Runway Ready by Sheryl Berk Page A

waving a Teen Vogue in Mickey’s face.
    â€œBoring…and predictable,” Mickey said, glancing at the photo of the fashionista in a buttercup-yellow sweater and white jeans. “I’d cut that sweater into a crop top and pair it with something graphic—like an ikat-print wrap skirt.”
    Annabelle looked confused. “What’s an ikat? Is that like an iPad?”
    Mickey giggled. When it came to fashion lingo, Anna was kind of clueless. “It’s a dyeing technique used to pattern textiles,” she explained to her friend.
    Annabelle shook her head. “I still don’t get it. But I’m sure if you designed for Bella, she’d look amazing.”
    If only! Mickey desperately wanted to have her own fashion label one day, one that stars begged to wear on the red carpet. It was the reason she’d jumped at the chance to attend FAB, even if her mom hadn’t been enthusiastic about the idea.
    â€œYou’re eleven,” her mother had protested when the acceptance letter came. “I don’t know how I feel about you living in New York City.”
    â€œIt’s not like I’ll be living on Jupiter,” Mickey had pointed out. “It’s just a train ride away and I’ll come home every weekend. Besides, I’ll be staying with Aunt Olive.”
    Her mom’s sister wasn’t an easy egg to crack, but Mickey had won her over—and even helped her come out of her shell. Aunt Olive had recently traded in her severe business suits and sensible shoes for a purple wool trapeze jacket and leather boots.
    â€œYou like it?” she’d asked Mickey as she modeled it in their living room.
    â€œIt’s so cool.” Mickey applauded her. “The color is very bold and regal, and those boots are fierce.”
    â€œIs that good?” Olive asked, scratching her head. “Do I want to be fierce?”
    â€œYou do!” Mickey chuckled. “Especially in the workplace. You want to show your bosses you’re not afraid of hard work. You can handle anything.”
    â€œAnd my clothes say that?”
    â€œThey speak volumes,” Mickey assured her. “That’s what’s so incredible about fashion. It can talk for you and about you.”
    â€œWell, then,” Olive said, checking her look one more time in the mirror. “My look is saying, ‘Olive, better get a move on! You’ve got a legal brief due in less than an hour!’”
    The students at FAB were a whole other story. When an assignment called for an original design for a World Hunger T-shirt, of course Mickey decided to adorn hers with real food. The only problem was that it spoiled overnight.
    â€œThey think I’m a freak,” she had complained during her first weeks to her one confidant, JC. He knew a thing or two about how to navigate the social scene at FAB. He was a year older and a seventh-grader, not to mention a brilliant designer of canine couture.
    â€œWell, you do smell like cabbage,” he pointed out. “And your hair looks like you dipped it in creamed spinach.”
    â€œI thought everyone at FAB would be creative and edgy,” Mickey said with a sigh. “I’ve always had my own sense of style. I thought here it would be welcome.”
    JC nodded. “I get it. You like to stand out. But this”—he pointed to her neon-yellow combat boots and green-plaid leggings with ripped knees—“this might be taking it a bit too far. Unless you’re Lady Gaga, that is.”
    He gave her an extreme makeover so that the kids at FAB wouldn’t be so distracted by her outward appearance that they couldn’t appreciate her talent.
    He instructed her to wash the green highlights out of her hair, then gave her a new name (Kenzie Wills), a new identity (daughter of a famous Finnish designer), and a streamlined new look. “Less is more,” he taught her. “No more hair chalk highlights. Lose the