Designer Drama Page 4

  “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 défi’ 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? Que’lle horreur!”

  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.

  “Oui! 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.

  When they got to the hotel, Mickey was too exhausted to even unpack.

  “Told you to sleep on the plane,” JC scolded her. “Now you’re going to sleep the day away instead of seeing the sights with me and my cousin Angelique.”

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Mickey said, yawning. “I just need to take a little nap.”

  Mr. Kaye handed her a room key. “My room is right next door,” he said. “And you are not to leave unescorted by a chaperone. Is that clear?”

  Mickey nodded. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m totally lost with all this French. I thought sortie was something you do to your laundry—not an exit.”

  “And I’ll be a few block away at my cousin’s flat,” JC reminded her. “In case you need a translator.”

  Mickey opened her door and rolled her bag inside.

  “Surprise!” her mom shouted, swooping her into a huge bear hug.

  “Mom? Am I dreaming? Are you here? How are you here?”

  “Mr. Kaye arranged everything—my flight, our room, our meals,” her mom explained. “I had some vacation time coming at work, so I just took it!”

  Mickey gulped. “But, Joanna…” She only called her mom by her first name when she was trying to sound serious and mature. “How can we afford it?”

  Her mother smiled. “I’m going to do makeup on the models for the competition next weekend. Mr. Kaye got FIFI to hire me. I’m an official makeup artist for the runway!”

  Mickey flopped down on the couch. “He did? That’s so awesome,” she said, closing her eyes. “I promise I’ll be really excited and remember to thank him when I’m not so tired. Mom, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Her mom covered Mickey with a blanket and kissed her on the forehead. “Me too. Get some zzz’s, Mickey Mouse,” she said. “And when you wake up, we’re hitting Paris!”

  • • •

  By the time Mickey finally opened her eyes again, it was late afternoon.

  “Did I miss it?” she said, yawning.

  “Miss what?” her mom asked. She was busy cleaning her makeup brushes and organizing her eye shadows into palettes.

  “I dunno. Paris.”

  Joanna smiled. “Hardly. Mr. Kaye said we’re to meet him in the lobby at four. He’s got something up his sleeve, I’m sure.”

  When they got downstairs, JC was already there with Madonna on a rhinestone-studded leash.

  “Bonsoir, sleepyhead,” he teased. “The jet lag really got to you, huh?”

  “I hate that I slept through half a day,” Mickey said. “I didn’t want to miss a single moment.”

  “And you won’t,” Mr. Kaye said, arriving in the lobby. “The competition booked us a Paris city tour ending with a bateau on the Seine.”

  Mickey dug her pocket French dictionary out of her bag. “What’s a bateau? And what’s a Seine?”

  “It’s a dinner cruise on the river,” JC explained. “I’ve done one before, and it’s great—you can see everything from the water. And they serve crepes for dessert!” Madonna barked her approval.

  “Mr. Kaye,” Mickey began, “about my mom… I can’t thank you enough.”

  “De rien, you’re welcome.” He waved it off. “It’s hard to find a good makeup artist these days.” He looked at Mickey’s mom and winked.

  “Do you think we can climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower?” Joanna asked.

  “I believe that is the final stop,” Mr. Kaye said, ushering them out the hotel’s revolving door. “After you.”

  The tour bus was packed with fashion students from all over the world and their teachers and chaperones, all chattering in different languages.

  “Do you think we stand a chance?” Mickey whispered to JC. “Against all these kids?”

  JC scanned the crowd. “Mais bien sûr! But of course!” he said. “What do they have that we don’t—besides some really crazy foreign accents?”

  The rest of the day was filled with seeing the sights, sampling delicious French pastries, and “Mais bien sûr!” a visit to the Eiffel Tower.

  Mickey stood next to her mom, looking down on Paris and all its splendor. The city shimmered with a million lights, and the crowds of people below looked like tiny bugs swarming on the street.

  “It’s so beautiful,” her mom said with tears in her eyes. “I never thought I would get to see it.”

  Mickey squeezed her hand. “When I’m a big-time fashion designer, I’ll make sure we go to Paris every year for Fashion Week,” she promised. “This is just the beginning, Mom. You’ll see.”

  “I believe you,” her mom replied. “And I believe in you, Mickey Mouse.”

  After dinner, Mr. Kaye took JC and Mickey aside for a stern talk. “I know today was a lot of excitement and fun,” he said. “But tomorrow it’s time to get down to business. We begin at FIFI at 8:00 a.m. sharp, and you’ll be receiving the details of l’ultime défi.”

  Mickey gulped. What if she got the hardest challenge? What if she and JC couldn’t think of a single look to make? What if they made something that was completely awful? Mr. Kaye read her mind: “It will be fine, Mickey. Just focus and have faith in yourself and your abilities. That’s what got you here.”

  Mickey managed a weak smile. There was just so much at stake! Not only her reputation, but Mr. Kaye’s and FAB’s as well. She tried to remember what her mom always told her: “Winning isn’t everything. It’s how you play the game.” Maybe that worked for elementary school gym class, but this was the big time: Paris! FIFI! The best and brightest fashion schools from around the world!

  Her mind was racing that night when she went to bed in the hotel—and not even ordering a cup of warm milk from room service helped. She’d made a promise to her mom and herself that this would not be the last time they came to Paris. But what if it was? What if the students in the competition laughed at her, just like Jade and the French girls in her dream? What if FIFI thought she had no future as a designer? What then?

  “Do you remember what I used to do when you were little and couldn’t sleep?” her mom asked her.

  “Yell, ‘Mickey, go to sleep’?” Mickey joked.

  “No, I used to sing you a lullaby,” her mom replied. “Remember?”

  Mickey racked her brain. Then all at once, it came to back to her.

  “It was French!” she said. “Something about a boy named Jack?”

  Her mom smiled and began to sing softly: “Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques. Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?”

  By the time she reached the part of the song with morning bells ringing “Ding ding dong,” Mickey was fast asleep.

  FIFI was the opposite of FAB. Instead of halls filled with students laughing and chatting and comparing their sketches, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. As they tiptoed around, Mickey kept one eye out for Jade. It would be just like her to arrive early and get a jump on the competition.

  “They take themselves very seriously here,” Mr. Kaye said, holding a finger to his lips. “
No talking above a whisper while class is in session.” He looked around and marveled, “Amazing. It’s exactly the same. Even the Silence, s’il vous plait signs everywhere.”

  JC rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right? Who would want to go to a school like this where you have to keep quiet all the time?”

  “I would. Or did,” Mr. Kaye replied. “A long, long time ago, I attended classes at FIFI, and it was the only place in the world I wanted to be.”

  “So why did you leave?” Mickey asked.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Mr. Kaye said. He sounded both angry and sad. “The job I thought I would have here after college, the job I always wanted, went to someone else.”

  “You mean Tony the phony?” JC asked him.

  “Gaston. Yes. We were once great friends, not unlike the two of you.”

  “So what happened?” Mickey said. “Did you have a fight?”

  “Not a fight, really. He just didn’t play fair. He was too afraid I’d overshadow him.”

  “Sound like any Designzilla we know?” JC elbowed Mickey. “Jade’s obviously been taking lessons from the Tony playbook.”

  “Regardless, I found my way to FAB and guiding brilliant young designers like the two of you,” Mr. Kaye added. “So do not embarrass me.”

  Mickey and JC looked at each other. Mr. Kaye meant it. He left them waiting in the lobby and went to register.

  “He sure knows how to turn a warm and fuzzy moment into a threat, doesn’t he?” JC joked.

  When their teacher returned, he was holding a single manila envelope. “Your ultimate challenge,” he said. “It’s assigned at random, so no team has any advantage. You get what you get, and you don’t get upset.”

  He handed her the envelope, and she stood there staring at it. Then she closed her eyes and made a silent wish that it would be something good.

  “If you’re not opening it, I will,” JC said anxiously.

  Finally, Mickey tore open the envelope and read the paper inside several times.