Mia's Recipe for Disaster (4 page)

“Mia, I'm so excited!” Ava said as she ran down the front steps of her building the next morning.

“Me too!” I cried, hugging her. “You have to help me find the perfect material for my dress.”

Behind me, Dad yawned and took a sip of his coffee. “I can't believe the fabric store is open so early.”

“It's never too early for fashion!” I said, and then Ava and I burst into giggles.

Ava is my other best friend—sort of the Manhattan Katie, except Ava and Katie aren't much alike. They're both nice and funny and sweet, but Ava loves sports, and she's into clothes as much as I am. That's why she agreed to take the class at Parsons with me.

Dad took us to the subway, and twenty minutes later we had traveled from downtown Manhattan to midtown west, where the Garment District is located. The streets there are filled with shops where you can buy fabric and zippers and trim and anything else you need to design clothes. Mom told us that we should go to a place called L&M Fabrics.

We walked up from the subway station into the bright morning sunlight.

“It should be just up here,” Dad said, looking at the street numbers on the shops. Then he stopped. “Ah, here it is.”

Like most shops on the street, L&M had glass windows out front that let everyone passing by see what was inside. I could already see rows and rows of fabric, and I practically ran inside, with Ava right behind me.

“Can I help you?” A gray-haired woman wearing a dress with a colorful pattern approached us, looking over her skinny wire glasses.

“Um, yes,” I said, taking the sketch out of my bag. “I'm looking for a silky gray fabric for this dress, plus some pink satin for the lining.”

The woman took the sketch from me and peered at it carefully.

“You did this?” she asked.

I nodded.

Then she smiled. “How lovely! Come follow me, sweetheart. I'll get you just what you need. My name's Miriam. I'm the
M
in the L and M Fabrics.”

“I'm an
M
, too,” I said. “I'm Mia, and this is Ava. It's nice to meet you.”

Dad waved. “Did you forget about me? I'm the dad.”

“Nice to meet you, Dad,” Miriam said.

“We're taking a class at Parsons,” I said. “And my mom told us to come here.” I sometimes forget that in fashion, my mom is kind of famous.

When I told Miriam my mom's name, she said, “You're Sara's daughter?” And then she clapped her hands. “Must run in the family!”

Then she walked us all through the shop, which reminded me of a maze. The aisles twisted and turned, and I'm sure if we hadn't been with Miriam, we would have gotten lost.

She led us past plaids, florals, pinstripes, sequins, and satins. First, she stopped at a roll of thin, gray fabric with a slight shimmer.

“It's exactly what I had imagined!” I said, feeling the smooth fabric between my fingers.

Then we were off again, and she helped me find the perfect shade of pink satin. We took the rolls to the fabric cutting table, and Miriam asked me questions about the measurements of the dress and calculated how much fabric I would need (with extra to account for mistakes). Before long I was holding a neatly wrapped package of fabric, tied with a piece of string.

I couldn't help myself. I hugged her. “Miriam, you are the fairy godmother of fabric. Thank you so much.”

She reached out and ruffled my hair. “And you are a sweetheart. You've raised a nice girl here, Dad.”

“I know,” Dad said, and I'm sure I blushed.

Then he looked at his watch. “Okay, back to the subway! I've got to get you two girls to your class.”

We left L&M Fabrics and went back to Parsons. (It's officially called Parsons The New School for Design, but it's easier to just say Parsons.) It's one of the top fashion design schools in the country—maybe even the world—and even though I'm not in college, they offer workshops for kids on the weekends.

The class is held every Saturday, but I go every other week, and they said that was okay when I signed up. Basically, it's like an open workshop where you can work on your own projects, and design students will help you with them.

The school is this tall, cool-looking building with long, glass windows going all the way up. Dad dropped off Ava and me by the front entrance.

“See you at one,” he said, and I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for the fabric,” I said, and Dad smiled.

“Anything for
mija
,” he said, using his pet name for me. Then he waved, and Ava and I walked through the front doors.

“I can't believe you're going to sew that dress,” Ava was saying as we headed to our workroom. “I'm still trying to get the pockets right on that denim skirt I started three weeks ago.”

“And it's going to be adorable when it's done,” I told her. “But I have to do something ambitious for the contest. Can you believe Katie told me the dress was boring? We had, like, kind of a big fight over it.”

Ava stopped and looked at me, surprised. “I didn't think you and Katie ever fought.”

“Well, she insulted my dress, and then I asked Emma and Alexis if they wanted to model it, and then Katie got all mad because I didn't ask her, too,” I explained. “I mean, why would I ask her to model a dress that she doesn't even like?”

Ava shook her head. “She's crazy if she doesn't like it. It's gorgeous, and you are so going to win!” she assured me as we pushed open the workroom doors.

“Hey! It's a Mia week!” a cheerful voice said, and I looked up to see one of the design students, Millicent, standing there.

I totally adore Millicent. She's twenty-one and has this perfect caramel skin and curly black hair that she sometimes puts up in all these crazy ponytails. And every time I see her, I'm surprised by what she's wearing.

This morning, she had on hot-pink-and-black–striped tights, a pink tutulike skirt, a fitted black tank top, and a short white cardigan over it. She had her hair in two puffy ponytails on top of her head, with a pink ribbon tied around one of them.

“Tokyo street fashion?” I guessed, and Millicent smiled and nodded.

“I had sushi last night, and it got me in a Japanese mood,” she said. “So, what are you working on today?”

“I'm finishing those pockets!” Ava said, emptying her backpack onto one of the worktables as some of the other students started streaming in.

“Actually, I really need your help,” I told Millicent. She motioned me to follow her to an empty table, and I laid my package of fabric on top. Then I took out my sketch to show her.

“I'm entering this design contest,” I said. “It's my fantasy dress. What do you think?”

Millicent picked up the sketch. “Wow, Mia!” she said. “This is really sophisticated. And you're lining
it with satin? That won't be easy to do.”

“I know,” I said, opening my package. “But I got the fabric, and it's so beautiful, I just have to use it.”

Millicent felt the fabric between her fingers. “Yeah, I get it,” she said. “Okay, so first things first. You know what measurements you want?”

I nodded. “Yeah, my friend Emma is going to model it for me.”

“Then let's get you started on a pattern,” she said. “It's going to seem like a really big deal to make this dress, but if you just take it one step at a time, you'll be fine.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay. Let's do this!”

With Millicent guiding me through it, I felt pretty confident making the pattern. I used this really thin paper and draped it over a dress form that basically had the same measurements as Emma. Millicent reminded me to leave enough room for seams as I cut out the pattern.

By the time one o'clock came around, I had all the pattern pieces cut out. Millicent high-fived me.

“Nice job, Mia,” she said. “You're going to do great.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Hey, check it out!”

I turned to see Ava behind me. She had changed
out of her jeans and was wearing a totally cute denim skirt, with her hands stuffed into the front pockets.

“Pockets!” she said proudly.

“Ava, it's adorable!” I cried.

“Thanks,” she said. “Did you get your pattern done?”

I nodded. “Millicent helped me.”

Then we packed up our stuff, said good-bye to Millicent, and headed outside. Dad took us to Mega Burger for lunch, and then we walked past this shop that sold cute tights, and I bought a pair just like Millicent's. It was a perfect day.

Well, almost perfect. Because all day long, in the back of my mind, I knew Katie was still mad at me, and that didn't feel so good.

T
hat night I carefully opened up my material onto the sewing table in my room in Dad's apartment. When I started taking the class, he bought me the table and a sewing machine, so I could work on projects when I was there.

I stared at the fabric, still not quite believing how perfect it was. It seemed almost a shame to cut into it, but I knew I would have to. Then I remembered something. In class, Millicent is always saying we should first do a rough version of our patterns in muslin. Muslin is a thin, white fabric. You use your pattern to cut pieces out of muslin and roughly sew them together. That way, you can see if the fit is right before you cut into your expensive fabric.

“I should have asked Miriam for some muslin,”
I muttered, frowning, but then I started wondering if I had time to do the muslin thing. When was the contest deadline, anyway?

I rummaged in my bag for my copy of
Teen Runway
magazine and turned to the ad for the contest. Where was the deadline? Then I found it, in tiny print.

All entries must be postmarked by November 3.

November 3? Even if I used overnight mail to send in the photo of Emma wearing the dress, that only gave me a little more than a week to sew the dress! I definitely didn't have time to do a rough muslin version.

“Nooooo!” I wailed.

Dad appeared in my doorway. “Everything okay,
mija
?”

I sighed. “I just realized I only have, like, a week to sew the dress,” I said. “That's impossible!”

“That doesn't sound like the Mia I know,” Dad said. “On those shows you make me watch, don't they sew beautiful gowns in one day? If they can do that, then you can do it in a week.”

“But they're all professional designers,” I protested. “I'm just learning!”

Dad nodded. “That's true. But you're also very talented. You should at least give it a try. What have
you got to lose? If you don't finish in time, you'll at least have a beautiful dress.”

“I guess you're right,” I admitted. “If I want this badly enough, I've got to try. But that means I need to cut my fabric tonight. We can't watch a movie together.”

Dad put his two hands over his heart. “My heart is breaking, but I will get over it,” he teased. “Can I help you?”

I thought about it. “No, I think I've got it. I can start sewing tomorrow when I get back to Mom's. Except I have a Cupcake Club meeting tomorrow night.
Argh!
I'm never going to be able to do this!”

“Deep breaths,
mija
,” Dad told me. “You can take an earlier train. Then you'll have all afternoon to sew. You did your homework after lunch, right?”

“All done,” I assured him.

“See? It's going to be fine.”

I got up and gave him a hug. Dad always knew how to make me feel better. Sometimes I still wish it could be like it used to be, when I saw him every day.

“Thanks,” I said. “Now I'd better get down to business.”

Cutting out the pieces of fabric from the pattern was more difficult than it sounded. First, I had
to iron the fabric and then pin each pattern piece to it. I worked on the gray fabric first, and then the pink. At first, I was sweating a little every time I cut into the fabric. What if I messed up? But when I was done, I had all my finished pieces perfectly stacked.

Dad came back into my room just as I was cleaning up. “It's really late, Mia. You should get some sleep.”

“I got a lot done,” I told him. “I think I can do this.”

He smiled at me. “I know you can!”