“I don’t think we should go in,” I said. Sure, my hand was on the buzzer for Marigold Designs, but that didn’t mean we actually had to go through with it.
Jane stood stubbornly, crossing her arms. Ever since we lost the design competition, she had developed this angry attitude, like we were robbed because we lost. “We have an appointment, of course we are going in. Now press the buzzer or move and I will.”
She was kind of scary when she was angry. Behind that mask of quietness roared a lion. “Fine, fine, don’t get your knickers in a knot.”
I pressed the buzzer. Which led to us being let into the building. Which then meant we were sitting with Marigold and she was flicking through my sketchbook again. I brought the best one I had with me. Not that it would make any difference. She was going to hate them all anyway.
“Hmmm.” Marigold made a lot of noises while she flipped through the pages. Sometimes I got my hopes up and thought they were good hmmms. But then I thought some sounded like bad hmmms. I was totally confused.
Jane grew paler the longer we stood there. I probably would have fainted from the stress of it all if my stomach wasn’t tying in knots and distracting me.
I wanted to vomit.
In fact, I was pretty certain I was going to. I couldn’t watch Marigold, it was driving me crazy not knowing what was going on inside her head.
Did she like the designs? Did she hate them? Last time I’d shown her my sketchbook she had seemed interested. I would even go so far as to say she was impressed. But now? Ugh, I just didn’t know.
Finally, in what felt like ten years’ time, she closed the sketchbook. “You are a very talented young woman, Truly.”
“So you want to use my designs in your collection?” My breath hitched in my throat. Great, so I was losing the ability to talk again too. I’d never had a problem before – just ask my teachers.
“I’m afraid not,” Marigold said, crushing all my dreams for a second time. “Your designs are lovely, don’t get me wrong. I thought I might be able to do something with them, but now I see they’re just a bit too young for my demographic.”
“Too young?” Jane asked, interrupting. She didn’t seem as outraged as I was, more… curious. Jane liked to deal with facts.
Marigold nodded, handing me the book. “I dress the middle aged, sophisticated women of the world. These designs would be better for women in their teens or twenties. Thank you for coming in, and keep it up, Truly. I’m sure you’ll do well someday.”
That was a dismissal if ever I’d heard one. Marigold’s assistant appeared at the door, confirming my suspicion. She led us out of the office and made sure we left without any dramas.
The minute we were outside, Jane spoke. “Well, that sucked. What a waste of time. She should have just said that last Saturday.”
The part of me that had worshipped Marigold Parker for so long felt an overwhelming desire to defend her. “I guess she wanted to take a good look so she could be sure.”
“Indecisive people are the worst types of people. That’s what my father always says.” And just like that, I understood Jane so much more. I got the feeling most of her little ‘quirks’ came from her parents.
We walked to Jane’s car in silence. Except, my brain wasn’t quiet. It swirled with a new idea, something that took a few minutes to form. But when it did, I couldn’t believe how brilliant it was. Sometimes I even surprised myself.
“You know, Jane, Marigold was right.”
“I don’t think she was factually incorrect about anything. The whole thing just sucks,” Jane replied, not taking her eyes off the road as we entered the highway.
“Marigold said my designs were for young women, that’s what she was right about,” I explained further. “I don’t want to design for old people.”
“Older people need clothes too.”
“You’re not getting it. Marigold loved my designs, she was impressed enough to invite us to her office. That doesn’t happen every day.”
“No, I’m sure it doesn’t.”
I was practically bursting with my idea now. “That means I’m good. Great even, if someone like Marigold liked them. Why don’t we just start our own design label? We could make clothes for people our age.”
Jane tore her eyes off the road long enough to give me a disapproving glance. “We can’t, we’re too young. We can’t even legally enter into contracts for another two years. Plus, we have school.”
All I heard was ‘blah blah blah’.
“But don’t you think we would be able to do it? With my designs and your sewing, we would totally rock it out. It would be awesome.”
“I’m not denying that we wouldn’t be great. I mean, our dress is amazing. And it was kind of really fun doing it. But we can’t stop being sixteen, nobody will take us seriously.”
I heard her objection, I understood her objection, but there had to be a way around it. I mean, talent like ours could not be wasted, right? Two years seemed a very long time to deny the world beautiful clothes.
Jane pulled up at my apartment building and walked up with me. It still felt weird having her in my world, but she’d already seen it so there was no point in pretending it didn’t exist now. If my messy life hadn’t scared her off yet, then she was probably either blind or didn’t care.
Just as we were about to reach my apartment, I stopped. Another idea was forming. “Jane, is it true that the only problem you see with my brilliant idea is the fact nobody would take us seriously?”
She pursed her lips while thinking it over. Finally, she nodded. “That’s correct. We are kids, nobody takes kids seriously. Even if we are considered adults in some states, are able to buy tobacco products in other states, and can legally marry in some countries.”
Again, blah blah blah.
“So what about if we had an adult as the face of the business? They could sign all the contracts and tell people they’re the designer?”
She had to think that through too. “That would be deceptive.”
“But it would solve our problems. Nobody would ever find out we’re the ones really running the label. It’s not like anybody will get hurt. We’re only talking clothes here, not brain surgery.”
Jane shrugged, all out of objections. “I guess that would be acceptable then. But where would we find an adult that would pretend to be a fashion designer for us?”
My eyes went to the door next to mine. “I have just the person.”
CHAPTER 12