Runway Ready (2 page)

Mr. Kaye was quite the master at inventing original—and perplexing—fashion design challenges for his students. Mickey had come to accept that she would never know what to expect when he walked through the studio door and drew a number on the SMART Board.

“So you've all survived my previous challenges,” he said, counting them off on his fingertips. “There was the World Hunger shirt, then ‘Everything Old Is New Again,' then ‘ABC Inspiration'…”

“And don't forget ‘Fairy-Tale Makeover,'” Gabriel reminded him. “My Red Riding Hood red leather miniskirt was
sick
.”

Mr. Kaye frowned. He hated when students didn't raise their hands.

“Yes, yes, I was getting to that one,” their teacher said. “And for the record, I prefer
chic
to
sick
.” He sniffed.

Gabriel sunk lower in his seat. “I guess that's why he gave me a two on it,” he whispered to Mickey. Mr. Kaye's grading scale was simple: four was FABulous; three, decent; two, disappointing; one, a fashion failure.

Mr. Kaye clapped his hands together to silence the chatter. “All of those previous challenges pale in comparison to this one. And of course, as always, the students with the highest total grades on the semester's assignments get to compete in the final Runway Showdown. So make this one count!”

Mickey's classmate Mars (really Marceline) was seated next to her and groaned loudly. “We're in for it.”

Mr. Kaye pulled a sewing kit out of his desk. “Do you see this?” he asked, waving it in the air. “For this challenge, you can't use any of the items inside.”

“What?” Mars gasped. “No needle? No thread? No way!”

“Yes, way!” Mr. Kaye insisted. “I call this challenge ‘Oh No! No Sew.' The look you create must be constructed entirely without sewing, either by hand or by machine.”

“That's crazy,” South said, bursting into the room. “How are we supposed to make the pieces of our pattern stick together?”

Mr. Kaye shrugged. “Alas, that is not my problem—it's yours. As is the tardy you will receive for coming late to class today.”

South took her seat and opened her notebook to jot down instructions.

“What about staples? Glue stick?” Mickey asked.

“Bubble gum?” Gabriel piped up.

“All options, should you choose them,” Mr. Kaye replied. “The decision is yours.” He gave them the remainder of the class to sketch, but Mickey couldn't come up with a single idea.

“A blank page after twenty minutes? That's not like you, Mickey,” Mr. Kaye said, peering over her shoulder. “I thought you thrived on creativity.”

“I do,” Mickey said. “I can think of a million outfits I'd like to make, but they all need to be stitched together.”

“Think harder,” Mr. Kaye said. “I'm sure you'll come up with something that speaks to our challenge.”

Mickey was actually grateful for a rainy weekend back at home in Philly. Her mom had to work all day at Wanamaker's Department Store, and it was too cold and damp to venture outside. So Mickey sat in her room, munching on microwave popcorn and trying to come up with something—anything—that would earn her a four on Mr. Kaye's latest design challenge.

She called her friend Annabelle for advice.

“You're asking me?” her BFF said. “Mickey, I can't sew a button on.”

“Exactly!” Mickey insisted. “That's why you're the perfect person to help me with my homework. No sewing allowed.”

“Hmmm,” Annabelle said. “Have you thought about origami? You could maybe fold a cool jacket out of a giant sheet of paper.”

Mickey chewed on her pencil eraser. “It's not a bad idea, but I'm not really sure I could find a piece of paper that was big enough.”

“Tape a bunch of sheets together,” Annabelle suggested. “Tape is okay, right?”

Mickey dug in her desk drawer and pulled out a pack of colored construction paper and a roll of Scotch tape. “I guess I could give it a shot. Thanks!”

Two hours later, she had taped thirty sheets together and managed to fold a giant paper airplane but no stylish jacket, shirt, or skirt. Her fingers were covered with Band-Aids from all the paper cuts. She'd wasted the entire day trying to make a design work and still had nothing to show for it.

“Ugh!” she said, tossing the mess of folded paper in the corner of her room. “I give up!”

“Mickey Mouse! I'm home!” her mom called from the front door. “And I brought Chinese takeout with me.” Mickey's mother, Jordana, dropped her umbrella on the floor and stood there in a plastic rain poncho, making a giant puddle on the floor.

“It's a hurricane out there,” she said as Mickey took the bag of food from her. “I had to buy this ugly rain poncho at Wanamaker's so I wouldn't drown on the walk home.”

Mickey giggled. Her mom looked like she had draped herself in plastic wrap. The hood hung in her eyes and the sleeves were so long that they covered her hands and dangled to her knees.

“Make fun of me all you want,” Jordana said, peeling off her wet clothes. “At least it kept me dry in the storm. I'm sure you could whip up something a lot more fashionable, but it did the trick.”

Mickey suddenly stopped laughing and snatched the soggy poncho off the floor. “That's it.”

“What's it?” her mom asked.

“You just gave me an idea for my Apparel Arts assignment. What's a piece of clothing that you can wear that has no seams or stitches?”

Her mother flopped down on the couch and put her tired, aching feet up on the coffee table. “Is this a riddle?”

“No, it's a solution. One I've been searching for all day.”

Her mother closed her eyes and rested her head on the couch pillows. “That's great, honey. Maybe you can go work on it and let me catch a quick nap before dinner.”

Mickey was already down the hall in her room, rummaging through the scraps of leftover fabric she kept in her closet. There weren't many large pieces left, but she found some white linen that had been too scratchy to use on a dress. She rolled it out on the floor so she could take a few quick measurements.

“That should do it,” she said aloud as she used her pencil to draw three circles on the material—one in the center and two on either side—before snipping away with her scissors. Then she dug in her drawer and found a large box of safety pins. She pinned one on the fabric and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't the best design she'd ever made, but it would do just fine.

• • •

Mickey always looked forward to second-period Apparel Arts class, but today she was nervous. She wasn't sure that her design was “up to snuff” as Mr. Kaye liked to say. It felt a bit simple, but what was she supposed to do? Telling her she couldn't sew was like tying her hands behind her back. To make anything halfway decent, she needed more time, more material, more safety pins…

She was so busy fretting over her design that she didn't notice Ms. Ratzner staring straight at her in Fashion History class. “Mickey Williams, can you tell the class who invented blue jeans in the eighteen sixties?”

“Huh? What?” Mickey said, snapping out of her trance as she heard her name called.

“I asked you for the name of the person who invented blue jeans.”

Mickey hemmed and hawed. She had forgotten to do the class reading over the weekend. “Mr. Gap?” she finally guessed. The class roared with laughter.

“Levi Strauss,” Ms. Ratzner replied, annoyed. “Did you do your homework?”

Mickey shook her head. “I'm sorry. It must have slipped my mind. I was so busy with my Apparel Arts assignment.”

“No excuse,” her teacher replied, making a note in her grade book. “If you want to be a successful designer in the future, you need to understand the fashion of the past. It's our foundation.”

Mickey nodded. She knew her teacher was right. “I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”

“No,” Ms. Ratzner said firmly. “It won't. If you want to remain at FAB, you must pass all of your classes—not just Mr. Kaye's.”

• • •

Mickey was still smarting from Ms. Ratzner's scolding when she got to Apparel Arts the next period. No one else looked worried; in fact, they all seemed proud and happy with their designs. Gabriel was cheerfully putting his work on the dress form next to his desk.

“What is that material?” Mars asked, circling around the shiny, black cropped jacket.

“It's electrical tape,” he replied. “Cool, huh? I found a ton of it in my dad's toolbox. No sewing, just sticking.”

“How do you like my design?” South entered the room modeling a red-and-yellow woven maxi skirt.

“It looks like a pot holder I made my mom in second grade.” Gabriel snickered.

“That's
exactly
what it is,” South said. “I used those stretchy little loops and a loom to make it. But no sewing!”

“Very cool,” Gabriel said. “I never would have thought of that.”

“Mine is even more genius,” Mars said, unzipping her garment bag. She pulled out a tube top she'd fashioned by cutting the top off a red beanie hat. She hot-glued on silver sequins and made a belt entirely from shiny silver soda-can tops. “I just tied them together with dental floss.”

Mickey gulped. Everyone's work was amazing—so much more amazing than hers.

“So, what did you do?” South asked her. “I bet it's something really over the top.”

“Well, it's over the head…” Mickey said, pulling the poncho out of her bag. She'd used the safety pins to make a crisscross pattern along the bottom edges.

Her classmates were speechless—until Gabriel broke the silence. “It looks like a giant diaper.”

Mickey took a step back and tried to look at her design objectively. “OMG, you're totally right. It
does
look like a giant diaper!”

But it was too late to make any changes. Mr. Kaye walked in and sat on the edge of his desk. “Class, I can't wait to see what you've come up with for me today.”

Everyone presented, and Mr. Kaye took notes and gave constructive criticism. “I think you could have pushed the envelope more,” he told Mars. “A belt is fine. But what more could have been done with the can tops? A vest? An entire coat? Open your mind to the possibilities.”

Mars nodded. “I made my brother drink two six packs of soda this weekend so I could have the tops,” she said. “A coat might take a year!”

When he came to Gabriel's jacket, Mr. Kaye stopped and stared. “Gabriel, the workmanship is flawless. Using tape instead of material was a big risk, but it paid off. I'm wowed.”

Gabriel beamed and elbowed Mickey. “Totally rocked it.”

Finally, it was Mickey's turn. Mr. Kaye paused at her dress form and wrinkled his brow. “I'm confused,” he said slowly. “What were you going for?”

“A poncho,” Mickey said meekly. “With a safety pin pattern on the bottom.”

“I fear it misses the mark,” Mr. Kaye said. “It feels uninspired to me.”

Mickey could feel the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “I tried. Really. I thought it was okay…but I guess I just gave up and made something to get it over with.”

Mr. Kaye faced the class. “Let this be a lesson to all of you,” he said. “All designers have their bad days, even their bad collections. We learn from our mistakes. We become better designers because of them.”

Mickey saw him write the number two in his grade book next to her name. She knew that meant Mr. Kaye was disappointed in her—and worse, she was disappointed in herself.

Mickey made herself a promise that she would never again present something that she didn't one hundred percent love. Her heart had to be in the design as much as her handiwork. Still, the challenge had rattled her confidence.

“You'll get over it,” JC assured her at lunch that same day. “I got a two on a tie assignment Mr. Kaye gave us last year. I designed mine with lots of little dog bones all over it, and he hated it. He said it was for the dogs—which it was. But our client wasn't canine—he was a Wall Street executive.”

Mickey shrugged. “But you did better on the next one?”

“Yeserooni,” JC said. “Not doing well on the tie assignment was a great kick in the butt. It made me work harder, and I created one of my finest fashion masterpieces.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed her a picture of a stunning turquoise-blue jumpsuit with white suede fringe around the plunging neckline. “We had to be inspired by a holiday gift—something we gave or received. I chose to be inspired by the box it came in: a Tiffany blue box with a white ribbon.”

Mickey zoomed in on the details. “It's breathtaking. Really.”

“And it earned me a four. Not a bad way to bounce back, huh?”

• • •

Mickey tried to remember what JC had said and convince herself she would bounce back too. She usually came to Apparel Arts class eager and excited. But today, just one day after the diaper fiasco, she felt defeated and insecure.

“Chin up, Mickey,” Mr. Kaye said, noticing how sad she looked. “I have a good feeling that you will redeem yourself on my next challenge.”

Mickey sat up straight in her chair. “You do? What is it?”

“I call it, ‘Grandma's Favorite Munchkin,'” he replied.

Gabriel raised his hand. “As in
The Wizard of Oz
? Are we designing Dorothy a new look? Retooling Glinda's gown into something a little less pink and poofy?”

Mr. Kaye pushed his spectacles to the tip of his nose and glared. “No, I am using the word ‘munchkin' to refer to someone rather small and adorable.”

“If he makes us design an outfit for a hamster, I am
not
going to be happy,” Mars whispered to Mickey.

Mr. Kaye continued. “Clients can be extremely difficult,” he said. “And part of becoming a successful designer is learning how to interpret what they want and give it to them.”

Mickey gulped. What if the client was the same Wall Street exec that had earned JC his two last year?

Instead, a little girl strolled into the room and stood facing the students. She was dressed in a pink-and-white smocked dress, white ruffled socks, and shiny black Mary Janes.

“Aww, she's so cute!” Mars cooed. “Hiya, sweetie!”

The child stuck her tongue out and stomped her foot. “I am not cute. Cute is for babies! And don't call me ‘sweetie'! You're a dum-dum!”

The class erupted in laughter. “You tell her, kid!” Gabriel said, applauding.

“You're a dum-dum too!” the tot fired back.

“I'd like you all to meet your client,” Mr. Kaye said, trying to calm everyone down. “This is Miss Cordelia Vanderweil. If we could keep the name-calling to a minimum, Cordy, dear?”

“As in Victoria Vanderweil? The famous fashion designer who practically launched the designer-jean craze in the seventies?” South asked.

“The one and only,” Mr. Kaye replied. “This precious young lady is her granddaughter.”

Cordelia looked over the crowd of faces staring at her. “My grandma isn't gonna like any of you,” she said. “You're all mean and icky!”

South flinched. “I've been called a lot of things before, but never ‘icky'!”

“You don't mean that,” Mr. Kaye insisted, taking the child's hand. “These lovely students are going to design you a pretty dress for your fifth birthday party.” He then turned to face the class. “And your granny is going to be the judge of who wins this challenge, after Cordy has selected her top two.”

“No way!” Mars exclaimed. “Victoria Vanderweil is going to grade our designs? That is amazing!”

“Well, that depends,” Mr. Kaye pointed out, “on how amazing your designs are.”

“My birthday is Valentine's Day,” Cordy revealed proudly. “My granny says it's because I'm so lovable.”

Mickey raised her hand. “What are the guidelines for the dress?”

“You will have to ask Miss Cordelia that,” Mr. Kaye replied. “Cordy, they're all yours.”

“I want a fancy dress,” the child rattled off. “With bows and pearl buttons! Oh, and balloons!”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “You want balloons on the dress—or attached to it?”

Cordelia waved her hand dismissively. “I like pink and purple and red and yellow and orange and blue. I like twirly ballerinas. Oh! And the Easter Bunny!”

Mickey scratched her head. This was a tall order to fill! “You mean these are your favorite things you want at your party? Or things you want us to think about when designing your dress?”

“Rainbows! I love rainbows and spaghetti!”

“Do you all think you have enough information?” Mr. Kaye asked the class. “I do believe Cordelia has lunch at the Plaza Hotel with her granny shortly.”

“You better do a good job!” she said, leaving them with a stern warning. “Or else!”

“I second that,” Mr. Kaye said. “You have one week to complete your challenge. Good luck—you'll need it.”

• • •

When Mickey got home from school, she pulled out her sketchbook and began drawing. But instead of a party dress, she found herself doodling a hot air balloon with Cordy and the Easter Bunny sitting in it. They were eating a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs as the balloon wafted in the clouds.

There was no way she was going to mess up an assignment again—scoring a two was not an option. So she decided to call JC. If he could whip up clothes for his Chihuahua Madonna, maybe he'd have some ideas of how to design for a temperamental tot.

“Wow, that's quite a wish list to fill,” he said, listening intently as Mickey rattled off all of Cordy's requirements. “Where does the spaghetti come in?”

“I don't have any idea,” Mickey said. “I was thinking petals of different-colored fabric for the ball-gown skirt, tulle underneath, and short puffed sleeves that are balloon-like. Then a faux-fur stole that looks like a bunny rabbit?”

“Like I said, where does the spaghetti come in?”

Mickey flopped back on her pillow and closed her eyes. “I just don't see how I can work it into the design. It doesn't go. Everything is light and fluffy; spaghetti is long and slippery.”

“What about the accessories? Maybe you can put a plate of spaghetti on Cordy's darling little head?” JC suggested.

“You're not helping,” Mickey moaned. “This is a huge challenge. Victoria Vanderweil is going to see my design.”

“I say ditch the pasta and make her a purse instead.”

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off over Mickey's head.

“Say that again!”

“Ditch the pasta?”

“No!” Mickey exclaimed. “The part about making her a purse. JC, you're a genius!”

“That I am,” her friend replied. “That I am.”