“Well, Ineeda boyfriend.” Gia lifted the camera and made a motion indicating she was going to continue taking pictures of us. Matteo folded his arms across his chest, and I rested my hand on his shoulder and schooled my face into the unbothered expression of a person who wasn’t currently plotting the demise of all the world’s parakeets.
We were both wearing the shirts I’d made the day before. They’d turned out awesome. After a few more pictures, Matteo asked, “So, you going to do what we talked about last night? Apply at other designers?”
“I looked, but no one is hiring anymore. Most placements started two months ago. I was only able to get the job with Nilusha because the college kid she hired flaked or something last month.”
I sighed before posing Matteo and me together in a new configuration. He put on that sultry, resting smolder-face that was catapulting his popularity on social media as a teen style influencer. He also wanted to work in the fashion industry but was hoping to hit it big as a model. Or, failing that, a stylist. We’d been together four months. Matteo was actually Gia’s cousin, which had made me wary of him at first. Gia put her family before anyone else, and the last thing I wanted was for a wedge to come between us if things went sour with a guy.
But so far things were great with Matteo and me. I’d called him as soon as I got that stupid email from Nilusha yesterday, and he’d beenso supportive. He put things into perspective and told me there were plenty more designers in Toronto who’d love me. He totally cheered me up by helping me plan this photo shoot.
And he looked so hot today. I’d paired his cotton button-up shirt in the custom fabric with black jeans rolled at the ankles and sharp black brogues. My shirt was the same design, but I was wearing black faux-leather pants and wedge-heeled sneakers with it. We were amazing together. We were going to be labeled #PowerCouple on Instagram again.
I twisted and rested against his warm, solid back. Mmm...every time we touched, I felt a full-body tingle combined with a deep sense of comfort. I sighed happily.
“Slide over a bit.” Gia motioned us to the right. “That bird painted on the wall looks like it’s flying out of Matteo’s chest.” Of course. Thwarted by birds, again. I’d started to slide over when Matteo pointed at a recently vacated floral-art-covered wall.
“We can go there,” he said. “The shirts will looksickagainst the pink flowers.”
“No. Stay here,” I ordered. “I don’t want flowers.”
Matteo frowned. “Why not? You see Christopher Chan’s spread inStyleFactormagazine? Flowers are happening this season.”
I shook my head. Christopher Chan was one of my favorite New York designers, but his design aesthetic wasn’t mine. “Flowers are Christopher Chan’s thing because he used to be, like, a florist to the stars or something. I’m not into florals.” Christopher Chan might have been a major name in streetwear, but I was developing my own style, and florals were notme.
After a few more pictures, we leaned against a wall painted with a detailed rendition of the solar system, except with cats instead of planets. I took a sip from the bottle of flavored soda water in my bag. It was hot for the last week of June. Much too hot to be in long sleeves and pleather pants, but fashion first.
Gia had a wistful look on her face. “When you’re famous, we should totally spend a summer in Paris, like Nilusha. I look awesome in berets, and I got an A in French. A little pied-à-terre, a French male nurse ...” She suddenly perked up with an idea. “Hey, you want me to see if I can get you a job at Old Navy with me?”
I’d tried to convince Gia to work on her career this summer and take acting classes or something, but she insisted her drama classes at school were enough. And she figured that if she was Instagram famous, then the acting jobs would come easily.
Matteo snorted. “Can you see Tahira working at Old Navy? She needs fashion industry experience for FIT, not folding T-shirts and jeans.”
“Dude, you work at H&M,” Gia said. “How is that not just a Swedish Old Navy?”
They argued mall stores before I was finally able to interrupt them. I needed to tell them the rest of my news. I took a breath. “Actually,” I said, cringing, “I won’t need to work at Old Navy because I have another job lined up, thanks to my parents.”
It was impressive how quickly Mom and Dad had found me a replacement job—less than three hours after they’d seen Nilusha’s email. Seemed I had been wrong about them not having valuable fashion industry connections. Although it was debatable howvaluablethis experience was going to be for me.
“It’s a fashion industry position, which I theoretically could use for my FIT application portfolio,” I said. “My aunt bought a ladieswear boutique, like, a year ago and needs someone to do a major overhaul. You know, new look, new merchandise, new visual design—the works.”
Matteo brightened. “That’s actually perfect! For sure you can get into FIT with that. Where’s the store? Queen West?”
“That’s the catch. It’s not in Toronto.”
“New York!” Gia said.
My eyes widened. “OMG, that would have been awesome. But no. It’s in this tiny town, Bake...something. Near Niagara.”
Gia shook her head.“No,”she said emphatically. “Taking off to New York is allowed, but youcannotgo to some shit town in the middle of nowhere all summer.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to,” I said. “I don’t have a choice. There is nothing else on short notice. At least nothing that will give me the experience I need. Apparently, my aunt has, like, three vacancies she hasn’t been able to fill for summer staff. No one in the town has any fashion retail experience.”
Matteo’s jaw was tight. “I can’t believe your parents are forcing you to leave for the whole summer.”
I put my arm around his waist. “I know. My aunt’s going to put me up in a garden shed or something ... you guys know I’m allergic to flowers. What did she call it ... a ‘granny flat’? A little house in the backyard. Like a pool house or something.”
Gia’s head shot around to look at me. “Seriously? You’d get to live in yourown apartment? Like, that Paris dream could happen now?”
“It’s, like, the most opposite of Paris possible.” Well, that wasn’t true. I was pretty sure New Zealand was opposite Paris on a globe, but this place wasideologicallythe opposite of Paris. I sighed. My parents’ advice was usually spot on, but I had a lot of doubts about this. My life was here, in Toronto, not out in the country. “Maybe I should talk to my parents again. There’s got to be another way—Gia, doesn’t that one cousin of yours work at Saks? Can you ask if they’re hiring merchandisers?”
