Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(57)
“I only have the budget to get one of these designs produced for the show. And there are times I’ve given better grades to projects that didn’t end up winning because they weren’t feasible for the runway. Stick to the assignment.” She lowers her voice. “And don’t give this up.”
That makes me smile, so I just repeat, “Got it.”
I leave her office, thinking briefly about how much more confident I feel now than I did the last time I was in there. I came into this program with no direction and no clue what I was doing.
But I’ve figured it out along the way. Thanks in part to Philip, who’s waiting for me as I walk by the lounge.
“So? How did it go?”
“It went well. I mean, she said it looks like it was made for a drag queen and I have no practical way to make it, but it’s a start.”
He laughs. “That’s a compliment.”
“Oh, absolutely. But I don’t think this school is ready for their first drag runway.” I pack my drawings away, and he stands to join me. “Café?”
“Actually, I was thinking. It’s pretty early, and you haven’t been a proper tourist. Want to change that?”
I pull back, a hesitation gripping me. “I mean, I was going to do the Louvre and stuff when my moms visit. And I’ve been so busy.”
“But you’re not busy now.”
I pause, then slowly nod. “I guess that’s true.”
“So let’s go. Save the Louvre for your mums, but there are plenty more museums to see. We can just go to the Eiffel Tower if you want. Please?”
“Sure.” I smile. “I need some new selfies for Instagram anyway—I haven’t made enough friends jealous, to be honest. My friend who’s in DC keeps sending us pictures of, like, him with the senator he’s working for, or him at every monument. It’s gross. I really need to get him back.”
Philip laughs at that. “Then it’s a deal. We’ll make all your friends jealous.”
As we walk the angled streets through the city, Paris comes alive around me. This area isn’t like our neighborhood, which is quiet and full of small shops and restaurants. This neighborhood is loud, bustling, cosmopolitan.
For once, I recognize that I’m in a big city. I feel like Gabriel must, with his long threads in the group chat early on panicking about Boston. It’s overwhelming. It’s too much. And I kind of love it.
“How lucky are we?” Philip asks, somewhat rhetorically. “Studying fashion in Paris. I might come back here for undergrad.”
“That would be amazing. I think we’ll be back for a week next year for French IV, just a class trip, though. But I have my eye on a few graphic design schools back in the US. I don’t think I could be away from my family for that long, you know?”
As we walk down the Champs-?lysées, we instinctively slow to window-shop at the obscenely expensive shops. I think of the people in class who want to design looks like this. Powerful business looks, expensive fabrics, and I almost laugh when I picture my dumb little fire dress in here.
“This is not my vibe,” Philip says. “But I appreciate these looks. If that makes sense.”
“Definitely. It’s, like, when I go to modern art museums—I don’t always get it, but it still makes me feel something. But really, I’m more of an impressionist guy.”
“Wait, you are? Have you been to Musée d’Orsay? It’s, like, the impressionist museum. Largest collection in the world. Want to go there after this?”
I nod, and we launch farther into the city. Our first stop is the Eiffel Tower. The sun is hot overhead as we join the other tourists meandering around and through the legs of this masterpiece.
“Want me to snap a few pics for you?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“They’ve got to be selfies, since I’m trying to properly mock what Sal’s been sending our chat.”
I pull out my phone and focus on the tower in the background. I take a few photos, some with portrait mode on—which really just blurs the tower, but it makes my skin really smooth.
“We should get one together,” I say. “We’re sewing-table buddies, and that means we’re bonded for life.”
He chuckles at that and comes around. He puts an arm around me and leans in close, and I snap a picture. When I pull it up, I look at how happy we are, and I feel instantly grateful that I made at least one friend here.
“This is going to sound incredibly corny, but do you mind if I sketch this a bit?” I pull out my journal. “Just a quick one.”
“Of course. Let’s find a spot to camp out, and you can tell me more about your friends.”
This week’s journal page is full of sketches of accessories, since that was the focus of our most recent Fashion History lecture. Belts, bracelets, and earrings line the page, but I find enough room to pencil in a quick sketch of the tower.
As we continue the walk, I’m able to connect to a Wi-Fi hot spot, so I drop the picture in a text to the group chat and send it off. He ushers me away, and we start the long walk toward the impressionist museum, pausing at times to take in gorgeous, sunny views of the Seine.
“So does ‘the chat’ know about me? Or do your friends just think you magically got good at sewing.”