Initiation (19 page)

In one corner, mannequins stood as if beckoning to be draped in beautiful fabric.

I posted a fast Chatter update:
LaurBell: The fashion bldg—c'est mon raison d être!

I couldn't believe Ms. Utz, the math teacher-slash-guidance-counselor, almost hadn't let me take this course. She'd been concerned that I was taking on too many activities. But once I sent her an impassioned e-mail explaining my love of fashion and that I thrived on a heavy workload, she'd allowed it. Besides, fashion didn't even count as a class—it would be fun!

I took a seat near the front row and plucked a new notebook—a yellow one with a sketch of a cocktail dress—from my bag, along with my textbook and a pencil.

“Lauren?”

“Oh, hey,” I said, looking up. “Cole?”

I hadn't noticed before, but Cole was a fab dresser. Today his attire was casual-slash-dressy: A hunter-green Ralph Lauren polo (bonus points for the large logo). Jeans: vintage-washed whiskered slim fit. Shoes: black leather
Ferragamos
?!

“Cool if I sit by you?” he asked.

“Of course.” I gestured to the seat next to mine.

He slipped his messenger bag over the back of his chair and sat down. As he looked around his green eyes were probably as wide as mine had been seconds ago.

“Fashion at Canterwood,” Cole said. “It's like they tried to make a course for me.”

I laughed. “Really? I feel the same way. Too bad it's only twice a week.”

“No kidding,” Cole said. He smoothed his shirt and ran a hand through his light brown hair.

I couldn't help but stare at his shoes. When I realized drool was practically coming out of my mouth, I saw he was laughing.

“Sorry, but are those . . .”

“Custom-made black Italian leather—”

“Ferragamos!” We said in unison.

“
Never
go shopping without me,” I said.

“Deal,” he promised, laughing.

A woman walked into the room and stood in front of the desk. She looked as if she'd just stepped out of
Vogue
. She'd paired a white ruffled V-neck shirt with a black skirt and ankle boots. Her dark brown hair, with caramel-colored highlights, was flatironed and hung just below her shoulders.

“Hello, class,” she said. “I'm Ms. Snow, your teacher for this class.”

Beside me, Cole straightened. I was so happy to have a fashion soul mate at Canterwood.

“Today's going to be very brief.” Ms. Snow smiled. “I don't believe in overloading my students right away. You're free to use the end of the period to read or do homework.”

Oui!
Even though I already loved this class, I had so much work to do that I was grateful.

Ms. Snow handed a syllabus to all of us and went through each point. Required reading covered fashion through the ages, fashion icon biographies from past to present, designers and their most famous creations, and exciting other topics! Not even one sounded boring.

“Along with the reading,” Ms. Snow said, “we'll also have a big project due each semester. The first assignment will require a partner of your choice.”

Cole and I looked at each other at the same time, grinning. “Yay!” he mouthed.

“I know!” I mouthed back.

“Let's do quick introductions,” Ms. Snow said. She pointed to the first desk on the left.

“I'm Raquel, and I picked fashion because I love to sketch clothes,” she said.

Ms. Snow gestured to me.

“Hi, I'm Lauren,” I said. “I've read about style icons and the history of fashion since I was little, and this class was the first one I picked from the catalog.”

“Great,” Ms. Snow said. After a few more people, Ms. Snow reached Cole.

“I'm Cole. I chose fashion because I want to be a designer someday,” he said.

Wow—I was impressed!

We were going to make a fabulous team—especially since Cole said he'd been sketching for years. He'd be able to teach me
a lot
.

When we'd finished, Ms. Snow smiled. “I want to take a moment to tell you why I'm teaching this course. It won't be too long and boring, I promise. I'll open the floor to questions before allowing you to study or do your homework.”

Ms. Snow walked to her desk, perching on the edge and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I was a total tomboy growing up,” she said. “I didn't know anything about fashion, nor did I ever want to. I thought wearing my brother's oversized sweatshirt and jeans with holes in the knees was ‘in.'” We all laughed with her.

“I didn't develop an interest in fashion through middle
school or high school like you. But in college, I was an art history major. In one of my classes, we covered a few chapters about the evolution of clothes through history. We had to write an essay about our favorite piece of clothing from the times we'd studied and discuss how it was ‘art.'”

Ms. Snow looked at us. “You know what I did?”

We shook our heads.

“I didn't write the paper.”

Cole and I turned to each other, trading surprised glances. I'd
never
had a teacher like Ms. Snow. She was so honest and relatable.

“Did you fail the class?” a girl asked.

“Yeah, did you have to make up the paper?” questioned someone else.

Ms. Snow smiled and walked to the center of the room.

“My professor called me to his office and asked why I'd missed the assignment,” she said. “I'd always turned in every piece of homework and he didn't understand why I hadn't asked for an extension or talked to him about it. I told him I didn't see fashion as art and asked if I could write something—
anything
—else.”

I rested my hand on my chin, curious.

“Of course he said
no
. And in addition, he told me my paper had to be five pages longer. He reminded me the
paper was worth twenty percent of my grade and was not something I wanted to fail.”

“Ugh,” someone said. The rest of the class groaned in agreement.

“He gave me one week. I spent one entire weekend paging through my art history book, looking at clothes. Something kept drawing me back to the progression of women's clothing and finally I settled on the 1940s. Pinup models and actresses like Bette Davis and Ava Gardner. They wore clothes that were quite different from anything women prior to that time had worn.”

There wasn't a sound in the room. I'd never had a classroom so quiet.

“Needless to say, the more I learned, the more I lost myself in my paper. I even pulled an all-nighter without even meaning to. On Monday morning, I turned the paper in. Immediately after, I went straight to my advisor's office to add a second major—
fashion
. I studied in Paris, London, New York, and finally Milan before deciding to teach.”

I wanted to hear
everything
about her travels. I'd been dreaming of visiting Paris since my love for fashion had begun.

“It's my first year here at Canterwood,” Ms. Snow
said. “So I've got as much to learn about the campus as any other new students.”

I wished she would talk during the entire class! I wanted to hear about everything she'd ever seen.

“But that's plenty about me,” Ms. Snow said. “Thank you all for indulging me. Please use the remainder of the time to work on your other studies and we'll delve into the first lesson at the next class.”

Ms. Snow sat at her desk and began typing on her laptop.

I took a Post-it out of my bag and scribbled a note to Cole.

She is
très
amazing!!

I held my hand low, watching to make sure Ms. Snow didn't look up. Cole's fingers brushed mine as he took the note. He opened it under his desk and wrote something on it before reaching back toward me.

Très magnifique!

J'adore
Cole for writing back in French! I took out my math book and started on the thirty assigned problems due tomorrow. Four problems were solved before I stopped midway through my work.

In less than two hours, I would I'd learn my fate on the Canterwood Crest Equestrian team!

I TOOK MY TIME WALKING FROM LAST
period to my room instead of racing to spend more time at the stable.

I didn't know if I was ready for Mr. Conner's decision yet.

I opened the door to my room.

“Hey, roomie!”

“Hey, what's that—”

“I made you tea!” Khloe interrupted, practically jumping up and down. “I remembered what you told me the other day about chamomile being calming? I thought you could use that before going to the stable.”

“Wow! Khloe, omigosh, that was
so
sweet. I've rambled on and on to you about so much tea stuff, I can't believe you even remembered that.”

Our coffee table had two steaming mugs of tea on my favorite Kate Spade coasters—pink with silver polka dots. I sat on the carpeted floor across the table from Khloe.

“I hope you're not mad that I used your stuff,” she said. “I was trying to think of the thing that would make you feel the most calm and
voilá
. I thought of tea!”

“Of course not—I don't care about that stuff,” I said. “Use it whenever you like. I was going to race from here to the stable, but I
knew
I needed to take a breath. This is exactly what I needed.”

I blew on the hot tea and took a sip. Khloe watched me.

“How is it?” she asked, cringing a little as if she was expecting a bad response.

“Perfect,”
I told her. “Like you've been making tea forever.”

“Thanks, Laur!” Khloe beamed. “That means a lot coming from you!”

We drank our tea and talked about the day. I told her about fashion with Ms. Snow and she told me how unfair it was that a girl in her Spanish class was already fluent.

“All I'm saying is, it totally throws off the curve,” Khloe muttered, rolling her eyes.

I swallowed the last sip of tea. “Thanks again,” I said. “This made me feel so much better.”

“You didn't need the tea for that,” Khloe said. “You're going to be fine when Mr. Conner makes the announcements. I know it.”

“We'll see,” I said, managing a shaky smile.

We changed into our riding clothes and left for the stable. Khloe talked the entire way—trying to distract me—but I didn't hear a word she said. I nodded when it felt right and made “mmm hmm” sounds when I thought I should, but I couldn't stop thinking about what was about to happen.

“Lauren.”

“What?”

“The news is going to be good. Now go into the arena and text me when Mr. Conner's finished. I'm going to go pet Whisper for you until you're done, okay?”

I took a deep breath. “Okay. And can you scratch behind her ears? She loves that.”

“I will. Now go!” Khloe gave me a gentle shove through the arena entrance.

Inside, a group of students had gathered. No one spoke to or looked at one another. I stood with fifteen or so people who all wanted the same answer I did:
You made the intermediate team.

“Hello, everyone,” Mr. Conner said, striding into the arena. His clipboard was pressed against his royal blue polo shirt. Not a chance anyone would get a peek at that list.

The group murmured a greeting back.

“I know you're all anxious for the news,” Mr. Conner said. “I will not keep you waiting any further.”

I felt sort of dizzy, like the arena floor was tilting under my feet. I took another long, deep breath.

“As you're aware, there is one open seat on the intermediate team,” Mr. Conner said. “The decision of whom to put on that team was not an easy one. It was based on many factors, including but not limited to skill, potential growth for the rider, and his or her horse.”

Please, please just say it!

“I want to thank you all for trying out. To those who did not make it, I sincerely hope you will try out again in the spring. That said, I'd like to welcome . . .”

Sounds of ocean waves crashed in my ears.

You can try out next year. Be happy you're at Canterwood. You have your dream horse. You're—

“ . . . Lauren Towers to the intermediate team.”
—on the intermediate team! Oh,
mon Dieu
!

Mr. Conner smiled at me. “Congratulations, Lauren.
The Canterwood riding board and I are pleased to welcome you to our intermediate team.”

People I didn't even know patted me on the back. Some whispered, “Congratulations.” It was all a blur. Once my vision cleared, I smiled back at all of them. Only now I saw the disappointment in their eyes.

“I wish the rest of you a good evening,” Mr. Conner said. “I hope you know just how difficult my decision was and that I'm proud to have each and every one of you representing our stable.”