Once we arrive, we’re led to a large hall filled with stations, dresses, people, and more lights than I have ever seen before in my life.
“You’re fine,” Allie says. Taking my hand, she pulls me through the room until we reach a spot that has her name taped across a garment rack.
“What are these if the clothes are already here?” I ask, adding the garment bags we hauled through the crowds.
“Backups.” She doesn’t even look my way as she responds, straightening the additions and moving to plug in a steamer.
“What should I do?”
“Go get a cup of ice.”
“For what?”
“You need to start sucking on it.”
“Why?” My brows draw low in question.
“It will lower your body temperature and make you stop sweating.” I glance down, wondering if my nerves are visible under my arms. “You aren’t yet, but you will.” With that assurance, I head off in search of ice.
As I stand in front of the mirror—my hair and makeup completed by Charleigh—I realize Allie was never harnessing her talents; she was unleashing them, stepping outside of all comfort zones to create something that is beyond imaginable. I feel nervous to touch the first dress, let alone wear it. How will I move without possibly harming it? Even a crease seems tragic to this beautiful piece.
“You can’t sit or eat or drink, and please don’t sweat.”
I look to Allie and feel the temperature in the room rise by ten degrees.
“Here’s another ice cube,” Charleigh says, offering me a plastic spoon. They’ve been dropping them into my mouth to prevent me from ruining my lipstick.
“Don’t lock your knees. You want to remember to lean forward with your chest, chin up, and weight on your toes,” Allie instructs as her fingers trail the dress, seeking any slight imperfections that we all know don’t exist.
I recite the instructions twice more in my head while keeping my arms propped out like a doll, another measure to prevent sweating.
“Alright, Lo, you’ve got to get in line,” Allie says, grabbing the bottle of hair spray. She’s sprayed me down from head to toe already, and still she does it again.
We walk—me stiff, them relaxed—to where others are starting to get in order. People with headpieces that link from their ear to walkie talkies are checking sheets, instructing us on where to go.
“You’re going to do great. Take a couple of deep breaths and just look to the bottom right when you get out there. They’re all waiting for you.” Charleigh gently squeezes my hand, holding on until I feel my nerves start to subside.
The lights are bright, heating me like a dozen suns shining on me. They also make it nearly impossible to decipher anyone’s face. I’m fairly certain the crowd is loudest on the right, and I reckon it’s where King and the group are sitting, but I can’t pause long enough to confirm it. I recite the tips again in my head. My face is cool with my chin tilted up, my chest forward, my weight balanced on my toes in a pair of shoes that I will do a celebratory burial for once this is over, and my knees are slightly bent as I make a final pose at the end of the runway where a sea of cameras are pointed toward me.
I feel slightly guilty for feeling exhilarated by the energy that is pumping through me as I descend the back stairs and head to where my next dress is waiting for me along with Charleigh, Allie, and two girls I’ve never met that strip me like a doll. I’ve been saying looks don’t count, numbers are irrelevant, yet I’m parading around like they do. Still, this is such a huge step for Allie that I try to forget about the thoughts until later and ignore the fact that people are seeing me in nothing but a skimpy pair of underwear, and let them work their magic.
Five times I walk down the stage that thankfully seemed shorter with each pass. I was never able to pick out Mercedes, or even King from the crowd, but I don’t doubt for a second that they missed the show.
“You were amazing!” Allie cries, flinging her arms around me when I step backstage. “You rocked every single dress.”
“I should. You made them to fit me.”
Charleigh grins, but Allie is so lost in a blissful happiness that is preventing her from taking in much of anything at the moment.
They strip me once again and I dress in my own clothes that feel loose and light in contrast to the dresses. I roll my shoulders, appreciating the range of motion being restored, and my feet sigh as they slide into a pair of ballet flats. Allie has vanished, whisked away to go take a bow along with the other designers and their professor who managed to give me the tightest of smiles before my last trip down the runway.
“Loooooo!”
I look up and see Mercedes running at me with a bouquet of red roses fisted in her hand. She launches into my arms from a foot back and hugs me so tightly it catches my breath. Charleigh smiles, and it tells me how happy she is for me and the close relationship that Mercedes and I have built and will always share.
“You were so beautiful!” she cries as Summer steps up behind her with a matching smile. “They won’t let any boys back here,” Mercedes continues, then looks to her left. “But there’s already…”
“They’re with the design teams,” Charleigh quickly explains as two men brush past us. They had, I watched as they applied makeup like artists with a paintbrush.
Mercedes doesn’t care. She’s already peering around at the models and dresses, loving the commotion and energy that is still filling the room.
“Your mom thinks you’re going to be the next big thing,” Mercedes chirps. “I think she’s right.”
“My mom?” I don’t mean for the question to be verbal, but they all look at me, Charleigh sucking in a deep breath to confirm she knew she was out there. I’m glad she didn’t tell me; it would have made me obsess over everything, which is likely the reason she didn’t.
“She’s waiting with Kash and King,” Summer says, her voice even and her face careful, like she’s expecting a reaction.
Without asking her to, Charleigh takes my hand and leads us out to the hall that is filled with people. We don’t have to go far. A hand catches my arm and within seconds I smell King in the air, moving around me as he advances, and then I’m wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
He’s silent, or my thoughts and the crowd are too loud. I’m not sure. I don’t hold on to him for long. I need to see that she’s actually here, introducing herself to my friends as my mother.
It’s not just her; my brother, Josh, is standing on her other side, clearly uncomfortable and reproachful of the situation. I don’t know how to greet either of them because I don’t call her Mom, not to her face. “Hey.” My voice is quiet and strained, and I resent her being here more than I thought possible. I feel like they’re intruding on this moment and time with my friends.
“Lo, you looked like a natural up there!” Kash says, awkwardly wrapping an arm around my side that King isn’t still pressed against. “You seriously killed it! Summer has some awesome shots! I know you don’t draw yourself, but you have to do at least one.”
“Let’s go to dinner! We have to talk about things!” my mom says. I look over her once more. She looks heavier, but she’s trying to disguise it with a busily patterned skirt and black blouse that looks stark in contrast to her light skin that matches my own. Her hair is maintained at the same dark shade it always has been, nearly raven, and her eyes are too green, enhanced by contacts. I don’t look anything like my mother aside from our shared skin tone and shape of our hands, something few people would ever notice. I don’t look like my father either, nor my brother. They all have the dark hair and varying shades of green eyes. They’re also all slightly shorter than me, even my dad. It’s never bothered me. We are as different inside as we are physically. And because we’ve spent so little time together, I doubt we share even a single mannerism.
“You’re always sexy,” King whispers in my ear as we move to the exit. “Always.”