Redesigned by Denise Grover Swank

her my pat answer, the one Reed made fun of, and she’d never know the difference. This little girl was me. She deserves the truth, but Reed is standing in the doorway listening to everything I say.
    I brush her hair from her face and wipe a smudge off her cheek with my thumb. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl who didn’t fit in with all the other kids. She felt ugly while all the other girls were pretty and wore pretty things.”
    “Did the little girl get pretty dresses too?”
    No, the little girl didn’t , but I can’t tell Desiree that. She’s waiting for me to give her a fairytale ending, but there isn’t one. The little girl didn’t find a prince. She didn’t become a swan. She went off to college with the hope of scoring a rich boyfriend/husband and ended up alone. The major she picked was mostly because it was what she already knew. Already loved. And now she was scrambling to figure out what to do with it. I can’t tell Desiree any of this, but I can empower her.
    “She learned to make them herself.”
    Her eyebrows scrunch together as she thinks about what I said. “Like she’s her own fairy godmother?”
    “Yes, exactly.” I take a breath. “The pretty girls in my story, they may have worn pretty clothes and had pretty hair, but they weren’t pretty on the inside, Desiree.” I tilt my head down to look in her eyes. “They’re pretty packages with nothing but fluff and jealousy inside. There will always be people who tell you that your clothes are ugly or that your car is old and rusted. That your house needs to be painted or your shoes have holes, but those people will never be your friend. Not even if you get all the pretty things they have. Real friends don’t care about any of that and they love you for you .”
    She looks unconvinced. “But I still wish I had a pretty dress and looked like a princess.”
    “Of course you do. All girls do.” I laugh. “Do you know what? If you try really hard with your math homework for the next week, I’ll make you a pretty dress.”
    Her eyes widen. “You mean it?”
    I smile. “Yes.”
    The other girls at the table have remained quiet but now burst into shouts.
    “I want one!”
    “Me too!”
    What have I started?
    Even as their excited voices shout in my ears, I realize this is the answer to my problem. I can create a children’s line and maybe I can use actual children in the center as my models. It’s the perfect blending of the event and the cause.
    Reed moves next to me. “Caroline, a word, please.” It’s a demand, not a question.
    I stand and turn to face him, already knowing his concern. “Reed, I know you think it’s a lot to promise to make them all—”
    He grabs my arm and pulls me into the hall. “You can’t toy with these children’s hopes.”
    “But if I can use them as models in the show then—”
    His eyes fly open. “ You can’t use them as models for the show !”
    Anger tempers my excitement. “Why in the world not?”
    “Haven’t you heard of confidentiality? Do you really want these children to be paraded on stage? It would be like them wearing signs that say I’m a charity case .”
    While I understand his concern, I’m not fond of the derision he uses. “And are you saying these children aren’t worthy of being in the show because of who they are and where they come from?”
    “Of course not!” But his tone reeks of backpedaling instead of conviction.
    “Did it ever occur to you that these little girls might feel better about themselves if they were models on a runway? That for one day, they’ll feel pretty and special. They’ll be the envy of the mean kids in their class instead of the other way around?”
    “Well, no….”
    “We don’t have to announce that they receive help from the organization. No one has to know.
    They could be children from the rich side of town.”
    “I never thought….”
    “No.” I swallow my disappointment. One hot kiss and some lustful looks, and