The class breaks into shouts and applause. The show’s proceeds have always covered the expenses in the past. This means more money will go to the department.
Ms. Carter’s smile fades. “However, there are certain stipulations.”
The class quiets and an undercurrent of worry fills the room.
She pats her hands in the air. “Not to worry, nothing terrible. The foundation wants us to incorporate clothing for children—they must be in twenty percent of the show.”
Tension slides off my shoulders. I can live with that, even if it means we’ll have to find child models.
“One more thing,” she says, and her smile loses some of its brightness. “The foundation has requested to be part of the student committee that oversees the program.” She pauses and takes a breath. “The committee will still consist of six members, but this year three of the members will be design students and the other three will be from non-apparel degrees.”
“What?” someone asks and a chorus of dismay spreads throughout the room.
“Now, I know this goes against tradition, and the instructors had a difficult time deciding whether to accept their offer. But the foundation is providing resources to make the show bigger and better than it’s ever been, which in turn will hopefully earn more money for the department. And not only that, but we’ll be raising money to help local children. While the Monroe Foundation is providing the donation, our name is attached. This is wonderful for the university’s community outreach.”
I raise my hand.
Ms. Carter nods. “Yes, Caroline?”
“Who picks the committee members?”
Her smile remains but turns grim. “The instructors have picked the fashion degree members and the foundation, along with the guidance of the chancellor, has picked the non-department students.”
The chancellor? I wonder how many students the chancellor actually knows on a first-name basis. The only time I’ve known of the chancellor becoming personally involved in something like this was when he convinced Scarlett to tutor Tucker by dangling funding for the mathematics department.
“Which fashion students did the instructors pick?” Megan asks. I know she’s as anxious as I am to be on the committee.
“We wish to speak to our three choices before we make the announcement. We want to make sure they accept the position with the new criteria, then we’ll post the nominees.”
Some of my classmates grumble. Everyone wants a coveted position on the committee and our chances have just been halved with the inclusion of non-design students. With my recent work effort, or more importantly, my lack of it, I expect my own chances are slim to none.
“What’s the theme?” one of my classmates asks.
“Oh.” Ms. Carter shifts her weight. “How could I forget? The theme is Everyday Living.”
“Everyday Living?” Megan mutters, scrunching her nose.
Ms. Carter pauses and the slightest bit of irritation creases her forehead. “This year’s theme was picked by the foundation.”
So we completely sold out to the Monroe Foundation? This is the lamest theme any show has had in the history of the show. But I keep the thought to myself. My biggest worry at the moment is the likelihood that I won’t be part of the committee.
Megan turns to me and lowers her voice. “Everyday Living? What are we supposed to do with that?”
I turn my attention back to the fabric pinned to the mannequin. I had turned the fabric on the bias, hoping it would help the hang of the dress, but now I’m not so sure it works. I can’t afford to waste these three yards of silk. Literally. “We’ll figure something out.” I’m referring to the designs for the show as well as the dress for my recent project.
“Are you going to stay much longer, working?” Megan asks, shifting her glance out the window.
“Yeah.” This dress is for our current project, which is due the next class period. Megan finished her design only moments ago. I study the pinned dress and sigh again. For the last few weeks, I’ve been creatively stifled. I was hoping the theme for the show would help inspire me. Now I’m not so certain.
Most of the students clear out and only three of us remain. I have no idea what’s wrong with me.
I can usually whip an idea out of my head and onto paper or the design computer program, then construct the garment while the rest of my classmates are still gathering their thoughts. But the last two projects have been like dragging the dress out of my head, thread by thread.
“Caroline, can I steal a few minutes of your time?” Ms. Carter murmurs behind me, and I jump.
“Of course.”
But Ms. Carter continues to stare at my design, and I squirm under her scrutiny. “It’s still not right, and I know I’ve usually completed my project by now—”
She shakes her head, placing her glasses on her nose as she leans closer. “No, don’t apologize.
I’m impressed.”
My mouth hangs open before I quickly close it. “But—”
“It still needs work, I won’t deny it. But for once you’re not playing it safe. You’re taking a risk.
Finally.”
“What?”
She slides her glasses off and looks at me, crossing her arms. “I’ve always thought you had great potential, Caroline, but you’ve always taken the safe route. We’ve discussed this before.”
It’s true, we have. Ms. Carter has been my advisor since I started my first design class in my sophomore year.