Chloe by Design: Making the Cut Read online

  Measure twice, cut once or you won't make the cut.

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  My name is Chloe Montgomery, and I am a fashion addict. There, I said it. I mean, I know everyone has hobbies, but mine goes past that — my interest in fashion and design is more like an obsession. Unfortunately, Santa Cruz, California, where I live, isn’t exactly the fashion capital of the world. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great place to live, but New York City it isn’t.

  Since there aren’t many design opportunities for sixteen-year-olds and I don’t exactly get a chance to see runway-ready fashions on the street here in Santa Cruz, I take any chance I can get to soak up fashion. Enter Design Diva, the highlight of my week — at least as far as TV goes. If you ask me, there is nothing better than watching a group of designers battle it out for the ultimate prize: their own clothing line. Every week, the Design Diva judges throw some new, crazy challenge at the contestants. Like having them design party clothing for dogs — excuse me, what? But I love it, and no matter how insane the challenge seems, I always have my sketchpad ready. I like to keep up with the competition by designing my own ideas for each challenge.

  This week, the competition will be narrowed down to the final five designers, so the pressure is really on. Sometimes I don’t know how the designers do it. I get stressed enough just watching from home!

  Looking around my living room, I make sure I have all my supplies arranged for tonight’s episode. Fabric swatches: check. Sketchpad: check. Colored pencils and felt-tip pens: check. Extra-cheesy pizza with crispy crust: check.

  I catch sight of my outfit in the mirror above the fireplace. Tonight I’ve belted a flowing, black tunic over a geometric-print, black-and-white skirt and paired it with low black ankle boots to add some edge. I smile at my reflection, remembering a similar outfit the winner of last week’s Design Diva challenge created. She described her style aesthetic as “simple chic” and the judges loved it.

  I guess “simple chic” would describe my closet too. I’m all about clean, no-frills looks. I’ve never been one for lots of loud colors and tons of bling. I’d rather use bright colors as an accent than a centerpiece. Give me navy, tans, blacks, and neutrals, and I can make them pop with a bright scarf, statement jewelry, or a stylish belt.

  I glance up at the clock and realize the show will start in five minutes. Just then, as if on cue, the doorbell rings. I hurry to open the door, but before I can get there my best friend, Alexis (Alex for short), walks right in. Her hair is still wet like she just got out of the shower, and she’s wearing an oversized gray hoodie and leggings. She kicks off her black high-tops — they’re one of the only cool, retro things she owns, but I try not to make a big deal about it, because otherwise she’ll probably throw them away.

  Alex thrusts a bag of chips into my hands as she makes a beeline for the living room. “Let’s do this,” she says, heading straight for the couch in front of the TV. She plops down, makes herself comfortable, and picks up the remote.

  I shake my head and smile. Alex loves Design Diva because of the snarky judges. As for fashion? She couldn’t care less. If someone offered Alex a million dollars to tell them which shoes look best with which jeans, she’d probably just shrug and not even pretend to be sad about losing the money. I told her this one time, and she just told me, “I’ll take the loss if it means I don’t have to hurt my brain thinking about it. Besides, that’s what I have you for.”

  Alex and I may be best friends, but we’re total opposites when it comes to caring about clothes. I learned a long time ago not to push my fashion ideas onto her. But even though Alex may not care about which shirt or shoes go with what, her ability to think outside the box is mind-boggling. I can be stuck on a design idea for days, and all Alex has to do is look at my patterns and drawings for two seconds and boom! She comes up with some idea that works perfectly but is not at all what I would’ve come up with alone.

  Here’s a perfect example: Last week, I was trying to come up with an outfit for the school’s carnival. I had my black jeans and a loose, sleeveless white blouse draped over my chair with a pair of flat black gladiator sandals on the floor. I liked the combo, but I wanted a little oomph. Alex opened my closet, stood there for about half a second, and pulled out my red-and-black paisley scarf. The same scarf I’d passed over for being too busy. “Done,” she’d said. I had my doubts, but when I held the scarf up, of course, she was totally right. Poof! The outfit came together.

  Alex was also the one who gave me the guts to start creating my own clothes. When I was growing up, my family didn’t have a ton of money, and my mom used to take my clothes to Mrs. Murphy, this woman in our old apartment building, to make them last longer. She did an okay job letting out hems and waists to make my clothes last another year, sometimes two, but I loved the looks in magazines. I never said anything to my mom about it. I knew she felt bad making me wear the same stuff year after year. Instead, I watched Mrs. Murphy match colors, thread needles, take out one stitch, and put in another.

  Eventually I started sketching and sewing on my own, but I was sure my designs weren’t good enough, so I didn’t tell anyone — except Alex. One day, when I was about twelve years old, Alex and I were at the drug store when I started flipping through a fashion magazine. Alex had leaned over my shoulder, set down the chips and soda she was holding, and picked up a copy of the magazine instead. Before I knew what was happening, she’d paid for it.

  “Here,” Alex had said, handing it to me. “Consider it an early birthday present.”

  “Thanks, but you didn’t need to do that,” I’d replied.

  Alex had just shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Chloe. Besides, why should you be stuck wishing for these clothes? Your designs are good. You can make them.”

  I’d started to shake my head no, but Alex just put her arm around my shoulder. “Yes, you can, Chloe,” she had said with a big smile.

  Turned out she was right. And four years later, she still is.

  “It’s on!” Alex squeals as the Design Diva music starts.

  I immediately focus on the screen. Barry Drayback, the host of the show, announces the judges as Alex digs into the pizza. First up is Jasmine DeFabio. Alex and I make faces as she struts to her spot at the judges’ table. Jasmine is super hard to please, and even if she does like a design, her face still looks like she just smelled someone’s dirty socks. You can tell all of the contestants dread her critiques — and I don’t blame them.

  Next up is Missy Saphire. Her judging style is basically the opposite of Jasmine’s. Even if a design is ugly, Missy manages to find something nice to say. Everyone cheers for Missy because she’s so sweet, but to be honest, as much as Jasmine annoys us, at least her
critiques are spot on.

  The last judge announced is Hunter Bancroft — he’s the cutest one, hands down. He’s also the perfect balance between Jasmine and Missy — nice, but honest. But if I’m going to be honest, Alex and I don’t always hear everything Hunter has to say. Sometimes we’re too busy staring at how gorgeous he is to focus on his critique.

  “Tonight,” Barry says, “we have a special announcement for our teen viewers, so make sure you have those pads and pens ready. I can’t give away too much yet, but trust me when I say this is something you don’t want to miss. This could be a life-changing announcement for some of our viewers. But before we get to that, let’s focus on our latest challenge and our remaining five contestants.”

  “A life-changing announcement?” I say. Design Diva has never done anything like this before. “What do you think it’s going to be?”

  Alex shrugs. “Maybe it’s a chance to have your clothes designed by one of the top three designers?” she suggests between bites of pizza.

  “Oh, my gosh! That has to be it!” I exclaim. “You’re such a genius. That’s like the final challenge they had last season. Imagine if we get picked.” I close my eyes and picture how amazing it would be to have one of Design Diva’s top designers create my clothes. Even if they were bad, it would still be fantastic.

  Alex snorts. “If I win, you can have my prize. I’ll stick with my comfy clothes. Besides, there’s no need to jazz up the awesomeness of my ensemble.” She sweeps her arms over her leggings and hoodie.

  I laugh and grab a slice of pizza. All I can think about is what the announcement will be. On the screen, Hunter is talking about the fluorescent coat one of the designers made, but I can’t focus on his words. What could Barry have been talking about?

  I must have zoned out because Alex suddenly nudges me, then waves her hand in front of my face. “Hello? Earth to Chloe,” she says, cupping her hands in front of her mouth like she’s talking into a megaphone. “Come in, please.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just keep wondering what the special announcement could be.”

  “I bet they won’t tell us anything until the end of the show,” Alex says. “They’ll want to keep us sucked in for the whole hour. So try to focus. I can’t make fun of the judges on my own.” She grins and tosses me a napkin as a bit of pizza sauce drips off my chin.

  “Gross. Jasmine would not approve of this look,” I say, cleaning myself up.

  “Speaking of Jasmine . . .” Alex nods to the screen.

  On TV, one of the designers is holding up a blue tuxedo and looking ready to cry. That must be Jasmine’s handiwork.

  “It’s not that bad,” says Alex. “At least blue is original.”

  “What did she say to him?” I ask.

  “She called his tux ‘an homage to a bad eighties prom,’” Alex says, trying not to hold back her laughter.

  I laugh too. “That is awful, but you have to expect that from her.”

  We keep laughing, totally missing Hunter’s and Missy’s comments. By the time we get control of ourselves, the judges have moved on to a woman named Candace. Candace’s color scheme and design style are much more my taste — a cute shift dress done in khakis and browns and subtly accented with red trim.

  “She’s really good,” I whisper.

  Missy apparently agrees. “Honey,” she says, “you are the reason we have this show. Bravo.”

  Alex rolls her eyes. “Way to explain why you like her stuff, Missy. Did you have to go to school to come up with that critique?”

  The judges finish up with the remaining designers and announce who’s safe. In the end, the man with the blue tuxedo and the woman who designed the fluorescent coat are in the bottom two. But before they can announce who will be going home, Barry is back on the screen.

  “You’ll find out who stays and who goes home after the break,” the host says. “And, teens, don’t forget what I said earlier in the show. I have an announcement that’s sure to blow you away. But you’ll have to stay tuned to find out what it is . . . make sure your notebooks are ready so you don’t miss any of the details.”

  “How could I have possibly forgotten? I’ve had my notebook ready for an hour,” I mumble.

  Alex frowns. “Jeez, you must really be excited about this announcement. You’ve been so busy obsessing about the news that you didn’t even make your own design today.”

  I look down at my sketchpad in surprise. Alex is right. Usually, I try to keep up with the challenges by sketching my own versions of what the judges want. But today my sketchpad is totally blank.

  The Design Diva music suddenly sounds and I quickly look back up at the TV. Barry is standing right where we left him. “And we’re back!” he says. “It’s never easy to be sent home, but it’s especially hard at this point in the competition. And yet, we must say goodbye to one of you.” Barry turns to face the designer of the blue tux. “Zack,” he says, “the judges have spoken. You, unfortunately, have to put up with them another week. You are safe! Serena, we’re sorry to see you go.”

  I groan. “I hate it when he does that! Poor Serena must have thought she was safe when Barry started his speech.”

  “The fake-outs are the worst,” Alex agrees. “Can’t they just tell us the news already? Even I’m getting impatient!”

  Finally, while Serena hugs the remaining designers goodbye and dabs at her eyes with a handful of tissues, Barry turns back to the camera.

  “I know we’ve kept you all in suspense,” he starts, “but it’s finally time for our big announcement! Teens, is your dream to have your designs be seen everywhere? Do you eat, sleep, and dream fashion? If so, this is your chance. You can be on our new show, Teen Design Diva. This will be your opportunity to be judged by Jasmine, hang out with Missy, and stare deep into Hunter’s baby blues. And the winner will be awarded the ultimate prize — a fashion internship with a top designer in New York City. We’ll start holding auditions in two weeks at locations across the country. The final round, if you make it that far, will be held in Salinas, California. Check out our website for more details and to find out if auditions are happening near you.”

  The show’s end credits start to roll, and Alex and I stare at each other, speechless. Salinas? That’s less than an hour from where we live! Can this really be happening?

  Alex wipes the pizza grease from her fingers and grabs my design notebook. “Move it, Chloe!” she shouts. “You have designs to plan!”

  We run upstairs, and I pinch myself. It hurts. It’s happening.

  In my room, Alex and I quickly open up my laptop and go to the Design Diva website to figure out where the closest auditions will be held. Just like Barry said, the final round will be happening in Salinas at a big rodeo event. (The rest of the world seems to think all of California is like Los Angeles — glossy celebrities everywhere — but the rodeo is huge here in northern Cali.) Salinas is only about forty-five minutes from where I live, so I should be able to convince my parents to let me audition.

  The earlier rounds are being held all around the country. Teens from New York to Texas to California will have the chance to compete. It looks like they’ll be holding California auditions in two locations — San Francisco and Los Angeles. The first two rounds will narrow it down to forty contestants total, all of whom will gather in Salinas for the final round of auditions. Then the top fifteen designers will get to go to New York to compete and be a part of the show.

  I plop down on the floor and pull all my sketchpads out of my desk drawers. Alex drags over the easel, where I’ve pinned swatches and sample patterns. My room looks like a shrine to all things fashion, and suddenly I’m completely overwhelmed. I have no clue where to start or what to do next.

  Thankfully Alex seems to have it all together. She sits back down in front of my laptop, which still has the Design Diva website open and ready. “C’mon!” she says. “What a
re you waiting for?”

  I step around my sketches and take a seat on my bed. Just seconds ago I was ready to explode with excitement at the very thought of this opportunity, and now I feel like I’m going to throw up. What’s wrong with me?

  My fears must be written all over my face because Alex takes one look at me and says, “You know what? Let’s just print everything out and go over it step-by-step.”

  I nod, feeling like an idiot. Speak! my brain shouts. “Sounds great!” I say, a little too chipper.

  “It’ll be better that way anyway,” Alex says. She gets the paper from the printer and reads the rules to herself, nodding as she goes. “It looks like pretty simple stuff,” she finally says. “The first step of the audition process is to create three original outfits—”

  “Three outfits?” I interrupt her. “I can’t design three new outfits in two weeks!” My hands are shaking, and I can feel my brain slipping into panic mode.

  “Chloe, relax,” Alex says. “There’s nothing here you can’t do. It lays out what the other steps are and—”

  I cover my ears and close my eyes to block Alex out. I know I must look like one of my mom’s kindergarten students, but I don’t care. My floor is covered in all the designs I’ve ever done — years of energy and dreams. All I’ve ever wanted is an opportunity like this, and now that it’s here I’m acting like a little kid. And I’m too scared to care.

  “Okay, I’m going to go,” Alex says. She speaks loudly so it’s impossible for me to ignore her. “I’ll leave these here for you to look over. The rest is up to you.”

  When I finally open my eyes, Alex is gone. The computer printout of the rules is sitting in her place. I grab the paper and put it on my desk. I’m still not ready to read through the rules quite yet. Best friends have a sixth sense, though, because waiting for me on my desk is a note from Alex. There are only four words on it: “You can do it!”

  The next morning when I wake up, my head is absolutely throbbing — probably the result of tossing and turning all night long. I don’t think I closed my eyes for more than five minutes at a time. What kind of person has the opportunity of a lifetime right in front of them and freaks out? Cowardly Chloe, that’s who. Cowardly Chloe. Hmm . . . that sort of has a ring to it. I can just see the label now: two interlocking Cs with a cowering lion in the middle. Ugh. Not what I want my personal logo to be.