Chapter 4

When I get back to my dorm that night, Madison, Bailey, Avery, and I chomp on Chinese food and talk Fashion Week. “I can’t wait for you guys to meet Alex on Saturday,” I say. “I’m so excited for her to get here!”

“Oh, that’s right,” says Madison, frowning. “I forgot she was coming.”

Avery waves her hand dismissively in Madison’s direction. “The more the merrier. When we hang in my dorm back at school, we can cram twenty people in there to watch a movie.”

“She’d better not be bringing an entourage with her,” Madison grumbles.

“Just her,” I say, then try to change the subject. “I wish she could help out with Fashion Week. I got to work with some of the models today! It was so cool!”

“I could never model,” says Avery. “I’m way too shy for that.”

“I’m sooo not graceful,” Bailey adds. “I’d probably trip on the catwalk and ruin the designs.”

I laugh. “Me too! But I got to stand in for one of the models today — just for a second — and I’ll admit, it was pretty cool. Intimidating, but cool.”

“I’d rather see my name in lights for my designs, not for how I appear in front of a camera,” Madison says snidely.

You’d have to be an idiot not to get that dig. I take a deep breath and remind myself that my stint on Teen Design Diva was not about fame — it was about my skill as a designer.

“Agreed,” I say. “But if it weren’t for models, the designs wouldn’t get noticed.”

Madison turns away from me and directs her question to Avery and Bailey. “Do you think we’ll get to be involved in the show?”

“My cousin interned out in LA a while back and got to help out with Fashion Week there. She mostly ran around making sure all the set-up went smoothly. But she said she got to help in the back of the house getting clothing ready, dressing the models, that sort of thing too. We won’t see our names in lights yet, but all this stuff is also really important.”

Madison frowns. “I guess,” she says, sounding unimpressed. “I was hoping to talk to celebs or something. I worked really hard in the jewelry department, and I helped with dresses.” She turns to me. “Don’t you want everyone to know which pieces you put together or which design is yours?”

I’m so surprised she’s talking to me again that it takes me a minute to answer. I’m sure she’s expecting me to rant about wanting all the credit I can get, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care about that at least a little. But one thing I’ve learned the past six weeks is that it takes a lot of people to put something together. There are plenty of designers who’ve been working a lot longer than I have who deserve credit too. All our ideas together, bouncing off each other, blending into one, is what made each design work.

I open my mouth to answer, but it’s obvious I took too long, because Madison rolls her eyes and says, “Oh, please. Don’t even try to say you don’t care about that. Everyone does!”

“Why are you always so mad?” Bailey asks Madison.

“I just think we all have to pay our dues,” Madison says, giving me a pointed look. “I work hard too, and no one’s said a word about what I’ve come up with!”

“That doesn’t mean they haven’t noticed,” I say quietly. “The only reason —”

“Whatever,” Madison interrupts. “I don’t need advice from Miss Diva here.” She picks up the remains of her food, throws it in the trash, and slams the door to her room.

“Oh my gosh,” says Avery. “That girl is a bottomless pit of negativity. What is her problem?”

I shake my head. “Who knows? I mean, to a certain extent, I get where she’s coming from. We all want the spotlight. Waiting for it to happen can be hard.”

Bailey nods. “That’s true, I suppose. But it still doesn’t give her the right to be so rude.”

Avery, Bailey, and I finish eating and spend the rest of the night chatting and gossiping, imagining the day, years from now, when interns will be working for us.

* * *


The next morning, I’m putting the finishing touches on my outfit — a short-sleeved, black triangle dress — when my phone buzzes with a text from Michael: “Meet me at Lincoln Center.”

Sketch of Intern Outfit Design

I quickly pull my hair back with a metallic clip, grab my sketchpad, and run out the door. I’m looking forward to the twenty-minute subway ride. I haven’t had nearly enough time during my internship to work on my own designs, but there’s nothing like Fashion Week to inspire!

When the train arrives, I plop down in the nearest open seat and take out my sketchpad. So far most of my sketches have been of people I’ve seen around the city. Today, I’m thinking of some Chloe Montgomery originals. I choose a shimmery blue pencil and sketch a high-low dress that swoops to the ankles in the back and stops just above the knee at the front. I play with the idea of straps but nix them in favor of a halter neckline and keyhole opening at the bust. Suddenly, I get another idea. This could be the perfect dress for prom — my own personal version of Fashion Week!

Dress Development Sketches and Final Dress Design

We arrive at my stop before I know it, and I stow my sketchbook, mentally vowing to return to my design later. I hurry off the train and into Lincoln Center, where I quickly spot Michael waiting for me.

“Today we’re scouting out our Fashion Week location!” he announces, sounding energized and excited. “Since Stefan’s emphasis is on art deco, we want a clean, white tent. Anything too over-the-top will distract from the designs.”

Michael cups his hands around his eyes like he’s going to take a picture and steps back, trying to visualize the area from all angles. “This,” he says, motioning to the sides, “is where the audience will sit. The runway will flow down the middle.”

I picture what he’s describing — models walking down the runway, an opening at the back of the runway from which they’ll enter, chairs on either side, everything in white, maybe little white lights on the ceiling.

“It needs something,” says Michael. “Like a centerpiece of some kind.”

I play the show in my mind. Models wearing Taylor and Liesel’s art deco designs strut down the runway. One is wearing a satin gown embroidered with overlapping V’s. Another showcases a floor-length gown of shimmering silver satin. Dresses with light beading and fringe with metallic threading parade in my head. I remember the press release I worked on with Michael — “Stefan Meyers Brings Back Roaring Twenties with Elegant Art Deco.” Whatever we add has to be grand but not take away from the designs.

“How about an enormous chandelier at the end of the runway?” I suggest, imagining light ricocheting off the crystals and illuminating the metallic threading on the dresses. “That would really add some drama and glamour. We could do something reminiscent of the 1920s.”

Michael closes his eyes. “That will be perfect! The bee’s knees, some might say! Just like you, my dear.”