“For what?”
“Just... thank you.”
“Oh, never mind! Now, get going to the judging. I’ll see you there. I just need to freshen up and change.”
I nodded, still smiling. I’d learned that people in the city changed at least three times a day because they were always looking for ways to show off their new styles. Francesco, though, sometimes changed four or five times.
A sudden sound of heeled footsteps and voices came from the stairway. It was the other girls—Kitty, Cordelia, Ky, and Alice were walking down to the challenge critique. Sophie was nowhere to be seen. I quickly joined them on the landing, sketchbook still held tight.
“How were your interviews?” Kitty asked.
“Good. Though they didn’t afford me much time to work on the challenge. I only have two sketches right now.”
“Just two?” Cordelia asked, glancing over her shoulder at me. Her sketches faced outward, and I could see detailed designs, complete with dashes of watercolor.
She wore a skirt held up with men’s suspenders. A few days ago, I’d asked her about her style. I was familiar with Kitty’s classic looks, Alice’s girly fashion, and Sophie’s dramatic aesthetic. Even Ky made sense to me—she’d cross-pollinated her style with looks from both Britannia Secunda and Japan. But I’d never met a girl who wore men’s pants, blazers, and work boots.
“Menswear is interesting to me,” she’d said. “In a way it’s more limiting, but I love how strong the lines are. Growing up, I always dismantled my father’s clothes to look at their patterns and shapes.”
After I’d asked her about her style, she seemed a bit friendlier.Before, she’d never have bothered to ask about the status of my sketches.
“Yes. For now.” I flipped open to the middle of my sketchbook.
“Wait, are you sketching another oneright now?” Ky demanded.
“I don’t have much of a choice.” I tried to sound calm, but Kitty’s alarmed expression and Ky’s triumphant face said it all: I was doomed.
Don’t get distracted.
Anchoring the sketchbook against my stomach, I lifted the pencil.
“Don’t trip!” Kitty exclaimed.
Each step made the sketchbook’s hard cover jam into my middle. My first line jiggled across the page. Shaking my head, I flipped to a fresh sheet. But I didn’t know what I was sketching. Just like the first time, no warm fog came to envelop me. My mind was empty, as white and blank as the page in my sketchbook. I couldn’t wrestle anything out of it except basic images and silhouettes. They were jagged and rough, and none of them spoke of beauty or elegance.
And even if they had, any sketch I did right now would be rushed, without any detailing. It would be lines without life. Withoutme.
Slowly, I flipped the cover of the sketchbook back and closed it. During the first challenge, I’d submitted something I didn’t love. I couldn’t do that again. If I received an unfavorable judging (which I inevitably would) for only having two sketches instead of three, I’d prefer that to showcasing a sketch I wasn’t proud of.
“Giving up?” Ky asked.
“Yes.” I paused. “No. I have two strong sketches and I don’t have enough time to do another one. Or at least one that represents my style and my skills. I’ll submit only two.”
For a moment, silence fell over the girls and they glanced at each other. Only Ky looked pleased.
“It really isn’t fair that you didn’t have the same time as the rest of us,” Kitty said. The other girls didn’t agree, but they didn’t disagree either.
“Thank you, Kitty,” I said softly. She was close to me, close enough to squeeze my arm. I focused on the warmth of the gesture, trying to ignore the fact that I was walking into the challenge with an incomplete entry.
We had only a few minutes to set out our sketches in the sewing room before the double doors swung open and Madame Jolène entered with her design board. She was coming from a fitting—her tape measure hung around her neck and a pincushion was affixed to her wrist with a huge gray ribbon. Her dress was a bit less extravagant than her usual looks—a duchess satin gown with architectural folds running across the neckline and hem. The skirt was a full A-line, no doubt to allow her the ease to stand and bend as necessary. Even though she’d probably spent the entire day attending the queen, her hair was still a perfect chignon of loops and spirals.
She came to the front of the room and scanned us with one swift, unblinking glance. I nearly cringed when her eyes passed over me. As if in anticipation of her scorn, every muscle in my body locked and tensed.
“Good evening.” Madame Jolène didn’t pause to let us respond. “This challenge is based on fashion updates and revisions. This is to measure your skills at breathing new life into a style while maintaining its original integrity. Since this challenge is based on sketches, you will also explain your work, so we may understand your mindset.”
Explain your work.I didn’t know we’d have to talk. My already tense body tightened even more. I tried to think about what to say and how, attempting to conjure up some sort of script. I let out a tiny sigh of relief when Madame Jolène approached Cordelia first.
“Sketches,” she said commandingly, holding out her hand. Cordelia gathered them up and gave them to her. I was surprised to see her fumble. In my mind, the other girls were so confident. Superior, even. Yet Cordelia’s movements were quick, antsy.
