Chapter 2: The Scholarship Worth $100,000
Vanessa recovered quickly.
She always did.
Within seconds, her shocked expression turned into the familiar little smile she used whenever she wanted someone to believe she wasn't afraid.
“Wow,” she said, picking up her handbag.
“You really think some stitches and glitter make you a designer?””
I carefully hung the gown back on its padded hanger.
“No. I think four months of work make me someone who doesn't give up.””
She laughed, but her eyes kept returning to the crimson roses.
“Enjoy your little moment, Cinderella.””
“Vanessa,” Dad said sharply, “apologize to your sister.””
She stared at him.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
Vanessa folded her arms.
“I didn't do anything wrong. She was being ridiculous about a stupid dress.””
“You deliberately destroyed something she worked for. That's not a mistake.””
Patricia appeared behind her daughter.
“Michael, we're not doing this first thing in the morning.””
“Then perhaps you should have handled it last night.””
Patricia's lips tightened.
Vanessa stormed downstairs, muttering something about how nobody ever appreciated her.
I thought Dad would follow her, but instead he closed my bedroom door and sat on the edge of my bed.
“Emily, there's something I need to ask you.””
I sat beside him.
“What's wrong?””
He hesitated.
“Have you ever thought about studying fashion design professionally?””
I laughed nervously.
“Of course. But fashion school costs more than we can afford.””
Dad glanced toward my mother's photograph.
“Your mother used to say you had an eye for things other people couldn't see.””
“Dad, she said that about everything I made.””
“Because she meant it.””
He took out his phone.
“Your school sent an email this morning. Apparently, the prom committee has partnered with the Atlanta Academy of Fashion. They're holding a student design competition tonight.””
He turned the screen toward me.
The announcement showed a silver trophy beside a photograph of a runway.
Below it, the grand prize was printed in bold letters.
*$100,000 FASHION DESIGN SCHOLARSHIP.*
I stared at the screen.
“One hundred thousand dollars?””
“Tuition and educational expenses,” Dad said.
“It's a full scholarship package. They're looking for originality, craftsmanship, and creative vision.””
I looked at my gown.
“But I'm not a professional.””
“Neither are the other students. That's the point.””
My heart began pounding.
For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine a future where I could study the thing I loved without worrying about how to pay for it.
I could learn pattern drafting.
I could study textiles.
I could turn the lessons my mother had taught me into something bigger than the little bedroom where I'd learned them.
“Dad, what if I actually have a chance?””
He smiled.
“Then you owe it to yourself to try.””
I hugged him.
Neither of us noticed Vanessa standing in the hallway.
She'd heard every word.
Twenty minutes later, I went downstairs to make coffee. As I reached the kitchen, I heard Patricia speaking on the phone in the adjoining study.
“She can't be allowed to enter,” Patricia whispered.
“Do you understand? If they examine that collection, everything could come out.””
I froze.
A drawer slammed.
Then Patricia continued.
“No, the original owner is dead. There shouldn't be a problem.””
My fingers tightened around the kitchen counter.
Original owner?
Collection?
Before I could hear more, Vanessa appeared behind me.
“What are you listening to?””
I spun around.
“Nothing.””
She studied my face.
“You heard Mom talking, didn't you?””
“Why are you so interested in what I hear?””
“Because you have a habit of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.””
I stepped toward her.
“What did you mean when you said we should have destroyed the journal?””
For a moment, her confidence disappeared.
Then she shrugged.
“Nothing.””
“You said it for a reason.””
Vanessa grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it.
“Maybe you should worry less about the past and more about tonight.””
She walked away.
I returned to my bedroom and examined my mother's sewing journal.
Its pages were filled with measurements, fabric samples, pattern diagrams, and little notes about techniques she wanted to teach me.
Near the back, I found a section of sketches I'd never seen before.
The designs were extraordinary.
A black evening gown with a sculpted collar. A flowing white dress with silver panels. A dramatic red creation with a layered skirt that seemed to twist like a flame.
Each design bore my mother's initials.
E.M.
But several pages had been torn out.
I ran my fingers over the ragged edges.
Why would someone remove them?
And why had Patricia sounded so frightened on the phone?
I photographed the remaining sketches for safekeeping, then tucked the journal into my bag.
Downstairs, Dad was arranging the car keys.
“Ready for the biggest night of your life?”” he asked.
“Almost.””
I looked at myself in the mirror one final time.
The crimson roses shimmered beneath the bedroom light.
For a moment, I imagined my mother standing beside me, adjusting the straps and brushing a loose thread from my shoulder.
“You made something beautiful,” I whispered to her photograph.
Then I heard footsteps outside.
Vanessa walked past my room carrying a large shopping bag.
Inside it, I caught a glimpse of an expensive white gown.
Her competition dress.
She stopped when she noticed me watching.
“Just so you know,” she said, “I don't lose.””
I smiled faintly.
“Neither do I.””
Her expression sharpened.
“Then you'd better hope the judges never discover where your designs came from.””
She disappeared down the stairs.
I stood perfectly still.
Because Vanessa hadn't sounded like she was threatening to ruin my dress again.
May you like
She sounded like she knew something about my mother that I didn't.
And whatever it was, she believed it could cost me everything.
