Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Not that either Kit or I could afford to be picky. Sutherlin was an expensive school, and tuition had eaten up the last of my savings. Kit was in a tougher situation. He was here on a scholarship that only covered his tuition, and he was currently between jobs and barely getting by. The supplies we needed to sew our assignments weren’t cheap, so no wonder he looked dejected when he came up to me and said, “I screwed up. I should have gone for my limit this morning and grabbed two more fabrics.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to carry them. I don’t even know how you got that heavy roll back to the studio.”
“I tied a clean garbage bag over one end, so I could set it down every few feet. And you’re right that it would have been tough to bring back more than that, but I wish I’d tried. Maybe I could have chucked something into the bushes and come back for it later.”
I held out the chiffon and asked, “Do you want this? You’re welcome to it.”
“I might take you up on that later if you don’t end up using it. For now, I think we both should go into scavenger mode and grab whatever we can.”
I scooped up a bright, garish plaid and said, “You’re right. If nothing else, we can always go for a retro punk look and spray paint it.”
“That doesn’t sound like you. Everything you make is so elegant and restrained.” We’d been in enough classes together to know each other’s style by now.
“I’ve been known to make myself big, wild pieces for special occasions. I just don’t do that with the stuff I design for school.”
He seemed confused. “Why would you hold yourself back like that?”
“I’ve been trying to fill my portfolio with stuff that’s more marketable. I think it’ll give me a better chance of landing a job after graduation.”
“I think there’s a lot to be said for letting your imagination run wild. I want to go way over the top with my collection. I started out designing for drag queens, and I’m going back to my roots.”
“That’s awesome! Have fun with it. I wish I could have fun with mine.”
He flung his arms out to the sides, causing another student to swerve out of the way as he exclaimed, “You can! You just have to give yourself permission. If your stuff is imaginative, I know you’ll get job offers.”
That was the problem, though. I was painfully uninspired. It was going to be hard enough to produce a basic collection, let alone a wildly creative one.
Just then, a student who’d been carrying around more than his limit returned three large, folded bundles of fabric to the table. Kit pounced on them and exclaimed, “Score!” He quickly added, “Obviously, this is for both of us. I just wanted to make sure we got it before anyone else did.”
We divvied it up and signed out, and as we began lugging our finds back across campus, Kit was buzzing with excitement. “This is so great,” he gushed. “I’m getting all kinds of ideas from these prints.” I wished I could say the same.
Over the next three hours, Kit played music, danced around the studio, draped and pinned some of the new fabrics onto his dress forms, and produced several stunning, fully rendered sketches of wonderfully original designs. His problem was that he had too many ideas for his senior project and wasn’t sure how to narrow them down.
During those same three hours, I drank a pot of coffee, made with the old, funky machine Kit kept in the studio, and produced what basically amounted to a handful of doodles.
Finally, he stretched and said, “I think I’ll head to the cafeteria for lunch. Want to come with me?”
“Thanks for asking, but I have to leave for work in about forty minutes. I want to try to get a little more done before I go.”
“Okay, cool.” As he put on his sweater, he asked, “Will you be coming in this weekend?”
“I don’t think so.” I could sit around and get nowhere just as easily from home.
After he left, I dropped all pretense of trying to seem productive. Instead, I faceplanted on my worktable and sighed.
I was still in that position when Ryder texted me sometime later. I read the message asking how my day was going, put my head back down, and snapped a photo. I sent that to him with the message: Like this.
A video call popped up about two seconds later. When I answered, Ryder asked, “Are you okay?”
I sat up and told him, “I’m fine. Just discouraged.”
“Where are you?”
“On my college campus. This is the studio I share with one of my classmates.”
I panned the phone around to show him my surroundings. I’d never really noticed before, but Kit’s side was a lot cozier than mine. Both ends of the fairly large studio were outfitted with the same drafting desks, eight-foot-long worktables, and adjustable dress forms, and we’d both taped sketches to the walls. But he’d also draped a large, striped sheet over his worktable like a tablecloth, decorated with a bouquet of wildflowers in a jar, added a beanbag chair, and hung up a couple of art posters. I’d never thought to make the studio feel cozy. Hell, I hadn’t even done that with my room in the pink Victorian.