The Cinderella Society (12 page)

Except that I tripped on a chair leg (push them in, people!) and ended up being launched straight at Ryan’s body. He caught me and set me upright, holding me a second longer than was technically necessary. Or so I fantasized.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rolling over me like a warm wave.

“Fine. At least it wasn’t a full-on crash this time.”

He looked at me for a second, a dazzler of a smile lighting his face. Then his eyes widened and he looked closer. “Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“Wow.” He dropped his hands. So sad was I.

“Wow …?” I prompted.

He stared at me for a few more seconds, then tucked his hands in his pockets. “Just, wow. You look really great.”

I couldn’t help it. My knees turned to mush, and I grinned like a big goober. “Thanks.”

Makeover, phase one? Success! Finally, I was in a league to catch Ryan’s eye.

“Really great,” he said. “So … I guess I’ll catch you later.”

Or maybe not quite there.

“Yeah,” I started, but he was already turning away. My shoulders slumped in defeat.
Great
. My side of the conversation consisted of gems like
Wow? Thanks. Yeah
. A spoonful of smooth for your tea? No, thanks, I’ve got plenty.

Sarah Jane was giving me a half-hidden thumbs-up sign. I started to correct the direction of her thumbs when Ryan turned back.

“Are you going to Kyra’s party on Friday?” he asked.

I saw SJ in my peripheral vision, giving me subtle visual cues that still managed to scream,
Tell him yes!

“I think so.”

“Cool. I’ll see you there.” He gave a gentle tug on my newly cropped mane. “Don’t get any more gorgeous before I see you again.”

I managed to let him get all the way out the door to the
patio before I pulled SJ into the ladies’ for a totally girly squee moment. “No way, no way, no way …” I started to hyperventilate.

“You know what this means, J?”

That Ryan remembered my name again? That he thought I was gorgeous? That he thought it was cool he’d see me at the party???

My smile wattage could’ve lit Mt. Sterling for a month. “Game on, baby.”

Chapter 8

AFTER A LONG DAY OF WORK
at the store—during which five different customers complimented my new look!—I thought I’d drop into bed exhausted. But who could sleep the night before a day of power shopping with the Sisters Fabulous?

Or Sister Fabulous. Turned out Kyra and Mel were catching up with us later, because Sarah Jane had more than a simple mall excursion on the agenda.

Mrs. Peterson dropped us off at the curb in the ritzy Buckhead part of Atlanta and made plans to pick us up at noon. Just like that, we were on our own. In Atlanta. On the sidewalk in front of the famed Fashion Academy of the South.

And we were going
in
.

My first appointment was with a modeling coach named Lorraine. Her goal was to help me “carry myself” better. Which basically meant walking.

“I need training to walk?” I whispered to SJ while Lorraine turned on the spotlights above the runway.

Thankfully, she didn’t respond. I probably didn’t want to know the answer.

“The first thing every model needs to learn,” Lorraine
said after guiding me up onto the catwalk, “is to carry herself with grace and confidence. She must wear her clothes, not let the clothes wear her.”

She turned me to the side so I could see my profile. “Do you see how your shoulders are rounded forward? That draws your eyes to the ground and creates a gap in your cleavage area.”

I’m sorry, what cleavage area would that be?

She pulled my shoulders back, lifted my chin slightly, and curved my hips forward so my stomach tucked in. All of which left me feeling like I was falling over backward. “Tummy, tummy, tummy,” she said. “If you remember to hold in the tummy, all the rest naturally falls into line.” Then she stepped away to give me a clear view of my disastrous new profile.

My posture was model perfect. So this was what it felt like to walk upright.

From there, we transitioned into walking. “You have a naturally wide stride,” Lorraine said, watching me critically but not unkindly. “An athlete’s walk. Am I right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me Lorraine, dear. That type of stride is appropriate for the field, but not for every day.”

Lorraine showed me how to adjust my stride to a glide, walking on a single line without dislocating my hips. I made several laps on the catwalk that way before she had me go back to walking normally. Magically, my new stride was a little shorter and a little narrower and looked much more feminine without being prissy.
Très
cool.

I worked on my turns, trying to spot things on the wall to keep my head up and shoulders back. “I never knew I looked down so much,” I said, doing my spotting-best pivot. “I feel like Gisele Bündchen.”

I gradually relaxed into my new posture, realizing it wasn’t that different from my posture on the field. I’d just never realized that looking up into the stands while cheering was the only thing keeping my chin up. Off the field? I was a tried and true ground-looker.

“Many girls look at the ground when they walk, particularly when they turn. Unless you’re walking down stairs you’re unaccustomed to, a simple glance down with your eyes—head up, of course—is all that’s required.” She moved to a desk along the wall. “You wear a size six shoe, Jessica?”

“Yes, ma’am. Lorraine.” I sensed the imminent danger as soon as she reached for the box. “Do I really need those?”

Lorraine removed a pair of stiletto heels. “Wearing heels changes your center of gravity. If you want to look confident in any fashion, you need to learn to walk as gracefully in heels as you do in your sandals or sneakers.”

SJ stored my sandals under her seat next to the runway. I sat down to slip on the heels and wobbled my way to standing. I felt like a baby giraffe on new legs. I’d rarely worn towering high heels before—though I had to admit they made my calves look awesome—so I was public klutz number one. It took me seven laps to make it down the runway and back without tripping.
Seven
. I gave myself extra credit for not doing a complete face-plant, but I wasn’t exactly setting the world on fire with my walking prowess.

Lorraine worked with me to center my hips and change my stride to accommodate the heel height. By the end, my feet ached, and my right ankle throbbed where I’d twisted it, but I looked like a model ready for her first assignment. At least posture-wise.

Still, whenever I started analyzing my inadequacies
instead of being in the moment (always a battle), I felt like a big-time fraud. Even Lorraine could tell when those fraud thoughts crept in, because my shoulders started to roll forward and my posture drooped. Like my body was sending out
I’m not really all that
signals.

“Don’t be self-conscious, Jessica. You are a smart, beautiful girl who deserves to be noticed. Walk like you know that.”

Did I mention self-conscious habits are hard to break?

But with more needling from Lorraine, catcalls from Sarah Jane to lighten the mood, and some background music with a great beat, I started to feel the power of being noticed. It sank into me, and before I knew it, I owned the runway. I belonged there.
This must be what it feels like to be Sarah Jane
, I thought.
What Fake Blondie must feel like around Ryan when she knows all eyes are on her
.

It was a heady, potent, scary-as-heck mix.

Lorraine gifted me the shoes (love that woman!) and sent us on our way to my next appointment.

Despite my rocky beginning, I’d passed my first test. Bring on number two!

*   *   *

Stephan the designer had an airy studio on the top floor of the academy. Large windows overlooked the city and flooded the space with natural light. The clothes and fabrics were tucked behind screens—to protect them from sun damage, he explained—and mannequins lined another wall. Stephan greeted us like long-lost friends and immediately put me at ease.

“The key to fashion is confidence and individuality,” he said, helping me up onto the round platform in front of a tall trifold mirror. “Trends are worthless if the clothes don’t flatter
your
figure. If it doesn’t make you feel
confident and gorgeous, don’t waste your money.”

Stephan did a quick color analysis, deciding I looked best in clear, crisp colors with warm undertones. “Not bold colors,” he clarified, “but not subtle or muted. You need the bright, fresh tones to bring out the warmth of your eyes and hair.”

He draped me with different fabrics to show how they perked up or dulled my coloring and then helped me combine colors to create a palette that didn’t clash. Stephan swore I didn’t need to take notes, but I wasn’t an honor student because I relied on my memory. Sarah Jane hunted down a notebook and pen, and I jotted down all of his recommendations.

“I’ll never keep all this straight,” I moaned, writing like crazy while Stephan disappeared behind a room-dividing curtain. Fashion mags were great, but you’d have to read ten years’ worth to get this kind of detailed information. Even then, it wouldn’t be customized for you.

“Once you figure out what works for you, shopping’s a no-brainer,” Sarah Jane said. “You’ll know right away which new styles will work and which styles are a fashion disaster waiting to happen. Like, I know I can’t wear anything with single spaghetti straps, because my shoulders are so wide. It saves me a lot of time sifting through the racks.”

I looked at her cami with its triple set of thin straps fanning out on top of her shoulders. I’d never noticed that detail before, but I guess that was the point.

“Excellent example, Sarah Jane,” Stephan said as he wheeled out a rolling rack of clothes. “Camis are in this year, so you found camis that worked for you instead of wearing something that worked against your figure.” He tapped her affectionately on the nose like a prized fashion pupil.

He turned his attention back to me. “Time to dress the princess. Tell me your signature style, Jess.”

I dutifully handed over my style description from the style quiz:

Sporty and classic are words to live by. Whether it’s an athletic cut or simple pieces with clean lines, you’ll always look your best in tried and true fashions. Aim for outfits that flatter your figure but leave plenty to the imagination and fabrics that move with you to give you the freedom to be yourself. Comfort and confidence are key
.

Stephan looked over my sheet, and I smiled patiently, waiting for a tap on my nose to let me know I’d earned brownie points for being prepared.

“That’s nice,” Stephan said, looking up from the paper. “But it’s just what a computer says about your style. What do
you
have to say about it?”

Phooey
.

I thought about my Signature Style Portfolio, the words and images I’d played with for so many hours. Yes to feminine and sporty; no to dramatic and bold. Definite no to body-conscious (I felt ill just thinking about Lexy’s sex-kitten look). Clean-cut style, a little bit flirty without being girly. And I liked the “fabrics that move with you” part of my style description.

So that left me with … “Fun, feminine, and sporty?”

Stephan chuckled. “Are you asking my permission, or are you undecided?”

“Fun, feminine, and sporty,” I repeated with conviction. It was as close as I got to feeling Zen when I thought about
my new look. That had to be a starting point.

Stephan pulled clothes off hangers, and I tried them on behind the curtain.

“Wow,” SJ breathed when I came out with the first outfit. “That fitted blouse looks amazing on you!”

“And the hemline just above your knees makes your legs look long and slender. It’s the perfect combination for your figure. You came out with your head held high—that’s a dead giveaway that you’ve found the right outfit.” Stephan tweaked the collar a bit. “Confidence is sexy, Jess. That may not matter to you now, but someday it’ll make all the difference in the world.”

I tried on the rest of the collection Stephan had put together, totally loving how the clothes looked. Basking in the glow of how they made me feel. I didn’t know about the sexy part, but they definitely made me feel stronger and ready to take on the world. Never underestimate the power of the right skirt and a couple of tucks.

No gifting this time—so sad—but Stephan did treat me to a CD of digital pictures with me in the various outfits. “Remember how you felt in these when you go shopping, and don’t give in to temptation just because something’s ‘in.’ It’s only in for you if it fits your signature style.”

“Any final words of advice from the fashion king?” I asked as we helped Stephan put away the clothes.

“Find what works for you and work it for all it’s worth. Confidence breeds confidence.”

*   *   *

We met Kyra and Mel for a late lunch at Kyra’s house and discussed shopping strategy.

“I only need a few things,” Kyra said as she double-checked her list. “A new outfit for my party, a teal shirt to
go with my tropical sarong skirt, and a new pair of light-brown sandals.”

Mel needed a few pieces too, and Sarah Jane only wanted a silver ankle bracelet to wear with her metallic flip-flops at the lake.

“What about you, J?” Sarah Jane asked, scooping salsa with a tortilla chip.

I glanced down at the list I’d created on the way back from the academy. “I want a few outfits like what Stephan had at the studio.” Sarah Jane had downloaded my photos to her phone so we’d have them for shopping. “And some accessories to finish the outfits I already have.”

“You should definitely wear one of the new outfits to my party,” Kyra said. “You can launch the new Jess Parker. Especially since
somebody will be looking for you
 …,” she added in a singsong voice.

I felt the heat wave coming on, my cheeks prickling as the blush arrived full swing. “Word travels fast.”

“Ryan’s a catch. If he went out of his way to make sure you were coming to my birthday, he’s definitely into you.”