Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(49)

I croak out the words because I’m damn near speechless.

As she walks away, I look at the confirmation screen on the iPad. One hundred dollars has just gone straight to the organization, and for one moment, this all seems worth it. A tear falls down my cheek, and I feel so goofy for being this emotional about a hundred bucks, but I did this volunteer experience so I could make a difference.

I really did it.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

REESE

After classes, and after dinner, I go right into sewing mode. I don’t need to be an expert at this class, but every time Professor Watts works with us on a project, I feel the class separate into two groups—adept sewers like Philip, and absolute messes.

I am many things, but I am not a mess.

“Did you thread a denim needle?” Philip asks. He’s been such a huge help every time I have one of these catastrophes that he’s basically started coming right to my room after classes. This project is simple: I’m turning a pair of jeans I brought into shorts. But the thread keeps getting caught.

“I think it’s the tension,” I say, but Philip shakes his head.

“You always think it’s the tension. You need a stronger needle for denim, and stronger thread. I think this thread is okay, but let me go grab a better needle from my kit.”

Compared to this, I’m flying through my other classes. Fashion History is fascinating, but mostly consists of memorizing designers, looks, trends. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s memorize. Flash cards are my love language.

My graphic design classes are pretty straightforward too. Our main project in typesetting is to make a graphics collection for a company that advertises a special sale. I’m learning how to work with text more, and I’m picking up on things I should have done differently with my school projects.

But this … it doesn’t come naturally to me. I hate not being good at something.

I think of Mamma, who constantly mended clothes when I was growing up. I remind myself that she had years and years of practice. I’ll get there someday.

Philip returns with a needle. An uncomfortable smile crosses his lips, and I notice he’s holding a folder too. He sighs.

“Could you, maybe, take a look at what I’ve got for my project?” he asks. “You’ve got a better eye for design than me. I like what I have so far, but it’s missing something.”

“Yeah, I owe you that much,” I say with a laugh to ease the tension. He’s an adept seamster, but I guess we all feel vulnerable about some things.

When he opens the design, the first thing I notice is that it’s another gown drawn fully out of pencil, but as I look, I do see small details that pop out. It’s a tight pencil dress with a thick mock mink collar. The body seems to be made out of a thick, unmoving fabric. He’s cinched the waist with a thin belt, and he’s styled the model’s hair in a tight bun.

“This is fancy,” I say. “What color?”

“I’m thinking black, or charcoal gray.”

“It’s dark,” I say. “Your other drawings have been lighter. What’s your inspiration?”

“I know we’ve hopped all over the place in fashion history, but I got caught up with 1950s Balenciaga. I think this will be really smart, flattering, a touch retro.” He scrunches his eyebrows. “I don’t know if it’s enough.”

“It’s nice, though. If you like it, you should go for it. I mean, it’s not like the grades we get in this will, like, stay with us throughout school.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says with a laugh as I finish changing out the needle. “I’m fine not getting high marks, but I want this to be a real contender for the showcase this fall, you know?”

“I get that,” I say. “I don’t know why you’re coming to me for advice. The class seems to hate my looks.”

“Your looks are good. People just love to hear themselves talk, you know? Remember when Nico called that green dress I did frog-leg couture?”

I think seriously about it, then say, “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Hey!” Philip snaps, and I laugh.

“You’re right,” I finally say. “I’ve been trying to keep my chin up after our last chat about our classmates’ ‘creative critique.’ It’s just hard to pick out what’s worth keeping in my mind, and what’s not. It’s so much feedback, and I never know if I disagree because I’m being defensive or if it actually doesn’t match my vision. Anyway, I don’t know how to judge my own drawings, but at least I do know how to judge my sewing. In that it’s consistently bad.”

I finish sewing one leg of my shorts, so I cut the thread and shake them out, looking at the hem.

“That right there is not bad. You did well, love.” Philip beams.

“Thanks for your help. I guess I can’t always blame the tension when things go wrong.”

“These machines are temperamental. I wouldn’t feel too badly about it. My gran and I made this denim apron for my dad when I was younger, and I remember having the same problem. Even she didn’t know what do to, but we read this old, huge, dusty manual until we figured it out.” He chuckles to himself. “She’d wondered why she had all these different needles, but it turns out she’d never changed the one that came with her machine.”