Maybe This Time(71)

“So, it’s kind of messy, and whatever inspiration catches my eye just gets added to it with no rhyme or reason,” I said, clutching the journal.

“Stop stalling,” Andrew said.

“Yes, we want to see what lives in that messy brain of yours,” Micah said.

“Not helping,” I said.

She bumped her shoulder against mine and I opened the book.

I turned to the first page: a sketch I’d drawn over two years ago. It was a basic pencil skirt with a billowy blouse. Nothing special, but it was well drawn. I remembered taking my time on each and every line. I turned the page to where I’d stored a magazine clipping of a pink dress I liked. I didn’t even remember why I liked the dress. It was cute, but it didn’t feel like my style at all. Micah and Andrew were exceptionally quiet and I wondered if they were waiting for me to ask their opinions. I was too nervous to do that.

I kept flipping. It was much of the same. Page after page of sketches and snippets from magazines or scraps of cloth. Micah started humming a little when I turned to something she found cute.

“How is this going to help me exactly?” I asked. I wondered if looking at these was actually lowering my confidence in my ability to become anything but just a really good drawer.

“They’re good, Soph,” Micah said. “I was hoping you’d see that.”

I flipped to another page and was about to flip it again when I stopped myself. The sketch here wasn’t exceptionally detailed. In fact, my lines were shaky and it wasn’t complete, but it felt different from the others. The skirt was fitted along the hips and flared out at the bottom, the front of the skirt higher, the back coming to a soft point. It almost looked like a lily. An upside-down lily. I looked at the date I’d scribbled in the corner. I’d drawn it the week I’d started working at the flower shop.

Andrew must’ve noticed something different about the sketch too. He asked, “What changed?”

“I got my job this week,” I said. I flipped to another page. This one was a sketch of a dress, its buttons roses, its skirt layers and layers like rose petals.

“Flowers,” Micah whispered. “That’s your spin.”

I turned more pages. Not all my designs were flower themed. Not even every third one. But the ones that incorporated flowers seemed to pop off the page, seemed to come alive. I thought of all the images that had popped into my head this past year when I’d been around flowers—the girls in dresses marching through a field of tulips, the ballerinas dancing over sunflowers. Maybe my inspiration had been in front of me all along.

“Is that the flower I gave you?” Andrew asked. He kept me from turning a page again by placing his hand on the book. A pink tulip was pressed flat. The page behind it featured a sketch of a scalloped-sleeved blouse. That was the day I’d met Andrew. I’d thought the design wasn’t going anywhere, but it was. Now that I looked at it, I knew I needed to add layers to the sleeve instead of just the scallops.

“That is not the flower you gave me,” I protested. “I’d put this in before we even met.”

“Sure …”

“This one was a throwaway. The stem wasn’t long enough.”

“Just keep talking,” he said in that teasing voice of his.

I pinched his side and he laughed. I closed the journal.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Micah asked. “We’re not done.”

“We are,” I said. “You’re right. Flowers are my thing. I’m going to perfect all my flower designs and that will be my portfolio for design school applications.” I felt a rush of certainty that warmed me.

“For New York design school applications,” Micah said.

I hugged my book to my chest and nodded.

Micah threw her arms around me.

“Thank you for pushing me.” I glanced over at Andrew, hoping he knew that statement was for him too. His smile said he did.

Mr. Williams appeared around the corner. “There you are,” he said. “It’s time for dessert.”

“We’re coming,” Micah said. “Let’s eat some pie, y’all. We’ve earned it.”





Hey, Gunnar, do you want to play football with us?” I asked after we’d eaten dessert. I wasn’t sure why the tradition of physical activity existed on the day when everyone overate. It seemed like naptime was the only thing that made sense, but that wasn’t happening.

“I can?” Gunnar asked, jumping up.

“Yes,” I said. “I want you on my team on account of you being such a fast runner.”

He cheered and, as if proving my point, ran out the door and into the Williamses’ backyard.

“I guess that means I’m on your team,” Andrew said to Micah. “Are you any good?”

“I’m the best,” Micah said, following Gunnar outside.

“Nice. You’re going down, Sophie,” Andrew said.

“Kind of like that rock you tried to skip in the lake?” I replied.

“Um … yes actually. Were you meaning to back up my statement?” he asked.

I thought about it. “No, I was trying to insult your throwing abilities.”

Micah picked up a basket of flip-flops by the back door, which she always used to mark out boundaries on the grass. “Next time just say: ‘Well, you can’t throw, so there,’ ” Micah said.