Will Work for Prom Dress Read Online Free Page B

headlights of Ms. Parisi’s convertible lit up the hall.
    “They’re here! I’ll be back by ten,” I called over my shoulder.
    Anne was sitting in the backseat, flipping through a magazine in the dark. Ms. Parisi smiled and patted the front seat.
    “Hey, Anne. Hi, Ms. Parisi,” I said.
    “Victoria, dear. I tell you every time I see you, just call me Victoria. Ms. Parisi is so formal,” she said. She clicked a button on the dash and pulled back into my cul-de-sac.
    “It’s not her fault her parents did a good job raising her. She’s respectful to her
elders,”
Anne said.
    I hid my smile at Anne’s unconscious slam to her own manners. Ms. Parisi ignored her, smiling and patting my knee. I wiggled a little as the heated seat kicked in. Sitting in Ms. Parisi’s car always made me feel like I’d peed myself. Ms. Parisi turned up the perfect digital speakers to cover the lack of conversation as we headed down the highway into the city.

    The studio was filled with twelve tall tables. Each held one student, a pile of fabric swatches, and half-formed dress pieces. All twenty-four eyes were glued on Ms. Parisi as she strolled into the room and dropped her bag lightly on the table in front. Hero worship hung thick in the air. Truefashion lovers appreciated her historical body of work, but her stint as judge on a popular design-based reality show had thrown her into a whole new category of celebrity.
    I had invited Anne over to watch the show with my parents, who tolerated it so as not to be rude to my friend. I hoped their seeing Ms. Parisi’s evenhanded and thoughtful way of critiquing even the most bizarre designs, not to mention designers, would impress them and let them see her in a new light. Unfortunately, Anne’s ridiculing and snarky jokes throughout her mom’s appearances pretty much made it a wash.
    “Good evening, designers.” Ms. Parisi smiled graciously.
    The faces of the students lit up at the title. They leaned toward her like she was some sort of magnet. I expected applause to spontaneously erupt at any minute. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like inspiring that kind of reaction from a group of strangers. Anne rolled her eyes and flopped into a chair along the wall. I sat beside her and tried to guess which one of the guys Anne would go for first.
    “As I mentioned last week, I brought in some live models for you to get a better feel for the movement in your designs. They will be joining us for the class throughout the semesterand will be at your disposal for fittings and draping exercises. I’d like to introduce Anne and Quigley.”
    Ms. Parisi motioned us up to the front. I gave a shy little half wave. Anne stepped forward and struck a dramatic pose.
    “Hello, everyone. I’m sure you will all enjoy Mother’s class,” Anne said.
    Ms. Parisi’s perfectly made-up mouth tightened the tiniest bit at Anne’s exaggerated
Mother
. Anne beamed at the audible gasps. She looked a lot less pleased with the flood of “you look way too young to have a daughter that age” compliments that followed. Ms. Parisi bowed a little thank-you and quickly moved on.
    “As you can see, these lovely young ladies have very different body types. This should enable you to find a good match for whatever you are working on this semester. I’ll be handing out a lesson plan with your objectives for this week, as well as the girls’ measurements. But first, I’d like to test your eye for figure. This will be important when you are in a position to pick and choose your models. You’ll need to guesstimate who would work well for what is in your mind’s eye. I’d like you all to take out paper and pencil and write your estimatesof bust, waist, hips, inseam, and shoulder to waist for each of the girls as they appear in their street clothes.”
    My face flamed as twelve sets of eyes shot to my body. They looked from head to toe with concentration, sizing me up. I wished I’d refused my mother’s signature pork