28. Denise
Chapter twenty-eight
Denise
"H ey! Bella! Where do you think you're going?"
I snag the hem of Bella's jacket just as she's about to disappear through the side doors backstage. I'm guessing her escape has something to do with Jordan, P.S. 161's star point guard and resident heartthrob, who just left through the same doors five minutes earlier. She's been making heart eyes at him since the first day of the workshop.
Sixteen weeks ago, all some of these kids knew about fashion was when the next sale was happening on 125th street. Now, they're literally seeing their designs walk the runway! Well, it's less an official runway and more a small aisle between the rows of chairs in the rec center's cafeteria, but the turnout is great and the designs are fierce.
Each student chose a designer, identified that designer's signature style elements, sketched ideas for their original creation, and then made the patterns for their designs. The models are other students, the fabric was thrifted, and a few seamstresses from Baily Maxwell did most of the actual sewing as a favor to me, but they accomplished something truly impressive in just four months. I'm already brainstorming the next workshop, with dedicated seamstresses, guest speakers, and maybe even a chance to intern in a real fashion house.
But that's later. Today, they're just kids, complete with raging hormones and a tendency to make bad decisions in the heat of the moment. Bella draws my attention back to her when she tries to tug her sleeve free.
"Nah ah, young lady. Where are you off to when your design is up in less than ten minutes?"
The beads on her long braids clack against each other when she ducks her head to avert her giant, hazel eyes. Her face is quite striking, though most of the junior high boys aren't giving her the time of day due to her size. I remember that feeling well.
"M-Ms. Jeffries, I was j-just…gonna check to see if I left something in the bathroom," she stammers, still avoiding my gaze. I crouch down to talk to her face to face.
"In the middle of the show? Are you sure it doesn't have anything to do with Jordan coming through this way a little while ago with Gabby?"
She ducks her head even further and her face goes pink with embarrassment. I sigh, disappointed but completely unsurprised that junior high boys remain as cruel as ever.
"Bella, listen. There are three reasons you should stay backstage. One, because there are no adults in the halls right now, and anyone caught back there will get a demerit for breaking the rules." Her shoulders slump at my stern tone.
"Two, because your design is amazing and you've been working on it for sixteen weeks . And three, because if you have to chase after a boy, he's not worth your time."
"But, Ms. Jeffries," she practically wails, "if I don't go back there, Gabby's gonna kiss Jordan first!"
I press my lips together and stifle a laugh. These kids have more drama than a soap opera. I try to keep my voice soft and understanding.
"Well, if he really likes you, he won't kiss Gabby. And if he does kiss Gabby, then he might not be the best choice for a crush. Either way, you definitely shouldn't miss seeing something you worked so hard on finally come to fruition. Look, both your parents are here."
I point to where they're sitting in the first row. Her dad's got his phone out, recording every possible angle, and her mom is looking around and whispering excitedly. Seeing two parents be so supportive makes my heart ache, but I push the discomfort aside. I look back to see Bella smiling.
"Now, go take your place," I say, nudging her towards the line of students. "You're on right after Ariana."
She's just sauntered off when Maya rounds the corner with a clipboard and a walkie talkie. Great. I guess these kids aren't the only ones around here bringing the drama.
"You handled that well," she says. I look for any trace of condescension or smugness in her face and find none. Instead, she looks wistful, almost sad. "I wish one of my teachers had intervened when I was her age. It might have saved me a few thousand dollars in therapy."
I know for a fact that when Maya was in junior high, her crush stood by and watched while the head mean girl and her posse tore into her at a school dance. Even with Tiffany there to have her back, the trauma from that day plagued her all the way to when she met Adam last year. Existing in a larger body can be challenging when facing the world's harsh opinions or narrow-minded beauty standards, but it can be especially brutal to grow up in a bigger body, when you're supposed to be cute and fit and perky .
Maya wasn't fit or perky. Neither was I. We both dealt with that in our own ways: she struggled with insecurity and feelings of unworthiness, and I developed a thick skin and made clothes to not just fit but flatter my body. Regardless of the outcome, that shared experience was one of the reasons Maya and I clicked almost immediately back in college. She became one of my best friends. And now, I don't know what we are…
"Thanks. Boys like Jordan deserve a knee to the balls," I grumble. Maya suppresses a snort.
"Can we talk?" Maya asks tentatively. "After the show, I mean."
It kills me how awkward things are right now. I nod.
"Sure." Maya turns to leave, but I place my hand on her shoulder. "Thanks for showing up to help, by the way. This was way too big to do on my own."
She offers a small smile in response.
"Of course. What are friends for?"
I just nod, not ready to address the loaded comment, and get back to wrangling sixty kids—thirty designers and their "models"—in my first ever student fashion show. I hope it's the first of many.
The door closes after the last stragglers leave, and I collapse against it. Thank God I was smart enough to call out of work tomorrow; I have a feeling I'm gonna sleep until noon.
Tiffany rounds the corner to meet me, broom in hand. Maya's with her, carrying a box with extra programs and the paper plates and napkins used for the refreshments. I clear my throat awkwardly and start towards the back table in the cafeteria to grab my purse. Tiffany holds her hands out plaintively between us.
"Enough!"
I stop in my tracks at the intensity of her voice.
"D, you just put on an amazing show. I wouldn't be surprised if it were featured in a blog or two based on who I saw in the audience. And you," she turns to Maya, "are one of my most valuable teachers. The students love you and this place wouldn't run without you." She drops both her hands and they slap against her thighs. " Both of you are my best friends and I'm sick of being in the middle of your bullshit. Talk it out!"
With those parting words, she stalks off towards her office, muttering about having to do everything the whole way.
"Thank you," I start. Maya lifts an eyebrow in question. "For helping out. You didn't have to, and I know Tiff probably pressured you, but I really needed the help."
Maya scuffs her feet along the faded linoleum tiles.
"Of course. I would do anything for the center. Tiffany knows that."
So she did do it for Tiffany. I shouldn't be surprised, considering I dated her husband's brother in secret, but I honestly didn't realize it was that big of a deal. People hook up all the time.
It hadn't been just hooking up for months, the annoying voice in my head adds unhelpfully.
"I get it. I fucked up, and I don't blame you for being mad. You'll likely see me around the center now and then, but let's not make it weird, OK? Just because we're not friends anymore, doesn't mean we can't wave when we see each other, or something."
I pull my purse onto my shoulder and start back towards the door. Maya reaches out to grab my elbow.
"Wait! So that's it?" I turn to look at her. What else is there to say? She sighs.
"Tiffany may be the main reason I volunteered to help out today, but she wasn't the only reason. What you did wasn't cool—Cory is Adam's brother and, if things didn't work out, that could've made things super awkward. But I understand why you did it. As much shit as I used to give Adam for being a man-ho all those years, I never really saw you doing the relationship thing, either."
I clutch my chest in mock outrage.
"Maya!" I gasp. "Are you calling me a ho ?" She presses her lips together to keep from smiling and I bark out a laugh. "You're right. I am a bit of a ho. Anything men can do, I can do better, right?"
She considers that, her eyes taking on that same keen edge Dr. Jamison has.
"That's not what it looked like when I walked up that morning. You two seemed…cozy."
My smile slips a bit and my shoulders slump. We were cozy. We were damn near domestic . And then I had to go and blow everything up. This show was a godsend; I would still be wallowing without such a good distraction.
I shrug.
"We were. At least we were getting there." I trail off, neither willing nor able to elaborate on the destroyed potential of Cory and I.
"From your use of the past tense and the fact that he's not here tonight, I'm assuming it's over, then?" she asks.
I nod.
"Yeah. I ended things that same night you caught us."
Maya frowns.
"Because of me?"
I chuckle, but there's no humor in it.
"A little?" I admit, and Maya's frown deepens. "That day just confirmed what I knew all along: there are always strings. Everyone has their own motives and expectations and as soon as you let them down, they drop you. Unconditional love is for fairytales."
Maya's eyes are glassy, but she shakes her head vehemently.
"Just because your parents were pieces of work doesn't mean everyone's gonna leave you, Denise."
"And what about you?" I round on her. " You dropped me too. Just for dating someone you didn't like!"
"That is a gross oversimplification," she shouts back, our voices echoing through the empty halls. "I was pissed because you decided to date someone that might impact my family. Cory? Mr. anyone else would be lucky to have you."
She releases me with a wink, and I blink back tears before joining them in the freezing air for some late-night pierogies.