Chapter 2: Three Nights to Build a Miracle
At 6:15 the next morning, Maya and I were standing outside a fabric warehouse with twenty-seven dollars between us.
The owner, Mr. Collins, was unlocking the front door when he noticed us.
"Back again, Nia?""
I nodded.
"Do you still have those navy organza rolls?""
He raised an eyebrow.
"The expensive ones?""
"Yes, sir.""
"Didn't you buy some last month?""
I swallowed.
"I need more.""
He looked at my tired face.
"Competition?""
"Yes.""
"How's the original gown coming?""
Maya answered before I could.
"Someone destroyed it.""
Mr. Collins stopped unlocking the door.
"Destroyed?""
"Long story," I said.
He studied us for a moment, then stepped aside.
"Come in. Let's see what we can find.""
Inside, the warehouse smelled of cotton, dye, and old wooden shelves. Sunlight spilled through dusty windows, illuminating hundreds of fabric rolls.
I showed him my butterfly sketch.
He examined it carefully.
"These wings are ambitious.""
"I know.""
"You're going to need lightweight support, reinforced seams, and something that won't collapse when you walk.""
"I've planned a wire frame.""
He pointed to the drawing.
"Then you'll need flexible millinery wire. And this fabric won't hold the paint unless you prepare it properly.""
I nodded, taking notes.
When we reached the checkout counter, I counted my money.
Twenty-seven dollars.
The materials cost nearly $180.
My stomach sank.
"I can pay the rest next week," I offered.
"I work at the coffee shop on Saturdays.""
Mr. Collins shook his head.
"Keep your money.""
"Sir?""
He rolled out three bolts of organza.
"Consider it an investment in a young designer.""
My eyes burned.
"I can't accept that.""
"Then prove I wasn't foolish to offer it.""
Maya grinned.
"She will.""
We spent the rest of the morning cutting fabric and gathering supplies.
By noon, we were back in my bedroom.
The first challenge was building the wings.
We bent flexible wire into curved frames, then wrapped them with layers of organza. Maya handled the support structure while I prepared the fabric for painting.
Every few minutes, she held up a section.
"Too heavy?""
"Not yet.""
"Are you sure?""
"Give me another layer.""
At 3:00 p.m., my bedroom door opened without warning.
Vanessa stood there holding a laundry basket.
Her eyes moved from the fabric to the wire frames.
"What is all this?""
"Nothing.""
She picked up a piece of navy organza.
"Are you making another dress?""
"Yes.""
She laughed.
"After what happened yesterday? Nia, perhaps you should accept that fashion isn't your thing.""
Maya stood up.
"Maybe you should accept that destroying someone's work doesn't make you talented.""
Vanessa's face tightened.
"Excuse me?""
"She heard me.""
I touched Maya's arm.
"Please.""
Vanessa dropped the organza onto my desk.
"Your father is already upset about the money you've wasted. Don't expect him to keep funding these little projects.""
"I'm not asking him for anything.""
"Good. Because Brianna has a real opportunity coming up.""
I looked at her.
"What opportunity?""
Vanessa smiled.
"She might enter the Atlanta competition.""
My stomach tightened.
"She doesn't design.""
"She has an eye for fashion.""
"That's not the same thing.""
Vanessa walked toward the door.
"Some people have natural talent, Nia. Others spend four months sewing something nobody wants.""
The door slammed.
Maya stared at it.
"Did she just threaten you?""
I looked at my sketchbook.
"She's trying to scare me.""
"Then let's give her something to be scared of.""
We worked until midnight.
By then, the first wing was complete.
I held it against the wall.
It looked almost alive.
The navy fabric caught the desk lamp, revealing faint silver patterns beneath the surface.
Maya smiled.
"One down.""
"Three more to go.""
"How are you feeling?""
I stared at the design.
"Like I might actually do this.""
She nodded.
"Then don't stop.""
The next day, I barely noticed the world outside my bedroom.
My father left for work without saying goodbye.
Vanessa spent the morning on the phone.
Brianna played music loudly enough to shake the hallway walls.
At 11:40 a.m., I went downstairs to refill my water bottle.
I heard Vanessa speaking in the kitchen.
"No, I understand the deadline. Friday morning, correct?""
A pause.
"Yes. The gown is already being repaired.""
I froze.
She continued.
"Don't worry about the original designer. Everything will be handled.""
My fingers tightened around the glass.
The gown.
My original gown.
I stepped closer to the kitchen doorway.
Vanessa lowered her voice.
"Just make sure the label is changed before submission. Brianna's name needs to be on everything.""
My heart started pounding.
She was repairing my dress.
And she intended to enter it under Brianna's name.
I backed away before she could see me.
When I returned upstairs, Maya was painting the second wing.
"What happened?""
I closed the bedroom door.
"Vanessa is repairing my original gown.""
Maya stopped painting.
"Why?""
"She's entering Brianna in the competition.""
Maya stared at me.
"With your dress?""
I nodded.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Maya carefully placed the paintbrush down.
"Do you have proof?""
"No.""
"Can we get some?""
I thought about Vanessa's habit of leaving her phone unattended when she went upstairs.
Then I remembered something else.
The competition's submission rules required every designer to upload original sketches and construction photographs.
I had submitted mine six months earlier.
My stomach twisted.
"Wait.""
I opened my laptop and logged into the competition portal.
My application was still there.
So were my original sketches, dated photographs, and the design description I'd written.
Maya leaned over my shoulder.
"Can they change your submission?""
"Not without authorization.""
"Then we're safe.""
I didn't answer.
I clicked the application history.
A new notification appeared.
*APPLICATION STATUS: OWNERSHIP REVIEW PENDING.*
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Someone had requested an ownership change.
I opened the details.
The request had been submitted at 9:12 that morning.
The name listed as the new designer was Brianna Carter.
And the person who had authorized the request was listed as my legal guardian.
My father.
Maya whispered, "Nia...""
I scrolled farther down.
There was a scanned document attached to the request.
A signed declaration stating that I had voluntarily transferred all rights to my original design.
At the bottom was my signature.
Or something that looked like it.
I stared at the screen.
"I never signed this.""
Maya leaned closer.
"That's not your signature.""
"No.""
I enlarged the document.
The signature was almost perfect.
Almost.
But the final letter in my name was wrong.
Someone had copied my handwriting from an old school form.
And whoever had done it had just made a very dangerous mistake.
May you like
Because I remembered exactly where I'd left the original signed paperwork six months earlier.
In the locked drawer of my father's office.
