Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (33 page)

Early in the day, Anjelica and Benecio visited a vendor and constructed a book from embossed cardboard and paper made from
celery. They used it to collect autographs from the many craft-lebrities wandering about, each with their own superhero tagline:
The Sublime Stitcher, the Impatient Beader, the Crafty Chica, the Craft Diva, the Mantastic Crafter, Sew Darn Jenny, Funky
Shui, the Mad Cropper, the Knitty Gritty lady, Pattie Wack, the Scissor Seesters—and the most famous of them all—Betty Oh!
from their hometown of Phoenix, Arizona.

Spread out across five halls, each carpeted aisle in the event buzzed with do-it-yourself conviction. Artists paraded samples
of reconstructed clothing, stitched handbags, and plush toys. Some worked the endorsements and book deals. Domestic divas
from across the nation flew out to meet with TV producers and to audition for upcoming cable network series.

To think this was the gig Chloe had prepared for all year—her chance for national fame. Nowadays, she’d rather read an old
issue of
Cat Fancy
, and she didn’t even like cats. Chloe wandered up and down the never-ending rows tiered with a multitude of hi-tech adhesives,
ornate stencils, and luxurious scrapbook kits. She admired the experienced artists demo-ing in the exhibit booths, and daydreamed
about what her life would have been like if she had tried to make her own crafts instead of using Frances’. Maybe then she
could have truly been self-respecting Crafty Chloe. But no. Her tagline had become Phony Chloe—forced to act like a recluse
at the most artful gathering in the nation. She decided to buy a glass of wine and hide out at the craftistas’ booth.

When she arrived, Benecio Valencia Sr., Benecio’s father, grinned while straightening the pamphlets on the table.

“Hi, Chloe, I’m Ben, Benecio’s dad. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Chloe removed her glasses and shook the gentleman’s hand, confused. Last she heard, Benecio kept his design career on the
double down low from his parents.

“I know you’re wondering why I’m here…,” Ben began to explain. “I’ve… left my wife. Or I should say, she left me. For our
summer intern.”

Oooh, ouch!
Chloe thought, astonished he would speak so openly about family affairs. Chloe had heard gossip at the station about Benecio’s
mom’s reputation with the assistants, but didn’t think she’d ever leave her husband for one. “I’m so sorry… I don’t know what
to say…”

“Don’t worry. It’s better for everyone, to tell you the truth. Listen, um… Benecio told me all about the craft group and the
centerpieces last night. You must think we’re awful parents, having no clue what our son is up to. Frankly, I’m embarrassed…”
His polite expression turned stoic. Chloe rushed around the table to soothe him. Several months ago, Benecio and Chloe had
had a heart-to-heart about neglectful parents—despite their age difference, it was a topic they shared and it pleased Chloe
that Ben had seen the light. Hopefully Benecio wouldn’t have to go through the pain she’d gone through all her life.

“Thank you for taking care of my boy,” Ben said. “I’m so impressed by him—I really had no idea… Anyway, I’m going to be his
business manager from now on… and an even better father.”

Chloe patted his back. “Just be a good dad, show him you love him, listen to him, support him. That’s all he needs.” Then,
bumping him with her arm, she said, “Now let’s perk up and show off his hard work!”

“Excuse me,” said a woman dressed as a gypsy, wearing a tiara wrapped in sequins. “Would you like a sample of Color-Your-Own
Tarot Cards?”

On the oddity scale the gypsy didn’t even rank. Chloe had already encountered a giant walking crayon, storm troopers, a human
statue covered in glitter, models in dresses made from juice pouches, and a Scottish bagpipe troop.

“Sure!” Chloe answered cheerily as she and Ben accepted a pack. She tossed it in her tote, where it joined bladeless scissors,
premade scrapbook pages, edible glitter, and invisible markers.

She checked her watch because she knew Ofie’s Speed Crochet was coming up soon, and she wanted a front-row seat.

At that moment, Star, Maria Juana, Benecio, and Anjelica ran over, frenzied and out of breath.

“It’s time! Speed crochet! Ofie! Stage A!” Star panted, gesturing for Chloe to follow. Benecio’s dad stayed behind to watch
the booth, while the others took Star’s enthusiastic cue.

“Come on,” Star said, busting through the mass of attendees. “Let’s all walk together in a row, so we’ll look like a bad-ass—but
happy—crafty gang. Did you see the Craft Queens of New Orleans? Their shirts light up! I also saw the Austin Craft Mafia.
They’re wearing sharkskin suit dresses and pillbox hats—all made from fabric scraps. Look!” Star pointed and jumped. “It’s
the NYC Craft Bunnies! We need to invite them to La Pachanga tonight!”

“Star!” Chloe hollered. “Stop. You passed it! The main stage is over here. Hurry!”

Star did a U-ie to meet up with her crafty comadres, and then clung to Chloe’s arm. “How is Mission Undercover going?”

“So far, so good,” Chloe replied as she jerked her hat down to her brow line.

When they reached the fifty-foot stage, they all froze mid walk and gawked. Star covered Ofie’s eyes.

“Oh dear alpaca. Larry! What did you get me into?” Ofie said, brushing Star’s hands away.

Her visual inventory of the behemoth of a stage began with the multicolored theater lights that hung from the inside ceiling.
Ofie then admired the ornate embroidered backdrop that draped and swagged across the back wall, and then the twelve giant
spools of thread that doubled as chairs, which were lined up in the center of the floor. She thought the Hulk-sized scissors
leaning against each wall for decoration were clever, and the four microphones frightening. Ofie’s eyes traveled around the
exterior of the structure, taking in the thousands of twinkling lights, capped off with front-facing JumboTrons on either
side. If that wasn’t intimidating enough, dozens of cameramen began to set up tripods.

“What? Is HGTV doing rock concerts now?” Star remarked as guests immediately filed in, taking up almost all the seats. She
couldn’t mask her surprise. “Wow, this really
is
a big event!”

“All speed crochet contestants in Heat Number One step up to the side of the stage,” boomed a voice through the convention
hall speakers.

“That’s you, Mommy,” Anjelica said.

“No, baby, I’m Heat Number Three,” Ofie corrected just as a group of college-aged women surrounded her.

“Ofie Fuentes? Can we talk to you for a sec?”

Ofie turned to the six smiling women who surrounded her.

“Did I do something wrong? Am I’m disqualified? Can I at least stay to watch?”

They all chuckled, but one, a young lady with long curly blond hair and a cherub face, put her hand out to Ofie. “It’s an
honor to meet you. You inspire us!”

Ofie craned her head around to make sure they were talking to her. “Me?”

“Yes, you! I’m Emily Savoy from Bundle Up America. We received the blankets you sent for needy families—as well as your letter
about how you came to make them.”

“You really read it?” Ofie asked, pressing her hand against her chest. After finally clearing out her house she didn’t want
to clutter it again with her blankets. So she did a little research and found a way to put them to use. “I didn’t mean to
sound so whiny, but it’s all true.”

“We all read it,” acknowledged another girl in a
Twilight
tee. “Your story is very moving and inspiring. You brought us all to tears. We even saw your video footage on YouTube!”

“Video footage?’ Ofie asked, completely confused.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mom,” Anjelica confessed. “Remember the parking lot crochet race at Maker’s Marketplace? Well…
I kinda filmed you with my camera phone, and posted it online. It has thousands of hits!”

Ofie covered her mouth with her hand. “What?”

“We came all the way from the East Coast to cheer you on,” Emily said before Ofie could respond to her Internet fame. “We
want you to be the national spokesperson for our next campaign!”

Honored, and feeling like the Susan Boyle of yarn, Ofie happily agreed and then signed autographs until she heard “Heat Three,
take the stage!” from the announcer.

Her instant fan club just about lifted her off the floor and funneled her toward the stage for her heat. At last, it seemed,
the insecure cuckoo crafter had blossomed into a radiant artistic expert.

The group all whistled as Ofie gracefully walked to her battle station to greet large balls of worsted-weight yarns. Larry
stood next to Anjelica, and they held up a glittery banner that read “Viva La Crochetinator!”

Chloe rushed the stage and handed Ofie a bottled water. “Consider me your personal assistant, my friend. Tell me whatever
you need and I’ll fetch it!” Ofie took the water and said thanks. The four opponents all mouthed the words “good luck” to
one another.

Betty Oh! stepped up and the crowd yahooed, whistled, and applauded for the pretty national media personality.

“Are you ready for this?” she screamed into the red, white, and blue Bedazzled microphone.

The crowd roared back in response.

“Alrighty, it’s time to get looped!” Betty yelled at the contestants. “Here’s the deal: You each have two rows of twenty stitches
as your foundation. You have
three
minutes to crank out as many double stitches as you can. The person with the most wins and goes on to the finals. Got it,
ladies?”

The women sat poised and agreed.

“Ready… goooooo!” Betty Oh! screamed.

The crowd cheered as hooks flew at a dizzying pace. When it ended, Ofie had won her heat with ease. Everyone expected her
to cry, but she didn’t. She fluffed her hair, cocked back her shoulders, and blew a kiss to the crowd as they howled for her.

Chloe and Star were the ones who wept like babies. They hugged and wiped away each other’s tears of joy. Larry and Anjelica,
however, rocked out as if it were Ozzy Osbourne on that stage. The father-and-daughter duo pumped their fists in the air and
cheered.

Next up, the finals. Ofie’s competitors were three-time champion Nina Sakumoto and… the infamous Scary Lady—as Anjelica and
Ofie had affectionately named her. Ofie had whipped her butt at Maker’s Marketplace, and knew she could do it again.

“Ready! Set! CROCHET!!!!” Betty howled again, this time jumping in the air like a possessed cheerleader.

Ofie, Nina, and Scary Lady twirled their hooks faster than the speed of sound. Or so it seemed to Star and Chloe, who screamed
for their friend as if she were Oscar De La Hoya in the final minutes of a high-stakes bout.

“Hooks down!” Betty Oh! ordered after three minutes.

The ladies turned over their work to the judges and awaited the verdict with heightened anticipation. A minute later, Betty
Oh! skipped over to Ofie, grabbed her wrist, and raised it high in the air. “We have a new Speed Crochet winner for the National!
Craft! Olympics! At fourty double stitches a minute, Phoenix’s own Ofie Fuentes!”

Ofie’s friends jumped and screamed with the rest of the audience.

“What do you have to say, Ofie?” Betty Oh! asked, pogo-dancing around her. “You won! You won! You are the country’s fastest
crocheter!”

Ofie took the mic from Betty, confident as if she were a seasoned speaker.

“Hello, my fellow crafters! My name is Ofelia Fuentes and thank you for welcoming me to the nineteenth annual CraftOlympics!”

The crowd roared and chanted in her honor. Ofie bounced her hands in the air as a signal for them to quiet down.

“I wouldn’t be up here today if it were not for my friend Benecio Javier Valencia II, who taught me to crochet; my husband,
Larry, daughter, Anjelica, and mother-in-law, Chata, who encouraged me to enter this competition; and my dear friends, Chloe
and Star. And to all of you out there who think you are not special? I’m here to prove you are! Even when all the world is
against you, you have to have faith in yourself; otherwise you are no good to anyone. Find what you are good at and celebrate
it. Even if you only know one crochet stitch like me—look how far you can go with it! So get out there and craft your life
the way
you
want it!”

Tears glistened down Betty Oh!’s cheeks from Ofie’s emotional speech. She hugged Ofie again and handed over the blender-sized
trophy. Ofie, cradling her prize, invited Anjelica onto the stage. She then kissed her daughter and gave her the trophy. “This
is for you,” she said.

Anjelica sobbed, held it high above her head, and danced. Just like Cha Cha DiGregorio in
Grease
when she won the dance-off with Danny Zuko.

E
ven though the second day of the CraftOlympics couldn’t quite live up to the excitement of Ofie’s feat the day before, it
came pretty damn close.

Ofie spent the day signing autographs, answering questions, and meeting with yarn companies about endorsement opportunities
and even some guest TV spots. Right by her side stood Benecio’s father, who agreed to act as her manager and agent. Thanks
to his son’s crochet lesson, Ofie’s life, and that of her family’s, would never be the same.

While Ofie repeated her meltdown-to-mogul story to the press, Star used the hours exclusively to sample and learn about as
many craft products as possible for her new store. She played with inks, wands, beads, charms, wire, papers, cutters, tracers,
nippers, erasers, scissors, slicers, hooks, and hairpins. Her head spun with ideas for workshops. She hadn’t quite nailed
down a theme for the shop, but knew she wanted it to involve glitter, graffiti, and mixed media as an ode to the chaos of
the past fall. It had been the longest, toughest months of her life, but in the end, rewarding. She thought of a quote from
Mohandas Gandhi that her father always told her growing up. He repeated it so much that she had blanked out the message. But
today, as she pondered about her new journey, the words floated through her mind like a bird gliding through the air with
a ribbon in its beak: