Fashion Frenzy Page 4

  I nodded, nervous that she hated it.

  “Will you do that to mine?” she asked. I looked at her dress, and then we heard our names. Laura Munn was shouting for everyone to get in line.

  “Three minutes, people! Three minutes! Models, take your places!”

  “I don’t think there’s time, Millicent. I’m really sorry!” I told her. I could tell she had a big disappointment puddle dropping at her feet.

  “Maybe later,” she said. “Come on, we have to go.”

  “You go first, okay? Tell them I’ll be right there,” I told Millicent, who ran out from behind the wardrobe rack where we were hiding.

  I heard gasps and people shouting about her hair. I couldn’t help but smile. I loved when I did things so well, people shouted about them.

  Then I heard my mother’s voice calling for me. Just as I was putting the other rain boot on my foot, the wardrobe rack I was hiding behind was pushed away. My mother stood there and saw me, and that’s when everyone else saw me, too.

  But no one’s face went into an excitified smile. No one started clapping or yelling bravo for me. Instead there were bad gasps, and Elizabeth yelled in a very offendished way, “You wiped off all your makeup!”

  And Kevin shouted, “Your hair! You chopped off your beautiful hair!”

  And my mother yelled, “What did you do to yourself, Frances? What in the world did you do to that beautiful dress? And your hair? Your hair!”

  Laura Munn hadn’t said a word yet. When I looked up at her, she was holding her hand over her mouth, and her face was berry-red. That’s when Millicent’s mom started shouting at the other end of the room. When I looked over, she was shouting at Millicent, which gave me a really bad day feeling on my skin.

  “Oh no! Frances, you didn’t!” my mother said, looking over at Millicent and Monica. Then my mom rushed over there and left me alone. That is when Laura Munn rushed toward me.

  “I cannot believe you did this,” Laura Munn said to me, with a very scary voice that told me I was in a worldwide of trouble. “I honestly can’t believe this is happening to me right now!”

  This was not at all the afterward that was supposed to occur. They were supposed to jump for joy, and they were not even close to jumping.

  “I can’t let you go onstage like this. Frannie, you’re out of the show,” Laura said in a not very friendly voice.

  “But what about my mom?” I asked.

  “Obviously she can’t go alone, so she can’t go onstage, either.”

  That is when I looked over at my mother, who was still with Millicent and Monica. I could not believe how disappointed she was going to be. I had the worst day feeling on my skin.

  Laura Munn rushed away from me and was clapping her hands off her arms and yelling, “Thirty seconds, people! Thirty seconds.”

  Julia, who was in the grade above me, wouldn’t budge. She was crying, and she wouldn’t get in line. My mom, Millicent, and Millicent’s mom started to rush back over, and Laura was looking very upsettish about Julia. Even Julia’s mom couldn’t calm her down. Laura ran over to help calm Julia down and gave her assistant the job of shouting the seconds. Which she did extra yellishly.

  “Ten seconds,” the assistant screamed at us. Julia was not budging.

  “Five seconds!” the assistant screamed, very red in the face with an “I am very serious about shouting seconds at you” expression.

  My mom was already in line, and she was waving her hand at me really fast to tell me to come on. The music had already started, and Laura’s assistant began giving gentle pushes to the first models, which meant they had to go on. Once they went, the line started moving really fast. Julia’s arms were crossed, and she was shaking her head no!

  That’s when I decided I had to take Julia’s place. I ran toward my mom and took her hand. Before I could even breathe, Laura’s assistant put her hand on my mom’s and my backs and yelled, “Go!”

  I did not like being yelled at, and I did not like that Laura took us out of the show, and I did not like how terrible I made my mom feel. I Was in a very bad day kind of mood.

  My mom started down the catwalk. I was supposed to count to five before following behind her, which I did. I was so upsettish at everything that had happened, I wasn’t even nervous about being on the runway. I didn’t even want to be on the runway. And that is a for instance of why I stomped down the stage past my mom in the maddest mad I’d ever felt before in my life. I did not even smile, not once, and when I got to the end of the stage, I was glad I wasn’t supposed to stand for longer than three seconds.

  I did not want to be a model, not one bit at all. I wanted to be a fashion designer, and not one person backstage told me how amazing the dress was. Instead they got mad at me! I turned around the second I got to the end of the stage, and I stormed all the way back. The clapping grew really loud when I left the stage, which meant that everyone was really glad I was gone. See, I thought to myself and everyone else, I am a bad model! I should never have been a model in the first place! I should only have been a fashion designer, but no one even appreciates my designs! I was very upsettish.

  When I got backstage, I waited for my mother to yell my entire face off, but she was talking to a woman who looked even more upsettish than me! When they both started to walk in my direction, I got a very bad day feeling in my belly.

  “Frances,” my mother said when they reached me. “I’d like you to meet Nora Kelly—the woman who designed the dress you are wearing.”

  When I looked at Nora Kelly, I could tell she was not happy at all about what I did to her dress, which left me a little confusified. I thought I had made it better. I made it more like me! Wasn’t that the point of clothing? To make it match the person who wears it?

  “Why did you do that to my dress?” Nora asked me with a voice that was very shaky.

  “I . . . I . . .” I looked down at my feet. I suddenly felt very ashamed. “I don’t like flowers,” I told her.

  “Well, I like flowers! That is why I made the dress with flowers. I worked so hard on it, and it was an original.”

  When she said original, that’s when I knew I’d done a really bad thing. I learned the hard way about originals. Original means one of a kind, which is a good thing if you’re a person, but bad if you’re a dress that’s been ruined.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “You didn’t hurt my feelings,” she said. “You hurt my dress.” Then she stopped and looked like she was holding tears back into her eye sockets before she changed her mind and said, “Well, maybe you hurt my feelings a little bit.”

  This made me feel the most awful of any awful I’ve ever felt. I did not like to hurt the feelings of anyone, but especially not adult people. I didn’t know how to fix adult people’s hurt feelings. Even though I wanted to be an adult, I wasn’t exactly sure what it was like to be an adult.

  Just when I was about to try to say that I was really sorry, there was a bit of a commotion, and everyone turned to look at a big, smiley-faced woman carrying a poodle. When she saw me she shouted, “That’s the one!” and started toward me. A couple of younger-looking people followed behind her. I did not know who these people were, but I was very afraid that I was about to be arrested.

  I reached out and held my mother’s hand, and I think she thought I was going to be arrested also because she pulled me in closer to her. When the woman reached me she said, “Who made this dress?”

  Nora Kelly looked at the woman, and suddenly, she grew very red and shiny in her face. “You’re Anna Armstrong,” Nora said.

  “Yes, I am. Who are you?”

  “I’m Nora Kelly. I designed this dress,” she said.

  “It’s genius! Absolutely genius! How you crossed out all the flowers and hacked into it. I love the interplay between masculine and feminine. You’ve managed to design something with a message. It’s wonderful. And the galoshes! J’adore!” the woman cried, clapping her han
ds together. That is when Nora Kelly’s face dropped.

  “And the lack of makeup and the chopped off hair. Who was the stylist on this? It’s absolutely fabulous. This is the type of look I want to see on the runway next season. This is the next stage of fashion for adults. How in the world did you think this up?” Anna asked her.

  That’s when my mother, whose mouth was so wide with surprise, turned to me and looked really shocktified.

  “I didn’t,” Nora Kelly admitted.

  “You didn’t?” Anna Armstrong was confused.

  “I did,” I said.

  “You made the dress?” she asked.

  “No. I just ruined it.”

  “Oh no, my child. You didn’t ruin it. You made it better,” she said. “That is some talent you have inside you.”

  My hidden talent! I had it after all!

  “It’s absolutely marvelous. How did you ever think to cross out the flowers?”

  “Well, Laura Munn said she was giving everyone dresses that matched who they were, and she gave me a flowered one, which is a for instance of something that doesn’t match me at all. And that made me really offendish and mad, so I crossed out and cut off everything that didn’t match me. Then I put on my galoshes because I love them and cut my hair short so they wouldn’t put a flower garden in it. Also, I took off all the makeup because I didn’t like to feel like I was wearing two faces at one time. And that is how I thought of it.”

  “It’s just fabulous.” Then she reached into her bag, pulled out a business card, and handed it to my mother.

  “I am the editor for Fashionista Magazine—”

  Fashionista Magazine? Even I had heard of that. It was very, very famous.

  “I’d love the chance to talk more with your daughter. Perhaps you can call me next week, and we can set up a meeting?” she asked my mom.

  A meeting?! A meeting?! All I’d ever wanted in my entire life was to have a meeting.

  “Well, she’s in quite a bit of trouble, so we’ll see.”

  “Well, perhaps you can punish her and take a meeting with me.”

  “Perhaps,” my mom said.

  “Perhaps always sounds like a yes to my ears,” she said, waving to us as she walked away. Nora’s mouth was wide open as she watched Anna Armstrong leave.

  Then she turned to me and said, “I can’t believe it. I simply cannot believe it. I work for years and years to make beautiful clothing, then you come along, tear mine apart, and you’re discovered!”

  Then Nora started to cry. Her face got very red and blotchy. I felt the most horrendimous I had in years. I did not like to make people feel bad, certainly not adults, and I definitely did not like to make them cry. I did not know what I was supposed to do.

  Laura Munn clapped her hands together and got everyone’s attention.

  “Thank you so much everyone for a very eventful fashion show. I think it was a real success, despite some surprising moments. To celebrate, Mrs. Pellington has brought a chocolate cake with strawberry filling and other sweets and surprises for all of you. So let’s go down and celebrate in the cafeteria.”

  Everyone started to hurry toward the cafeteria, and I followed, but my mother reached out and grabbed my hand.

  “I don’t think so, Frannie.”

  “Why not? You love cake!” I reminded her in case she forgot.

  “I know I love cake. You love cake, too. But I don’t see any reason for you to be rewarded right now. You destroyed someone else’s property. How would you like it if someone ruined something you put all your heart and soul into making?”

  “But I made it more my style, and a magazine liked it! I made it better!”

  “No, you made it to suit your taste. Your taste is not everyone else’s taste, Frannie. Nora did not make this dress just for you. She made it because it meant something to her. You need to learn how to appreciate things that may not suit your taste.”

  I scrunched up my face at this sentence. Why would a person want to appreciate something that was not their taste?

  “Millicent! Monica!” my mom called to them as they headed out the door toward the cafeteria. “Can you wait for a second, please? Frannie has something she wants to say to you.”

  We walked over to Millicent and Monica, and I said to Monica, “I am very sorry that I ruined your life by cutting off Millicent’s hair.”

  “You didn’t ruin my life, Frannie, but you should have asked my permission. Even professional stylists know they have my permission before they cut Millicent’s hair.”

  “They do?” I asked.

  “Of course. You need to think a bit more before you act,” she told me.

  Monica accepted my apology, and they left to get some cake.

  I stared at my still-very-mad mom. “Let’s go meet your father,” she said. “We need to decide what your consequences will be.”

  That sentence gave me a very bad day feeling on my skin.

  CHAPTER 10

  My father was very disappointed in me, which felt twenty-fourteen times worse than making Nora Kelly upset. I had to stay in my room while he and my mom had a conversation about my punishment, which I knew was going to be very bad. I thought about the absolute worst things they could punish me with so that whatever punishment they decided on wouldn’t feel so tragical.

  One punishment that would be very terrible would be if they made me live with Nora Kelly for the rest of my life.

  Another one that would be really bad would be if they sent me to live in Atlanta, which is a city I’ve heard of that is nowhere near Chester, New York.

  Another terrible idea would be if they made me sleep on the basement floor for the rest of my life. Without blankets or a pillow or even a night-light.

  Those were three really horrendimous things they could punish me with. As long as I didn’t have to live with Nora Kelly, move to another city, or sleep all by myself in the basement without blankets for the rest of my life, I would feel amazing with whatever punishment they gave me.

  I almost jumped out of my skin suit when they knocked on my door.

  My parents came in with smiles that said they were very happy with the punishment they made up.

  My mom sat on my bed, I sat next to her, and my dad stood with his hands on his hips.

  “Frances, I want you to know that we are both extremely disappointed.”

  “I know,” I told him. “I am horrendimously sorry.”

  “What I don’t understand is why you would ruin someone else’s hard work. That doesn’t seem to be in character with who you are,” my dad said.

  Character is a really adult thing that my dad and I sometimes talk about. The kind of character he was discussing had to do with the person you are on the inside, not the cartoon type. A for instance of what I mean is, if you are a helpful person, then you act helpful when people need you. But if you act unhelpful when people need you, then you are not being who you say you are, which is a helpful person!

  “You mean because I am a person who doesn’t normally ruin other people’s hard work?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” he said.

  “We just don’t understand why you would do that. Were you angry?”

  I stood up. “Yes! I was! I was very angrified!” I said, very relieviated that they put the right word to the feeling I had.

  “What were you so angry about?” my dad wanted to know.

  “Laura Munn said she was going to match the dress to our personalities, and I was very offendified at the dress she thought was my personality!” I told them.

  “When you think about it now, was cutting up the dress and drawing on it the right response?” my dad asked me.

  I sat back down because I had to think about that. What I thought was this: Probably not.

  “Probably not,” I said out loud.

  “And what would have been the right response?” my mom asked.

  I thought about that, too. When I actually thought about all their questions I started to feel very
ashamified of myself. I knew better than to cut and draw on someone else’s property. Why did I do that? Maybe I did it because I wasn’t thinking about these questions. I was only thinking about my offendified feelings.

  “Maybe to say something with my voice, out loud to someone?”

  “Like what?” my dad asked.

  “Like, ‘I do not prefer this dress because I do not think it matches who I am.’”

  “Maybe you could have asked Laura Munn why she thought the dress matched your personality. Maybe her answer would have made sense to you, and you would have been flattered. Instead, you made up your own answers and took things into your own hands and made things much, much worse.”

  I had never even thought about asking Laura a Why type of question.

  “Maybe we should call Laura and ask her why she thought that dress matched you,” my mother offered.

  That was a really good idea. My mom looked up Laura’s number and wrote it down for me.

  “I have a phone call to make myself, actually,” my mom said.

  “We’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” my dad told me as I turned to dial Laura Munn’s phone number. When it started to ring, moths and butterflies filled up my entire belly.

  “Laura Munn,” she answered. I had never heard anyone answer the phone like that before.

  “Hi, Laura Munn. This is Frances B. Miller. I’m the girl who ruined the dress and maybe even your life,” I said.

  “I know who you are, Frannie. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I wondered if I could ask you a question.”

  “Of course. Ask away.”

  “Why did you match that flowery dress with me?”

  “I was wondering when you were going to ask me that,” Laura Munn said to my shocktified ears.

  “You were?” I asked. “I didn’t know about that fact.”

  “I wanted you to wear that dress, Frannie, because seeing a tomboy in a flowery dress is unexpected and surprising. Just like you.”

  “I am unexpected and surprising?” I asked. This was very interesting to me.

  “Yes. I’ve never met a little girl who carries a briefcase before—”