More than Fashion

17

The next judge was new this season, and they’d kept her identity a tight secret so far: Kiara Jones, a black actress who was only twenty-two but had already started her own fashion line about a year ago that targeted young, trendy women. She had long, beautiful dark hair and wore a stylish dress I guessed was from her own brand. I was surprised they’d picked her as one of the judges and wondered what kind of critique she would give.

After they were seated, Lola walked out onto the runway in her own little black dress, clearly loving the spotlight. She tossed her hair back and stopped to face us.

“Welcome to your first runway show, designers. Your challenge was to create a little black dress in only six hours. We’ll decide now if you showed us anything fab…or if it’s all drab. One person will win a thousand dollars and a stay in the private suite tonight, while three of you will be going home. Let’s begin.”

She walked off the stage and took her seat next to the other judges. The lights dimmed around us and brightened over the runway. Low techno music began to thump in the background. The other designers seemed to freeze, like we’d all taken a big, collective breath we would hold for the duration of the show.

The first model walked out, wearing a tight black dress with cutouts along her sides. I didn’t know who the designer was—with fourteen of us it was hard to keep track of whose dress was whose. The judges took notes as the model walked, and when she got backstage, the next model stepped out immediately.

Over the next few minutes I saw more little black dresses than I’d ever seen in one place before. A few stood out from the rest as clear frontrunners, but overall most of them were forgettable. And a few were downright hideous.

When Carla came out, I cringed. My dress wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t even close to what I’d originally envisioned. I’d made a cute skater dress that was tight at the top with a low-cut neckline, then flared at the waist thanks to the tulle under the skirt. To make it a little more unique, I’d added a hood, which was pulled up over Carla’s head, giving her a mysterious look as she sauntered down the runway.

Carla rocked it as best she could, her hands in the pockets and twirling at the end to show off the skirt’s movement, but to me the dress just seemed sloppy. I could have done so much better if only I’d had more time. If only I hadn’t gotten drunk or stayed up so late or hooked up with Gavin or or or…

No, thinking like that would only drive me crazy. If I got kicked off, I deserved it for my poor judgement last night. But I would do just about anything to not go home in the first week. I couldn’t even imagine it: to finally be on the show and then sent home immediately, like it was a mistake I’d gotten on in the first place. I was sure Nika and Derrick would think so if I was kicked off. I could practically hear their snotty laughter already. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to prove to them, to my family, to everyone else that I deserved to be here.

Please, I prayed, just let me make it to the next round.

They raised the lights around us, and the four judges walked past the runway and into the back, where the models waited. I knew from watching the show on TV that they got closer looks at the dresses and also discussed their results with each other. Once they were done, they would come out to talk to the designers and decide who was going home—and who was the winner of the challenge.

After they were gone for a few minutes, quiet conversations started up amongst the designers, like we were all a little unsure if we were supposed to talk or not, but couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Your dress was charming,” Molly said to me.

“Thanks. I loved yours. You seriously owned that brocade.”

“That was all thanks to you. I’m glad we could work out a trade.”

“Me too.”

“I made a dress like that for my granddaughter on her birthday. That’s why I started designing—to make clothes for all nine of my grandkids. Buying them got too darn expensive!” She continued on and on about her family, but I was too worried about my place on the show to do anything but smile and nod.

An eternity later, the judges walked back out, and all the conversations died instantly. The judges took their seats across the runway, except for Lola, who faced us.

“If I call your name, please come up to the runway so we may speak with you. If I don’t call your name, you’re moving forward and can leave the room.” She checked an index card and began reading off names. Some were names of designers I didn’t know. She also called out Gavin, Dawn, Tom, and Nika. Nine names in total.

Including mine.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As I stood up, Molly whispered, “Good luck.” I gave her a hesitant smile and shuffled behind the others toward the steps leading up to the stage. The designers who were safe this week left the room to wait in the backstage lounge for the judging to be over.

Once we were on the runway, Kelsey came out and made sure we stood equal distance apart, before flitting off again out of sight. Our models came out and stood in the gaps between us. Carla gave me a warm smile, and I wanted to grab her hand but knew that would be too obvious. The fact that the judges had called my name could be either good or very, very bad. And I had a sinking suspicion it wasn’t good.

Lola surveyed the nine of us before speaking. “We’re going to go down the line and talk to each of you. Remember: three of you will be going home today.”