Redesigned (2 page)

He shakes his head in disgust. “I’ve seen
your
type before, and I can usually spot them a mile away. Somehow you slipped past my radar.”

Anger boils the blood in my veins. “My type? And what exactly would that be?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re a fortune hunter. An opportunist. A gold-digger.”

My mouth drops open in shock, partially that he’s pegged me, even if he makes it sound so vile.

What’s so wrong with wanting to be assured that I’ll never be poor again? But even so, what gives him the right to speak to me like this? Ugly words slip over my tongue before I can stop them.

“There’s no way you’ll make much money as a professor. Nothing that could compete with a respected attorney. Besides, Dylan looks like a Greek god and his family has money. Why wouldn’t I want to go out with him?”

The moment I finish, I want to take back every word.

His face reddens, and I’m about to apologize when a perky blonde literally bounces up to him.

She wraps her arm around his and pulls him to her in such a familiar way that it’s apparent they aren’t casual friends.

Reed Pendergraft just asked me out with his girlfriend on the other side of the courtyard. And he has the nerve to condemn
me
? Nausea rolls in my stomach. And here I was about to convince myself I should blow off Dylan and accept Reed’s date instead. I’m grateful his girlfriend has saved me from myself.

“Reed, are you going to introduce me to your friend?” She looks up at Reed’s face, her big blue eyes shining with happiness. I wonder if I should tell her what just happened, but I won’t be the one to destroy her. I’m sure Reed will take care that himself.

Reed pauses, long enough for me to jump in. “I’m no one.” Then I turn and walk away.

I sigh as I pin fabric to a mannequin. Our required design lab time is almost over, but I plan to stay longer. I’ve spent far too much time thinking about my love life and not enough on this class.

“If everyone could listen up,” our instructor’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “I have important news about this season’s show.”

Southern University is known for its strong business school—one of the many reasons I chose it —and the administration typically gives the most funding to the business department and athletics.

The fall fashion show has always been a fundraiser for the apparel department. While seniors and juniors provide designs for the fashion show, seniors are in charge of the production. The announcement of this year’s theme should have been announced last week, and many of us are nervous that we’ll run out of time to complete our projects.

Ms. Carter waits until all eyes are on her. “As you all know, there’s been a delay releasing the details of this season’s show. I hope when I tell you the reason why, you’ll be as excited as the instructors and I are and think the delay is worth the wait.”

I glance at my friend Megan, and she casts me a nervous glance.

“This year the prestigious Monroe Foundation has approached the department about sponsoring this fall’s show.”

Gasps fill the room. While I’m familiar with Monroe Industries—well known for its pharmaceutical companies and many scientific advancements, my brain scrambles to recall anything about the company’s foundation.

“As many of you might know, the Monroe Foundation is an enthusiastic supporter of enriching the lives of children in need. They’ve agreed to match, dollar for dollar, the funds that the fashion show raises and donate their portion to Middle Tennessee Children’s Charity, a local nonprofit for underprivileged children. They have also generously offered to provide funds to pay all expenses for the program itself.”

The class breaks into shouts and applause. The show’s proceeds have always covered the expenses in the past. This means more money will go to the department.

Ms. Carter’s smile fades. “However, there are certain stipulations.”

The class quiets and an undercurrent of worry fills the room.

She pats her hands in the air. “Not to worry, nothing terrible. The foundation wants us to incorporate clothing for children—they must be in twenty percent of the show.”

Tension slides off my shoulders. I can live with that, even if it means we’ll have to find child models.

“One more thing,” she says, and her smile loses some of its brightness. “The foundation has requested to be part of the student committee that oversees the program.” She pauses and takes a breath. “The committee will still consist of six members, but this year three of the members will be design students and the other three will be from non-apparel degrees.”

“What?” someone asks and a chorus of dismay spreads throughout the room.

“Now, I know this goes against tradition, and the instructors had a difficult time deciding whether to accept their offer. But the foundation is providing resources to make the show bigger and better than it’s ever been, which in turn will hopefully earn more money for the department. And not only that, but we’ll be raising money to help local children. While the Monroe Foundation is providing the donation, our name is attached. This is wonderful for the university’s community outreach.”

I raise my hand.

Ms. Carter nods. “Yes, Caroline?”

“Who picks the committee members?”

Her smile remains but turns grim. “The instructors have picked the fashion degree members and the foundation, along with the guidance of the chancellor, has picked the non-department students.”

The chancellor? I wonder how many students the chancellor actually knows on a first-name basis. The only time I’ve known of the chancellor becoming personally involved in something like this was when he convinced Scarlett to tutor Tucker by dangling funding for the mathematics department.

“Which fashion students did the instructors pick?” Megan asks. I know she’s as anxious as I am to be on the committee.

“We wish to speak to our three choices before we make the announcement. We want to make sure they accept the position with the new criteria, then we’ll post the nominees.”

Some of my classmates grumble. Everyone wants a coveted position on the committee and our chances have just been halved with the inclusion of non-design students. With my recent work effort, or more importantly, my lack of it, I expect my own chances are slim to none.

“What’s the theme?” one of my classmates asks.

“Oh.” Ms. Carter shifts her weight. “How could I forget? The theme is
Everyday Living
.”

“
Everyday Living
?” Megan mutters, scrunching her nose.

Ms. Carter pauses and the slightest bit of irritation creases her forehead. “This year’s theme was picked by the foundation.”

So we completely sold out to the Monroe Foundation? This is the lamest theme any show has had in the history of the show. But I keep the thought to myself. My biggest worry at the moment is the likelihood that I won’t be part of the committee.

Megan turns to me and lowers her voice. “
Everyday Living
? What are we supposed to do with that?”

I turn my attention back to the fabric pinned to the mannequin. I had turned the fabric on the bias, hoping it would help the hang of the dress, but now I’m not so sure it works. I can’t afford to waste these three yards of silk. Literally. “We’ll figure something out.” I’m referring to the designs for the show as well as the dress for my recent project.

“Are you going to stay much longer, working?” Megan asks, shifting her glance out the window.

“Yeah.” This dress is for our current project, which is due the next class period. Megan finished her design only moments ago. I study the pinned dress and sigh again. For the last few weeks, I’ve been creatively stifled. I was hoping the theme for the show would help inspire me. Now I’m not so certain.

Most of the students clear out and only three of us remain. I have no idea what’s wrong with me.

I can usually whip an idea out of my head and onto paper or the design computer program, then construct the garment while the rest of my classmates are still gathering their thoughts. But the last two projects have been like dragging the dress out of my head, thread by thread.

“Caroline, can I steal a few minutes of your time?” Ms. Carter murmurs behind me, and I jump.

“Of course.”

But Ms. Carter continues to stare at my design, and I squirm under her scrutiny. “It’s still not right, and I know I’ve usually completed my project by now—”

She shakes her head, placing her glasses on her nose as she leans closer. “No, don’t apologize.

I’m impressed.”

My mouth hangs open before I quickly close it. “But—”

“It still needs work, I won’t deny it. But for once you’re not playing it safe. You’re taking a risk.

Finally.”

“What?”

She slides her glasses off and looks at me, crossing her arms. “I’ve always thought you had great potential, Caroline, but you’ve always taken the safe route. We’ve discussed this before.”

It’s true, we have. Ms. Carter has been my advisor since I started my first design class in my sophomore year.

“There are designers who simply regurgitate what they see around them and put a slightly different spin on it. Then there are designers who think outside the box. Their designs stand out. I’ve always seen a hint of different in your designs, but you play it safe. Go for broke this time, Caroline.

Give me different.”

My ideas all seem stale and boring lately. I’ve decided to take a risk on the dress hanging on my form, even if subconsciously, but the result is disastrous so far. I shake my head. “It’s not working.

It’s a failure.”

“There’s no such thing as failure as long as you learn from your mistakes.”

I’m not sure what I’ve learned at this point.

She points to the bodice. “Try a tiny dart here. I think it will help give a hint of definition. But I like that you’ve hung it on the bias. A very flattering silhouette, especially for real women.”

I pin a dart on either side directly beneath the bust line and the dress is already improved.

“Sometimes it doesn’t take much. Just a little tweak to vastly alter something.” She winks. “It’s like that in life too.”

My life needs more than a tiny tweak, but there’s no sense telling her that.

She pauses. “I wanted to talk to you about the committee.”

I steel my back. Ms. Carter knows how badly I want to be on it. We’ve also discussed how tight the competition is.

“After a heated discussion with the other instructors, we’ve picked our three members.” She smiles. “I’m pleased to say you were one of the three chosen.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “But I don’t understand ... a few weeks ago you told me it would be close with six members. How could I make it with only three?”

She leans her hip into the table next to me. “The involvement of the Monroe Foundation is a blessing and a curse. The increased operational and marketing budget could bring outside attention to our department, but their involvement also brings constraints. Like the theme.” She rolls her eyes.

“And that was the best of all the suggestions.”

I shudder, wondering what could have been worse.

“You were chosen for two reasons. The first is because you’re well-known for being level-headed in disagreements. In group projects, you’re often the peacemaker. You’re diplomatic and on more than one occasion have brought opposing sides together into a compromise. I’m worried the addition of members outside the design department will make the committee a battleground. The design department needs an ambassador. Someone who is capable of knowing when to stand her ground and when to compromise. I’m positive that person is you, Caroline.”

I blink, letting her words sink in. “Thank you. I’m honored.” I take a deep breath. “You said there were two reasons. What’s the second?”

She smiles and points to the disaster hanging on the dressmaker form. “That. You’re taking risks and your design—even in its unfinished state—is one of the most exciting things I’ve seen you create in the two years I’ve known you. Take that excitement with you into the committee.”

I want to tell her that there’s no excitement in this design, only fear, but I don’t want to risk my newly gained position. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

Ms. Carter moves behind the mannequin. “You don’t have to say anything. Just don’t let me down.”

I nod. “I’ll try my best.”

“In the end, that’s all I can ask, although I’m not sure it’s fair of us to throw you into this potential mess. I suspect not only will this be a hornet’s nest, but it will be an even larger time commitment than previously anticipated. Will this be a problem?”

“The timing couldn’t be more perfect.” With no boyfriend and no job, I’ve got nothing but time.

Ms. Carter starts to walk away then stops, looking over her shoulder. “And even if the theme is lame, put your own unique spin on it. Think outside the box.”

Think outside the box with
Everyday Living
? That seems impossible.

Just add it to my list of impossible tasks to hurdle.

The Voodoo Lounge is packed. It’s Friday night and a large population of the Southern University campus has assembled to hear Blue Tiger, the band that’s set to take the stage soon. Dylan drapes his arm around my back, his fingers slightly stroking my side, just below the band of my bra. The placement of his fingers is disheartening. They’re high enough to be a hint of a threat yet not high enough to make him stop without looking like a frigid bitch.

I cast a glance at Scarlett on the other side of the table. Her face is guarded, and it’s obvious she’s only here because of Tucker. And me. She swings her gaze to check on me and I give her a smile. Even if I don’t feel like smiling.