Designer Drama (4 page)

Mr. Kaye was absent more than a week with the flu, and Mickey couldn't stand the suspense. When was he going to make the announcement?

“You should put it out of your mind,” JC said. “Just forget about it.”

“Are you kidding me? It's all I can think about!” Mickey said. “I've always dreamed of going to Paris.”

“It's just another big city,” JC said, trying to assure her. “With really chic people, amazing food, breathtaking sights…”

“Ugh!” Mickey sighed. “I wish he'd just get better and get back here!”

Her wish was granted Tuesday morning when she saw Mr. Kaye coming up the steps to the sixth floor. He still looked pale, but at least he wasn't coughing and sneezing his head off!

“Mr. Kaye!” she said, pushing JC out of the way. “You're here! Does that mean…”

Her teacher held up his hand. “I will make the announcement over the loudspeaker before day's end,” he told her. “Patience, Mickey, patience.”

Patience was not one of Mickey's talents. She stared at the clock in every class, counting down the hours until the end of the day. When it was last period, she'd almost given up. Then the loudspeaker crackled and came to life.

“Good afternoon, FAB students,” Mr. Kaye's voice boomed over it. “I know you've all been waiting for my decision: who will be joining me at the International Student Runway competition in Paris over spring break. After much careful contemplation while I was home in my sickbed, I've decided to award this very special honor to two students who showed creativity, flawless workmanship, and above all the essence of what is FAB…”

Mickey held her breath and crossed her fingers and toes.

“Without further ado, congratulations, Mickey Williams and JC Cumberland!”

Mickey jumped out of her seat and screamed. “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” She danced around Mr. Evans's Embellishments class, tossing trim and fabric in the air, completely forgetting she was in the middle of a skills studio lab.

JC raced into the room. “Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said?”

Mr. Evans smiled and gave them both a high five. “Congrats, you two. I'm sure it was well deserved.”

When she left school that afternoon, Mickey felt like she was walking on air. It was too good to be true! Then her phone buzzed in her pocket.

“Mickey Mouse!” her mom said when she answered. “How's my girl?”

“Fine, fine,” Mickey said. She wanted to blurt out her good news, but thought it would be better to ease into it. If there was one thing her mom hated, it was surprises. She had been furious when Mickey applied to FAB without telling her. And now, this…

“So, Mom,” she began. “Are you sitting down?” She could picture her mom standing behind the makeup counter at Wanamaker's department store in Philly, dressed in her black smock and sensible shoes.

“Let me pull up a stool… Why?”

“It's good news. Great news!” Mickey explained. “The greatest news of my whole life!”

“Mickey…” her mom said, already suspicious. “What did you do?”

“I won a design competition at school! I get to go to Paris!”

Mickey waited for her mother to say something, anything.

“Hello? Mom? Did you hear me?” she asked meekly.

“I did.”

Mickey feared there was a lecture coming—or worse, a stern “You're grounded, and you're not going anywhere” speech.

“Mom, why aren't you yelling?” Mickey asked.

“Because I'm so thrilled for you!” her mother finally replied. “It was always my dream to go to Paris, and I never quite made it because life got in the way. Oh, Mickey, this is wonderful.”

Mickey stared at the screen on her phone. Had she heard right? Was her mom actually happy for her and giving her the okay?

“Sooo, I can go…with JC and Mr. Kaye?”

“I'll have to get all the details, but yes, you can go. How could you
not
go to Paris?”

Mickey hung up and headed for the corner to wait with the other students for the bus back over the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan. A white limousine pulled up right in front of her, and someone rolled down the window.

“Bonjour!” Jade said.

Mickey looked around. Was Jade speaking to her?

“I heard that you and Bowwow Boy are going to Paris. Oh, goody.”

Mickey was confused. Was Jade congratulating her?

“Um, yeah. Thanks?”

Jade smiled slyly. “It'll be even more fun to beat you there than here.”

“Beat me? What do you mean? You're not going to the International Student Runway competition, Jade.”

“Oh, aren't I?” she replied. “My mom made some calls to her dear friend, the headmaster of FIFI, and Jake and I will be allowed to compete as an independent team.”

Mickey felt her cheeks burn. “Wait a sec—let me get this straight. Your mom bribed FIFI to let you into the competition? When Mr. Kaye didn't pick you?”

“I wouldn't call it a bribe—more like a little favor. Since Mommy just paid for the new Lee Library at FIFI and all.”

“Unbelievable!” Mickey shouted at her. “You don't give up, do you?”

Jade's face turned dead serious. “And I won't. Not until you learn there's room for only one design diva at FAB—and it's not you.”

Mr. Kaye met with Mickey and JC the next day after school to outline their game plan for the competition.

“It's not as simple as you might think,” their teacher warned them. “Everyone competing is the top of their class. The designs will be impeccable. And you have to create an additional look right there at the runway.”

“What? Another look?” Mickey asked. “I thought we just had to do our three.”

“We won't find out what it is till we get to Paris,” Mr. Kaye explained. “Each team will be given an envelope containing their theme—and you'll have just a few short days to execute it.”

Mickey shook her head. “What if the theme is awful? Or we can't find the right fabric for it. What if it's a design disaster?”

“They prefer to call it ‘
l'ultime dé
f
i
' or ‘the ultimate challenge,'” Mr. Kaye replied.

“It's the ultimate headache,” JC grumped. “Sure we can't get a little hint ahead of time?”

“Absolutely not!” Mr. Kaye said with a huff. “You will find out when we get there, and you will make the most of it. In the meantime…” He handed Mickey and JC a sheet of numbers and a stack of photos. “Here are your models and their specific measurements.”

“Wait! What if our designs don't fit them?” Mickey gasped.

“They may not. You'll need to alter them so they do. Welcome to the real world of the runway. You'll have just one day to fit them there.”

JC looked the measurements over. “Are you kidding me? All these model have shoulders like linebackers! There's no way my jacket will fit. And—OMG!—the shortest one is almost six feet tall. Mickey's gown will be way too short.”

“I'm not too sure how the green dress will work on this model's skin tone,” Mickey questioned. “Maybe she needs some blue or even yellow in it? I thought I was done painting.”

“You are far from done.” Mr. Kaye said, addressing both of them. “We leave in four weeks, and you'll be working night and day and every Tuesday and Wednesday after school with me, refining your designs till I say they're ready. Impressing me was just the first step. Impressing the French judges…that's something entirely different.”

• • •

Mickey's mom called that night to check up on her. “How is my designing daughter doing?” she teased.

“Okay, I guess,” Mickey replied. “I have so much work to do.”

“Just think,” her mom reminded her. “In a few weeks you'll be in Paris, strolling the Champs-Élysées, touring le Tour Eiffel…”

Mickey remembered how her mom had said she always wanted to go to Paris, but “life got in the way.”

“I wish you could go,” she said softly.

“Me too,” her mom replied. “Wouldn't that be something?”

Mickey thought her mother sounded a little sad.

“But, hey”—her mom tried to brighten the mood—“you'll take tons of pictures, and it'll be like I was there all along.”

“You bet,” Mickey promised. But she couldn't help feeling bad. Her mom had always made so many sacrifices for her. She rarely ever took a day off for herself, much less a vacation to Europe.

“Don't you worry about me,” her mom insisted. “You just go to Paris and you wow them. And have a few pastries for me while you're at it.”

• • •

The next day, when Mickey met with Mr. Kaye to go over her revisions, it was obvious to her teacher that she had been distracted.

“This measurement is off,” he scolded her. “It's an inch too long for the model's inseam. Do you know how that will look on the runway?
Qu
e
'lle horreu
r
!
”

Mickey sighed. “I'm sorry! I thought I double-checked it. I guess my mind wasn't on it last night.”

“And where was your mind?” Mr. Kaye fumed. “It should only be on your work.”

“I talked to my mom, and she sounded so sad. She's always wanted to go to Paris, and she couldn't because she had to take care of me.”

“It sounds like a noble choice,” Mr. Kaye replied.

“Well, yes. But it isn't fair to her,” Mickey said. “She does everything for me. She always puts me first.”

Mr. Kaye nodded. “That is what parents do.” He pointed to the dropped stitch on her dress hem. “But that's no excuse for sloppy sewing. Fix it.”

Mickey nodded and made herself yet another promise: One day she would take her mom to Paris. One day she'd make her proud.

The flight left for Paris's Charles de Gaulle Airport at night, and the entire trip, Mr. Kaye snored while JC watched Madonna videos on his iPad. His own Madonna sat in her dog bag, tucked under his feet, snoring as well. Mickey, however, couldn't do anything but look out the window and check her watch.

“You know we won't get there any faster if you stare at the second hand, right?” JC teased. “Seriously, Mick. Take a snooze. I always get in at least a few hours. When you wake up, we'll be there.”

“Nuh-uh,” Mickey said. “I'm not missing a second of this trip. I've never flown this far before. The only place my mom and I ever went on a plane was Disney World.”

“In my humble opinion, Paris is better than Disney World,” JC said. “It's the most magical place on Earth—for a designer, that is.”

Mickey leaned back and tried to close her eyes and dream about it—but it was impossible. Instead, she flipped on the overhead light and began reading her
French in Five Minutes a Day
book.

“I figure the flight is about seven hours, so that should get me through almost every chapter,” she said, showing JC the cover.

“
Ou
i
!
You'll be fluent by the time we land,” he said, chuckling.

Somewhere between studying “
Je m'appelle
Mickey Williams” and the days of the week, she drifted off to the loveliest of dreams. In it, she was strolling along Avenue Montaigne, window-shopping the high-end couture boutiques. She was wearing mirrored Dior So Real sunglasses and a chic YSL leopard-print minidress.

“You!” A voice suddenly shattered the beautiful image. “You're a fake and a phony, and you don't belong here!”

It was Jade, and she had a group of fancy French girls following at her Louboutin heels. On Jade's command, they all began to point and laugh at Mickey—and chase her down the street.

In the dream, Mickey started running as fast as she could, trying to escape Jade and her evil entourage.

“Go away! Leave me alone!” Mickey shouted at them. “I belong here as much as you do!”

Then she felt a hand reach out and grab her shoulder. “No!” she screamed. “Let me go!”

“Mick, wake up! You're having a nightmare.” JC gave her a gentle nudge. “And from the sounds of it, it's a doozy!”

Mickey opened her eyes and realized she was still on the plane.

“Oh,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Sorry. It just felt like it was really happening.”

JC nodded. “I once had this dream that Madonna asked me to come onstage and sing with her. My mom said I was singing ‘Ray of Light' in my sleep.”

The flight attendant checked on their row. “Everything okay here?” she asked. “We'll be landing in about two hours.”

Amazingly, even though Mr. Kaye was seated next to them, he'd managed to sleep through the whole commotion—not to mention dinner, snack, and now breakfast.

“I'm good,” Mickey said, getting back to her French book. But she couldn't shake the feeling that Jade Lee was going to be trouble, even three thousand miles from FAB.