
“But . . . I already have a dress, Zo. . . . I picked it out and it’s all set,” Priti said. “I don’t know if I can change it now. Why don’t you just model it?”
“Yeah.” Kate nodded. “You should do it. After all, it’s your dress.”
“Exactly!” said Zoey. “Which is why I can’t do it. Designers don’t model their own clothes.”
“I’m sure some of them do,” Kate told her.
“But it’s easier to do dress fittings on someone else.” Zoey crossed her arms. “Come on, Kate. Please.” Zoey pleaded. “Just this once? You might even have fun!”
Kate crossed her arms right back at Zoey and flatly shook her head. Zoey got it, of course, since she didn’t want to be up there onstage any more than Kate.
“You should do it, Zo,” said Priti.
“But, guys, I’m going to be nervous enough just showing a dress—I know it. There’s no way I can model it in front of everyone, too.”
“Well, then,” Kate said simply, “ask somebody else. Sorry, Zoey.”
Zoey sighed. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too.”
