Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(31)

“I’ll do my best, at least. We’re getting a lot of calls about it, but if you want me to say anything specific I will make sure you’re heard by someone higher up than me in this office.”

“Well, thank you. I guess, I guess I want him to know that this is a really serious issue for my community. I work at a physical rehab facility, and I see patients dropping their programs every day because their insurance won’t cover it, and this bill doesn’t do enough. It even has the potential to seriously damage the work we’ve done with these patients.” She pauses. “On a personal note, um, breast cancer runs in the family, and my mom overcame it when she was younger. But every time she was out of work, she couldn’t get insurance because companies considered it a preexisting condition. Protections aren’t in this bill for existing conditions, and I just don’t want others to go through the same thing she did before she passed.”

“I hear you,” I say. “I’ll pass the message along, and I’m sorry about your mom.”

I hear a laugh on the other end. “Thanks. This is the first time I’ve called my reps. Would have done it a lot sooner if I knew someone like you’d be answering.”

I end the call, and a blush comes over my face.

“What was that all about?” Meghan rolls her chair toward me, and she looks at my notes.

I shrug. “I, uh, have a message for the senator.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

REESE

When I walk into the fashion studio, I feel incredibly unprepared. I hate this feeling, how it gnaws at me, shames me. There are fabrics on one wall, sewing machines along another, and sketches are taped to a third. I look closely at the board of sketches (mainly so my back can be to the sewing machines, which are currently mocking me for knowing nothing).

“I love this one,” one guy says, and it takes me a while to realize he’s talking to me. He’s got a British accent, and I catch myself blushing immediately at his closeness as we both focus on one piece.

“What do you like about it?” I ask.

I’m petrified of looking like an idiot here, so I figure, when in doubt, ask a question. He studies the pencil sketch, and the model’s eyes pierce through me. As my gaze drifts down, I notice just how detailed the sketch is.

“It’s asymmetrical, so that’s always a plus for me. I love the proportions too; the cinched waist makes it so the rest of the dress falls straight down from the hip. And you can tell the lining at the bottom is a little heavier. It gives it some movement, but, like, defined movement. It’s controlled and precise, which fits superbly with the angular makeup.”

“Well said,” Professor Watts says behind us. “Philip, Reese, I see you two have met. This one was one of my favorites from last summer’s program. We were able to get this produced for the summer show, and it worked just as well as you’d expect on the runway.”

I raise my eyebrows, as I didn’t realize she was the professor for this class as well as the leader of the full program.

“A student did this?” I ask, and I feel overwhelmed again. “This is really good.”

“Well, you’ll all be able to do something similar once I’m done with you. And if you’re lucky, one of you might even get your work shown in our fall fashion show.”

I gulp. I’m in over my head, and I don’t want to admit to Philip that my only frame of reference for fashion and design is watching Project Runway and RuPaul’s Drag Race over the past few years.

The class takes their seats. I take a seat next to Philip, as he seems nice and smart.

“Nice to meet you, mate,” he says. “This is kind of intimidating, innit?”

“I’ve never used a sewing machine,” I admit. “So, yeah, I’m shitting myself, basically.”

He laughs. “I doubt many of us know. I mean, I do, but that’s just because I used to make quilts with my gran. I don’t know how to sew a garment or anything. We must be getting a crash course on everything this summer.”

“Well, I’m ready for it,” I say, even though that’s a full lie.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Me too.”

Professor Watts walks us through the course, explaining all the projects we’ll have to take part in.

“As this is an accelerated program, your first project starts today. You may have seen the sketches on the wall as you came in. Those are examples of the same final project you’ll be making, and I want you to know that everyone on that board came in with a fairly limited knowledge of fashion design when they started the program, and they all were able to produce some really smart designs by the end of the summer.

“So, as a sort of base check, so I know where you’re all starting from, I want you to design a seventies mod dress that has some connection with your zodiac sign. It does not have to be perfect; it doesn’t even have to be good. It just needs to exist so we can critique and workshop it at the end of the week. I believe your first week in Fashion History covers this decade, so you won’t be totally at a loss, but I suggest you do more research on your own.”

She continues teaching, actually showing us some mod prints and seventies fashion. This is my final class for the day, but none of them started with so much of a bang. I’m getting pelted with information. Finally, she takes a breath and tells us to put our pencils down.