Ruby Reinvented (24 page)

“How could I not know that you design dresses? I'm your mother. And not only that, I made a living as a fashion model!” Mom dabs the tears from the corner of her eyes with a tissue.

Dad puts his hand up to the camera. He calls this a
virtual hand hold. I put my hand up to the screen so it's touching the image of his.

“So will you come?” I wipe my eyes with the back of my other hand.

Mom and Dad are having a psychic conversation. Mom's eyebrows are furrowed and Dad's lips are pursed. Not a good sign.

“It's not that easy, Bea. I'm in San Francisco. Your mother has a live taping tomorrow. Even if I didn't play tonight, I'm not sure I'd get there in time—”

The tears bubble up in my eyes again. I try to swallow them back. I don't want to upset my parents even more. This is my fault.

“I don't see how I can get out of the taping tomorrow,” Mom says. “A lot of people are counting on me here. I just wish we had known sooner.”

“I'm sorry,” I say in a small voice. I can't even look at the camera, so I look down at my desk. A giant knot forms in my stomach.

“We're sorry, hon,” Mom says. “Are you going to be okay?”

I force my head to nod. “Yeah, I'll think of something.”

“Good luck, Bea.” Dad smiles. “We're so proud of you.”

“We really wish we could be there,” Mom says.

“I know,” I say.

I get off of FaceTime and look at Summer.

“What now?”

“We can still auction off the other dresses,” Summer says.

“Yeah, but we'll never make enough.” The knot in my stomach tightens.

“It will be a start,” Summer replies.

I stare at the dress I made for Mom. For a second I think maybe one of the other models could wear it, but it wouldn't feel right.

It was made for her.

 33 

O
NE HOUR TILL fashion show time.

Summer and I are in the auditorium setting up. We roll a red felt runner down the stage and put up signs printed with
DESIGNSBYBEA.COM
on them. Mrs. Kearney lets us borrow the plants from the lobby, so we line the stage with pots of flowers and greenery.

Once the stage is done, we place a program on each chair. Summer designed and typed the entire thing, and even included pictures of the models wearing my designs. The cover of the program is bright orange.

We're on the last row of seats when Holly comes in with a few of her friends.

“The decorations look great.” She looks around approvingly. “Where do you want us?”

Summer leads the girls backstage to the dressing room, where all the dresses are neatly hung up, waiting for someone to breathe life into them. I stayed up late last night to put the finishing touches on Mom's dress, just in case I decide to have someone model it. Even though it was made for her, it really is special and could bring a lot of money for the observation deck.

After I finish placing the programs on the seats, I sprint to the dressing room. Summer, Katie, Antoinette, Holly, and six of Holly's friends are lined up at the mirrors, finishing up their hair and makeup. I gasp out loud when they all turn to look at me.

They look amazing.

“Are you ready?” Summer grabs my hands in hers and squeezes. Her hair is highlighted with hot pink spray, which matches the sash on her silver dress perfectly.

“You're wearing eye shadow?” I'm staring at the silver sparkles above her eyes.

“Only for you.” She blinks her eyes several times. “This stuff itches like crazy.”

There's a knock on the door. “Two minutes,” says the voice from the other side.

Katie squeals. And then runs to the garbage can to throw up.

“Are you okay?” I sprint over to her while Summer grabs a handful of towels off the shelf.

“I think I'm nervous.” Katie takes one of the towels from Summer and wipes her face. Holly drags a stool to where Katie is standing and leans her into it. “I don't feel so good.”

“It's okay, Katie. Just sit here for a while.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Can I get you a glass of water?” She nods, and I grab a glass next to the sink and fill it up.

“Thank you.” She takes a sip.

“One minute,” the voice on the other side of the door booms.

“Are you going to be okay?” Summer asks Katie.

“I don't know.” Katie's voice cracks. “Sometimes I get stage fright.”

A part of me feels terrible for Katie, but another part of me wishes she had told me that before. “Don't worry, Katie. Just stay here until you feel better.”

“But your dress. It's so beautiful.”

“It's more important that you feel better.” She gives me a lopsided smile. I can't worry about this now. We have less than a minute to get out there.

“Okay, girls.” Summer claps her hands. “Let's line up, just like we practiced.”

The girls are lined up within seconds, and Summer leads them down the hall to the stage entrance.

“I'll be there in a sec.” I feel bad leaving Katie in here alone.

“I think I'm okay,” Katie says, and takes another sip of water.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes.” Katie stands up and smiles. “Let's go break a leg.”

Katie runs to catch up with the other girls. Before darting backstage, I scan the audience. The auditorium is packed, but there's no sign of Connor. My heart feels heavy, until I remind myself that it's hard to recognize faces in just the light from the lobby. He might be there—maybe I just can't see him.

I line up behind the models, who are squealing and holding each other's hands. Since I'm last in line, I can't see what's happening on the stage, but I can certainly hear it. The music blares for about five seconds, and then it is lowered. A voice booms from the speakers. It's Mr. Zabar, our drama teacher–turned-emcee.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Midcoast Academy's Special Project, Designs by Bea Miller!”

Claps and cheers fill my ears. Summer peers out from the front of the line and gives me a thumbs-up. The music changes, and Summer struts onstage. The crowd goes wild, and I have to throw my hands up to my ears to dull the noise.

As the models take the stage, Mr. Zabar describes each dress in detail. I know he's reading from the cards we gave him, but if I hadn't written the words myself I never would have known. He sounds like a fashion maven.

“Summer is wearing a silver silk chiffon dress with a layer of shiny sequins lining the spaghetti straps. The hot
pink sash adds a splash of color, and the hem is designed to float through the air like a silver cloud.”

Summer skips across the stage so the audience can see the bottom of the dress hovering just above the runway. Even though I wore that dress before I ever came to Midcoast, it's completely obvious that it was made for Summer. Summer takes her spot on stage left, and Mr. Zabar continues in his announcer voice.

“Antoinette is wearing a knee-length royal blue strapless taffeta dress with a ruffled skirt. Silk ribbon trims the ruffles for added depth and sparkle.”

Antoinette giggles as she struts up and down the runway, spinning at either end. Her skirt poofs out as she does, and the ruffles shimmer under the spotlights.

Mr. Zabar goes on to describe Holly's “metallic retro design with an asymmetrical neckline for a funky look your friends will never forget.” Holly waves when she gets to the end of the runway, and the slit dolman sleeves gleam like liquid aluminum foil. I give myself a mental fist bump because that's exactly the look I was going for.

The rest of the girls take their turn on the runway, and I'm the only one left behind the curtain. I can hear my own heartbeat over the music. Any minute now Mr. Zabar is going to—

“And now, meet the designer herself, Bea Miller!”

I close my eyes and take the deepest breath ever. I
imagine myself like my mother, gliding instead of walking. Back straight. Shoulders back. Big smile. Once the image is implanted in my brain, I open my eyes and head for the stage.

As soon as I walk through the curtain, the sound hits me like a wall of bricks. People are cheering. Clapping. Yelling. I can't see anything except the lights pointed right at me. They're almost as bright as the stars outside. An image of Connor showing me the Big Dipper flashes through my mind, and I wonder if he's here. I wonder if he knows what we're about to do.

When I get closer to the edge of the stage, I can see the audience. And they're standing up! They're standing up and clapping. I look down to be sure my feet are on the ground, because I could swear I'm floating.

“Designer Bea Miller is wearing an orange cotton poplin dress with a sweetheart neckline. The sporty white buttons run down the bodice, leading into a belted, pleated skirt that's part frilly, part flirty. This design is perfect for a spring stroll, or a picnic in the park. Pair this dress with a strappy sandal for fancier occasions or with a pair of Keds for a more casual look.”

The audience is still standing and clapping when Mr. Zabar hands the microphone to me. The lights dim a little bit, and the crowd gets quiet.

I squeeze the microphone tightly, leaving sweaty
handprints all over it. I take a deep breath, and when I blow it out, I realize I've blown right into the microphone. I hear some giggles from the audience and come
this close
to throwing the mic back to Mr. Zabar and bolting off this stage.

But then I remember why I'm here. “Thank you so much. I, uhhh, I hope you like the dresses.”

Thunderous applause.

I loosen my grip on the microphone a little bit. “All of these original designs are on sale tonight. We're having an auction to raise money for a very special project, the Jack and Diane Sullivan Memorial Observation Deck. The observation deck will be designed by Connor Sullivan, and it's going to be built off of the science room, right here on Midcoast's campus. All proceeds from tonight will go directly to this special project.”

More applause.

“It's super easy to bid on the dresses. Just go to Designs by Bea dot com on your phones, and follow the instructions. The bidding will go on for the next twenty minutes. Thank you for your support.”

I can't think of anything else to say, so I give the microphone back to Mr. Zabar. “Thank you, Bea! Beautiful designs for a beautiful cause. Let's take another look at them, shall we?” He then describes each dress as the model wearing it walks up and down the stage one more
time. I glance over at Holly's friend Tess, who's monitoring the website just offstage. She gives me a thumbs-up, then waves me over.

“People are bidding.” She scrolls through the designs on her laptop, seeing how much they're going for and who is bidding on what.

The music is still on, and the models are still strutting across the stage, Mr. Zabar enthusiastically highlighting the details of each dress yet again.

“Six minutes left,” Tess says.

I stand behind her and look over her shoulder. “How much have we made so far?”

“A lot.” She scrolls down and shows me the total amount bid so far.

“That is a lot.” I feel hot tears stinging my eyes. “But it isn't enough.”

I wonder if I should put Mom's dress on. It would probably give us an extra boost, but then I realize that I'm way too small to fit into it. As I scan the models to see who might be the same size as Mom, there's a tap on my shoulder.

“Bea, there's someone here to see you,” Mrs. Kearney says.

Maybe it's Connor. Maybe he's forgiven me and he wants to support the fashion show and he's come to thank me for raising money for the observation deck. My stomach does a little jump as I picture him standing backstage.

I run one hand over my hair to smooth out the flyaways and smile at Mrs. Kearney. She steps aside and motions for me to follow her to the dressing room.

It's not Connor.

It's Ellie.

And next to Ellie are my parents.