Stitches and Stones

by Chloe Taylor

  For a moment, all four girls were quiet.

  Then Libby asked, “What are we going to do?”

  Priti sat up straighter and put on her best pep-talk voice. “We’re going to go out there and give it our best. I refuse to let them win!”

  Zoey smiled. That was so very Priti. The girls nodded in agreement and waited for the song to end.

  Zoey wanted to hate Ivy, Bree, and Shannon’s performance, but she had to admit they did pretty well, and they certainly got a decent amount of applause from the crowd. As the clapping petered out, Ms. Austen spoke again.

  “Nice singing, girls. Okay, next up, we’ve got Priti Holbrooke, Libby Flynn, Kate Mackey, and Zoey Webber!” Ms. Austen said. “And . . . oh . . . it looks like they’re also singing ‘Be Yourself.’ Great minds think alike!”

  Zoey heard whispers coming from the audience as they walked up to the stage.

  “Quiet, everyone,” Ms. Austen said.

  It’s going to be fine, Zoey told herself as got into position. If I can handle Fashion Showdown, I can totally handle this.

  But when the music started, Zoey stood frozen in place for what felt like an eternity. When she saw the familiar faces in the crowd—particularly Lorenzo’s face—her mind went completely blank. She looked over at Priti, Libby, and Kate: They were getting into the music and seemed to be actually having fun. Maybe I can just sneak offstage and no one will notice, Zoey thought.

  She wished the floor would open up and make her disappear—until she caught sight of both Gabe and Ms. Austen smiling and nodding at her encouragingly, as if to say, Come on, Zoey, you can do this!

  That was enough to make her snap out of it.

  Glancing at Priti, she was able to pick up exactly where they were in the dance, and she rocked the rest of the song and the dance routine.

  What’s more, she actually had fun!

  When the music stopped, the whole auditorium jumped to their feet and started to clap wildly.

  “Nice job,” Ms. Austen said as they walked off the stage.

  Gabe smiled at Zoey and gave her a high five as she walked by.

  When they reached their seats and sat down, Kate, Priti, and Libby looked visibly relieved. Zoey was still reeling from her episode of stage fright.

  “I can’t believe I froze like that,” Zoey said. “Did it totally ruin everything?”

  “People barely noticed,” Priti said. “It was only for, like, two seconds.”

  “Two seconds!” Zoey exclaimed. “It felt like an hour!”

  “It might have felt like an hour, but it wasn’t,” Libby said. “It just looked like you hesitated for a second or two.”

  “Whew! So I didn’t look like a complete dork.” Zoey sighed in relief. “And I think they liked us a little better than Ivy’s group.”

  “Absolutely,” Priti said.

  “Good job, guys!” Kate added. “We showed them!”

  It still wasn’t enough to win the competition, though. A group of eighth graders came in first place. But then Ms. Austen said she had an impromptu award to give out.

  “I was so impressed with the razzle-dazzle accessories worn by Priti, Libby, Zoey, and Kate, that I’m giving them the Most Pizzazz award,” she announced.

  Zoey practically skipped up the aisle with the others to get her certificate, which Ms. Austen had hastily written out backstage. She was excited to have won something for her original designs. She knew she hadn’t put in her best effort this week because of all the distractions on her blog, but sewing was her thing, so it would have been really disappointing not to win anything at all.

  “Today turned out to be fun, but I am so glad this week is over!” Zoey confessed to Kate on the bus home.

  “I know. It’s been a tough week for you. Did you get to speak to your dad last night?”

  “No,” Zoey said, moaning. “He really did take a long shower. I guess I fell asleep. And I didn’t want to bother him.”

  “You have to talk to him over the weekend, Zo,” Kate said. “Especially if there are more comments.”

  “I know,” Zoey said. “It’s gotten to the point where I dread going home to check my blog instead of looking forward to it—and that’s totally cray, right?”

  “Seriously cray,” Kate agreed.

  “I’ll definitely talk to Dad,” Zoey promised.

  When she got home, Zoey had a snack and then went up to her room to get her laptop. She felt a sense of foreboding as she clicked on the shortcut for her blog.

  The first few comments were from her usual readers, complimenting her on the accessories and asking how the karaoke competition went. But then . . . more mean comments! Really mean ones. So mean that Zoey slammed her laptop shut. She didn’t want to read any more of them. She didn’t want to even look at her blog. It had always been fun, but now it wasn’t.

  This isn’t going away, Zoey thought. It’s getting worse. Why do people I don’t even know hate me so much?

  It was definitely time to talk to her father.

  This was too big for her to handle by herself.

  - - - - CHAPTER 7 - - - -

  To Blog or Not to Blog

  I hate to admit it, but I’m glad Spirit Week is over. That sounds very spiritless of me, doesn’t it? Thanks for asking about the karaoke contest. After a moment that seemed like an hour of me completely freezing up, I pulled myself together and had a great time. I might not be the best singer in the world, but between us, we make a great group. We didn’t win the karaoke competition, but we did win an award for Most Pizzazz for our sparkletastic accessories. That made me feel pretty good, and Kate and Libby won Best Team Costume for the Oreos and milk costume, which was awesome too.

  But to tell you the truth, this week has been kind of crummy—mostly because of what’s been taking place right here on Sew Zoey. I’m feeling pretty blogged out, and it’s made me think seriously about if I even want to keep blogging at all. That question is the inspiration for today’s clothing sketches. Don’t get me wrong—I love this blog, and I’ve learned so much from the feedback and the comments you’ve posted. You inspire me to try new things and to work harder, and you’ve helped me find solutions to sewing problems—and sometimes even to middle school ones, too!

  But you might have noticed there have been some new readers on the blog, and a bunch of comments that . . . well . . . aren’t very nice. That’s actually putting it mildly. Some of them have been really, really mean. I’ve thought about it, and while I know it’s a free country and we have a right to free speech and all that, this is my blog, so I get to set the rules. Like Dad says if Marcus and I argue with him when he’s laid down the law about something, “This country might be a democracy, but this house isn’t.”

  So here they are—and there are only two, so it’s not like I’m getting too bossy or anything, I hope:

  1. Sew Zoey welcomes constructive criticism, but nasty comments will be deleted.

  2. Users who write nasty comments will be blocked.

  I think that’s fair, don’t you? We should all be able to come here without having to worry about people being mean. It’s bad enough having to deal with that at school.

  Zoey spent Friday night curled up on the sofa, watching movies and worrying. What if the people from Très Chic read her blog and started to believe the stuff the mean commenters wrote? What if they thought she really was a fraud who didn’t design and sew her own clothes and decided not to include her in the online feature? It would be so awful to be cut when none of that was even true!

  Maybe she should just take a break from Sew Zoey. Or just stop doing it, period.

  But the thought of not doing Sew Zoey made her even sadder than the nasty comments. In the short time since she started the blog, so many great things had come from it. She had a secret fashion fairy godmother, Fashionsista, who was an amazing mentor and, even more than that, a friend who sent her encouraging notes and gifts. She’d been invited to be a guest judge on her favorite TV show, Fashion Showdow
n. And now, she was about to be part of a feature on teen designers in her absolute favorite fashion magazine of all time, Très Chic. None of those amazing things would have happened if she hadn’t started Sew Zoey. It seemed wrong—even worse, totally unfair—that she would lose that because some mystery people were acting mean. If she stopped blogging, she’d also miss the Sew Zoey readers. Even though they hadn’t met, they felt like friends.

  Zoey knew one thing for sure: No matter what, even if she stopped blogging, she would never stop sewing, sketching, and coming up with ideas for clothes. That was as much a part of her as breathing.

  Marcus came up from the basement, where he’d been practicing his drums since after dinner, and flopped onto the end of the sofa.

  “When’s Dad coming home?” Zoey asked. “He’s hardly been home all week.”

  She knew she sounded whiny, but . . . she missed having her dad around at dinner every night.

  “I know, Zo, but Eastern State has a big championship game coming up the week after next, and some of the big players have injuries. Dad has got to do extra PT sessions with them, so they’re ready to play.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” Zoey hesitated.

  “It stinks when he comes home late and tired every night.”

  “Yeah. That,” Zoey said. “At least he’s not working tomorrow.”

  “Zoey,” Marcus began. “Is everything okay?”

  Zoey thought about telling him everything about the blog, but when she tried to speak, nothing came out. Finally, she mumbled, “Yeah, I just need to talk to Dad.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Okay, well, I can think of something that will cheer you up in the meantime,” Marcus said. “The latest Très Chic came in the mail today.”

  Marcus definitely knew how to make her feel better. A new issue of Très Chic to look through?

  Zoey’s evening was looking up!

  The next morning her dad was home, and not only that, he’d made special pancakes with a secret ingredient Zoey and Marcus had to guess.

  “Something citrusy,” Marcus said.

  “Yes . . . Orange zest?” Zoey guessed.

  “You got it!” Mr. Webber said. “And here’s some freshly squeezed orange juice from the de-zested oranges.”

  It was great having him around, and not tired and distracted like he’d been all week.

  “What time are we meeting this young lady with the blog?” her dad asked. “And where?”

  “Ten thirty,” Zoey said. “At A Stitch in Time. Her name’s Allie, and she designs handbags and accessories.”

  “How old is this Allie again?” Mr. Webber asked.

  “She’s in high school,” Zoey said. “Her mom is coming too.”

  “Maybe I should start a music site,” Marcus said. “Zoey gets to meet all these people and be on TV and in magazines because of her blog. I’m so proud of you, sis!”

  Zoey was about to say that it wasn’t all about meeting cool people—there were some bad parts too. But she decided to wait and speak to her father when they were alone. Would Marcus be proud of her if he knew what people were saying?

  She finally got her opportunity to talk to her dad when they were in the car on the way to A Stitch in Time.

  “Dad, I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Go ahead, Zo. Shoot.”

  “Well . . . it’s my blog. It just started this week, but . . . there have been all these horrible comments on it. Really mean stuff. It’s been awful. I’ve tried blocking the users, but then new users come and say the same kinds of things. I don’t know who is doing it . . . but I hate it! It’s making Sew Zoey not fun anymore.”

  “Honey—that’s terrible! Why didn’t you say something to me before now?”

  “You haven’t been home that much this week,” Zoey pointed out. “And when you have been home, you’ve been really tired. And I didn’t know what to say. I was also a little embarrassed, and I thought I could take care of it myself.”

  “I’m so sorry, Zoey. I got a little behind on reading your blog since work has been crazy. But I thought I was mostly caught up and”—he paused as he came to a realization—“Oh! I guess I usually just read the blog posts, not the comments.”

  “That’s okay, Dad,” Zoey said, remembering her blog posts often received dozens of comments—sometimes more than a hundred. “Besides, I think I deleted all the bad ones, so you might have missed them. I just don’t know what else to do. Can you please help me make it stop?”

  At that, she burst into tears. They were tears of hurt and tears of relief and tears of frustration, and she couldn’t stop them from flowing.

  “Of course I will, Zo. I’ll do everything I can to get to the bottom of this,” her father said. “I’m sorry work has been so crazy that I haven’t been around as much this week.”

  He stopped the car at the red light and looked at her, dabbing her eyes with a tissue before rubbing her back.

  “Zoey, I want you to remember you and Marcus are always my number-one priority, no matter what else is going on, so if you’re upset about something, you can tell me about it no matter how tired I am from work. Do you understand that?”

  Zoey nodded. She felt like if she spoke again, she’d let loose another flood of tears. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  “Okay, then. I mean it. Anything. Don’t forget.”

  The light changed, and they continued up the street, then turned into the parking lot for A Stitch in Time.

  “Leave this to me, Zoey,” her dad said as he pulled into a spot. “I have an idea about what we can do.”

  Zoey was so relieved that her dad was handling everything now and that he hadn’t totally freaked out and told her she couldn’t ever blog again. She wished she had spoken to him earlier.

  They stayed in the parked car for a few minutes. Mr. Webber gave Zoey one of his famous bear hugs, and Zoey felt better than she had in days.

  “Just take some deep breaths, and we’ll go in when you’re ready,” he said.

  “Do I look okay?” Zoey asked, glancing at her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror on the passenger-side’s visor.

  “You look beautiful, baby,” he said. “Inside and out.”

  Feeling like a weight had been taken off her shoulders, Zoey had a smile on her face when she walked through the doors of A Stitch in Time. She was immediately greeted with a big smile in return from the owner, Jan.

  “Zoey! I hear you’ve come to meet another of my favorite customers, Allie,” Jan said.

  “That’s right. We’re both going to be in a feature about young designers for the online edition of Très Chic,” Zoey said.

  “I saw it in your blog,” Jan said. “So exciting! Allie said they’re going to shoot a few pictures in the store.” Then she turned to Zoey’s dad. “And you must be Mr. Webber.”

  “I prefer to go by the name Dad of the Designer,” Zoey’s dad joked. “But Mr. Webber works too.”

  Jan laughed as she came out from behind the counter.

  “Allie and her mom are in the notions aisle. Come on and I’ll introduce you.”

  “Jan, if you don’t mind—can I leave Zoey in your capable hands while I make a quick phone call?” Mr. Webber asked. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Jan said, tucking Zoey’s hand in the crook of her elbow and leading her toward the notions.

  Allie was looking at decorative trim, one of Zoey’s favorite sections, as her mom perused the buttons. Allie was almost as tall as Libby, with really long, really curly brown hair.

  “Allie Lovallo, I’d like you to meet Zoey Webber,” Jan said. “Two of my favorite young customers.”

  “Hi, Zoey!” Allie said, her face lighting up with a wide smile. “It’s so great to meet you. I love your blog.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too,” Zoey said. “Your bags are amazing.”

  “How long have you been blogging?” Allie asked.

  “Not very long,” Zoey said. “One of my frien
ds, Priti, suggested it as a way of showing off my designs. Her mom has a food blog.”

  “I love the name Sew Zoey.”

  “One of my other friends, Kate, came up with that. I guess it was kind of a group effort!” Zoey said, smiling as she remembered. It wasn’t that long ago, but so much had happened because of it. “How about you?”

  “I started a few years ago, because I wanted to show my bags and accessories to people besides my family and friends. I’ve linked my blog to an Etsy store now, so I’m even starting to sell things. The money will come in handy for college.”

  “Wow. That’s awesome,” Zoey said. “College seems so far away to me.”

  “Before you know it, you’ll be a junior like me, and then it’ll be right around the corner,” Allie said.

  “Where are you thinking about going?” Zoey asked.

  “My top choice is Parsons The New School for Design,” Allie said. “But I’m looking at a whole list of schools.”

  “Wait. . . . You mean I could go to college to study fashion design?”

  Allie laughed. “Sure! That’s why I want to go to Parsons. Because when I graduate and get a job, I want to be doing the thing I love doing best in the whole world—designing accessories.”

  Zoey tried to imagine going to school all day and getting to study fashion design instead of social studies with Mr. Dunn.

  “That sounds like heaven,” Zoey said wistfully.

  “I was thinking—we should do a joint Etsy store, with you designing the outfits and me designing the accessories.” Allie said. “What do you think? We could call it ‘Fashion from A to Z’ or something.”

  “I love it!” Zoey exclaimed. “Seriously, we should do that. After the Très Chic feature comes out.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Allie declared.

  They took a stroll around the store, talking about ideas for projects and pointing out fabrics they loved. Zoey felt pretty comfortable and finally worked up the courage to ask Allie the big question.

  “Hey, Allie, I was wondering,” started Zoey. “Have you ever had people post really mean stuff on your blog? Like, horrible stuff?”