A LOOK TO DYE FOR
It took hours to make the fabric gradually flow from ballet-slipper pink to blood red. She slowly inched the fabric out of the tub to create a subtle ombre effect with the coffee grinds. The result reminded Emma of the swirls of espresso and foamy milk combining in a cappuccino. Hours to achieve different shades of green by leaving swaths of fabric in the kale dye for different amounts of time.
All she had left was the turmeric dye. She poked the fabric at the bottom of the large plastic bin. Her wooden spoon was stained the color of a summer dandelion. The spice was the most potent of all the dyes. The yellow would add that magical pop to her collection. Perfect for a flash of camisole under a long jacket or a swingy trapeze dress. She imagined the beads—emerald green Swarovski crystals, tiny carnelian drops, or moon-glow Lucite beads like the ones on a necklace her grandmother used to wear—that would jump off of that rich gold backdrop.
“Almost done?” Holly called from Emma’s bedroom. She’d abandoned Emma to her vats of color long ago. She’d never been one for art projects. Neither had Charlie.
He sat cross-legged on the closed toilet seat and DJed the event with his laptop. “Music to Dye By,” he named the playlist. Mostly folksy ballads with a twist of funk.
Holly had busied herself, trying on different outfits, mixing and matching from her traveling closet, and strutting in for Emma’s approval. Emma hadn’t liked the stretchy sailor striped sweater or the micro mini skirt with tights or the cropped raglan-sleeved top—although Holly looked great in pretty much anything. Those clothes just weren’t Holly. Emma figured she must have been peer pressured into getting those pieces on a shopping trip with the Ivana-Bees.
So they finally settled on Holly’s favorite “boyfriend” style jeans tucked into short, fur-lined booties for the bottom. And on top, a soft subtly patterned plaid flannel under a three-quarter-length sleeve whispery knit in a shade of periwinkle that made Holly’s eyes look impossibly blue. Emma knew Holly would be more relaxed if she was comfortable. And really, how could Clayton not fall for her?
“Now you need to get dressed.” Holly stood in the doorway and wrinkled her nose. “It reeks like a dumpster outside a vegan restaurant.”
Emma could no longer smell anything. She hadn’t left the narrow bathroom in forever. Emma’s parents and brother had left for the night nearly an hour ago. Holly had arranged for Clayton and Jackson to meet at Emma’s apartment.
The boys would be here soon. And she really did want to look great for Jackson.
She would have to rely on her default jeans as well—stretchy with a little flair, with one embroidered hip pocket. And a few layered long-sleeved Ts. Slightly different lengths of violet, gray, and a deep amethyst—tucked in just the tiniest bit to show off her styling pocket, she decided.
“I just need to finish. Only a little more,” Emma promised Holly. She lifted the dazzling yellow fabric from the bin. She rinsed it under cool water from the tub then clipped it to dry on one of the many clotheslines zig-zagged in a spider web across the bathroom.
“You should call it quits and make some room in here to take a shower,” Holly advised.
Emma barely heard her. Her eyes danced along the yards and yards of colorful fabric draped around the room. Magically, the blank fabric had been granted personalities. Each piece whispered to her. She was starting to understand how they’d work together.
“Em, are you listening to me?” Holly demanded.
“Yeah, sure.” She wasn’t listening. She was shuffling through ideas. Colors paired with silhouettes. She needed a bridge between the beet-red and the coffee-beige. The color contrast was too big a jump. Something rust or burnt sienna….
“Charlie, can you get through to her? She’s in one of her fashion dream-states,” Holly complained.
“There’s no coming back from it. The girl’s gone.”
“Well, get her back,” Holly tapped the toe of her buff leather boot impatiently. “Jackson’s going to be here soon. Jackson. Did you hear that, Em? Jackson!”
“I heard,” Emma said. “I’ll be ready. No worries.” She raced to the kitchen and checked the red onion skins that she’d boiled earlier. They were ready to go. She had one big sheet of fabric left. One more and she’d be done. The fabrics she dyed first were starting to dry, and she was happy to see that the vegetable dyes took to the fabric unevenly. But in a very cool, unique way. A uniquely uneven way in which you couldn’t even notice the water stains.
She was giddy—so close! Her fingers itched to hold the finished material, to drape it, to guide it under the needle of her sewing machine.
I need to prep the fabric, she realized. Holly called her name again. She blocked her out and reached for the bottle of white vinegar. Empty. No back-up bottles in the pantry. Without vinegar, she wouldn’t be able to fix the dye to the fabric.
She grabbed her wallet out of her school bag. She had ten dollars of her own plus the money her mom left her for the movies. Mr. Silviera’s bodega was at the corner. He’d have vinegar, she was sure. She slipped her feet, the socks splattered with bits of kale, into a pair of crocs by the door. The thick fabric of her sweatpants bunched oddly at the knees.
“I’m going out!” she called, snatching the keys that hung on a hook by the front coat closet.
Holly ran into the hall. “Oh, no, you are not!”
“I just have to get more vinegar.” Emma reached for the doorknob. “It’s quick.”
“Em, you’re getting all possessed.” Holly placed her hand over Emma’s. Emma still wore the stained, rubber dish gloves.
Emma felt her heart pound. She got like this when she created, when she sewed, when she had an idea and needed her much slower hands to catch up with her racing brain.
“If I could just finish the fabric—” If she didn’t, the movie would be a disaster. All she would think about would be the fabric. She hated that she had tunnel vision. She could never be like Charlie who could do his homework, watch music videos, and talk on the phone all at the same time. She was a one-thing-at-a-time girl.
Holly pulled the navy-patent wallet from her hand. “New plan. I’ll run to the store. I’m already dressed. I even did my make-up.” She blinked her thick eyelashes several times, showing off the double-coat of black mascara. “You get ready. Deal?”
“You don’t need to—”
“Yes, I do.” Holly cut her off. “I want us to go to the movies. Us means two. You and me. Please hurry.” Holly grabbed her gray puffer coat from the gingham front bench, took Emma’s keys, and swept out the door.
Emma kicked off her crocs. Back to the kitchen or the bathroom or to her closet? Too many choices.
“Did you forget about me?” Charlie called from the bathroom. “I feel like I’m vacationing in Mumbai. The Indian spices. The colorful saris on the lines. Wow, I could really go for chicken tikka. Want to bail on the movie and order in Indian food?”
“I promised Holly,” she reminded him, entering the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the sink. Most of her pale brown hair had fallen out of her low ponytail. The steam from the stove had caused the little hairs framing her face to curl and frizz and her cheeks to flush. Bits of the beets and berries that she’d strained had dripped on her field-day tee. “Oh, boy. I need a total transformation.”
“Beyond my abilities. My work here is done.” Charlie grabbed his laptop and backpack.
“What work?” Emma teased. She bent and gripped the edges of the huge plastic bin to dump the turmeric-tinged water into the tub and down the drain. Her mom expected the bathroom clean when she got home from dinner.
She grunted as she lifted. Gallons of liquid made the bin heavier than she’d expected. The yellow liquid sloshed about, as the middle strained and buckled under the weight. She bent her knees to steady herself then began to inch the bin back toward the tub.
“You need help.” Charlie lurched toward her, his laptop hastily shoved under his arm.
She saw the flash of Charlie’s blond hair before her socks slid against the tiles, damp from the dripping fabric. Her feet tried desperately to connect with the floor, but she was already airborne, tumbling backward, the force of the bin pushing against her chest.
Landing in the tub on her backside, she dropped the bin to break her fall with her hands. Instantly, a waterfall of spicy, yellow water drenched her entire body.
Wetness poured down her forehead and into her eyes and ears. Her clothes stuck to her body. Her hair matted to her head. Her eyes stung.
Charlie doubled over, letting out short, hyena-like bursts of laughter, unable to control himself. “Are you okay?” he sputtered.
Emma stood. “Yeah. I’m wet.”
“And yellow.” Charlie dissolved into another fit of laughter. Somehow he’d managed to stay out of reach of the splashdown.
Emma’s eyes widened as she viewed herself in the mirror. “I’m like Big Bird!”
“Or Lisa Simpson,” Charlie added.
Emma cringed. She was covered in the turmeric dye. Her face, neck, and arms glowed a Pokémon-shade of yellow. And while she’d always tried for highlights in the summer with lemon juice, the streaks in her hair were now more Crayola than sun-kissed.
She began to giggle. “I look like a dyed Easter egg.”
“More like you were dipped in yolk.” Charlie shook his head in amazement. “You smell like mustard.”
Emma stepped out of the tub and tried to wring out her shirt. The beet globs had mixed with the turmeric to create a funky orange mess on her chest.
“At least my fabric is all safe.” She let out a sigh of relief.
And then the doorbell rang.
Emma let out a shriek.
It rang again.
“Maybe it’s Holly,” Charlie said, “back with the vinegar.”
“She has keys.” Emma’s stomach twisted, as she stared at herself in the mirror then turned away. Her hair was plastered about her face. Yellow water dripped onto her shoulders and the floor. She watched a puddle collect about her smelly wet socks. “You get the door.”
“Me?” Charlie looked suddenly unsure. “No way. I didn’t want anything to do with this movie thing.”
The bell chimed again.
Emma’s head spun. Maybe Holly had forgotten that she had keys. That was possible, right?
She grabbed a big bath towel and wrapped it around her middle. She twisted her hair up in a smaller towel. Then she padded quietly to the door.
Please let it be Holly, she murmured to her herself. Please.
She pushed her eye to the peephole.
Jackson and Clayton stood side-by-side, their faces large, grinning, and distorted by the angle. She could make out the top of Lexie’s shiny, dark hair behind them. And then she caught sight of Ivana’s wicked grin.
She froze. Now what?
She sensed Charlie coming up behind her.
Her fingers flew to flick the switch on the wall, casting the hall into darkness. She whirled about, grabbed Charlie’s arm with one hand and put her fingers to her lips with the other. Silently, she dragged him into the kitchen. She shut those lights, too.
“What’re we doing?” Charlie whispered.
“Hiding.” It seemed like the only solution. There was no way she was letting Jackson—or Ivana—see her like this.
“Under the cover of darkness?”
“They’ll think no one is home. They’ll go away.”
“This is silly.” Charlie shook free of her grip.
“Do you have a better plan? Look at me!” Her whispered voice grew high and thin. She heard muffled voices coming from the hall.
Charlie slumped onto a chair. “Good point.” The doorbell rang four times in a row. “Persistent, aren’t they?”
“They’ll give up,” Emma assured him. She was positive Ivana and Lexie would be only too happy to leave her behind.
She waited in the silence, straining her ears to catch their voices again.
Then she heard an unmistakable giggle. A giggle she’d been listening to since she was four. Holly was back!
A key jiggled in the lock. The front door squeaked open.
“I don’t know why she didn’t answer. I just went to the store to—hey, that’s weird. Why’s it so dark?” Holly’s surprised voice rang out through the apartment.
Emma glanced frantically about the kitchen. Would hiding under the table do anything?
“Emma? Where are you?”
“It smells weird in here.” Emma didn’t need to be in the hall to picture the disgusted face Ivana was making.
“Anyone home?” Jackson called.
Charlie raised his hands. Emma shook her head. She wished she’d thought to write a note and leave it in the hall.
“Emma? Are you okay?” Holly’s tone changed. Emma heard the panic and instantly felt bad. She was hiding from her best friend and the boy she liked—and scaring them.
“In here!” she called out. She’d just have to face them.
Holly stepped through the doorway first, with Jackson, Clayton, Ivana, and Lexie right behind. She reached for the switch, flooding the small kitchen with light.
Lexie gasped. Ivana let out a self-satisfied shriek.
“Em, you’re wet!” Holly cried out.
“And yellow,” Clayton added.
She knew all of that. She readied herself to explain what happened, but then she heard Jackson.
Laughing.
At her.
