“I can’t believe I’m here,” I mutter.
“Hmm... Sonya, maybe you’d better run and grab some boba. I think she needs a little more time to settle.” Clarissa brushes off the skirt of the electric-blue dress she’s wearing.
“On it, boss.” Sonya salutes her. “Matcha for you. Milk tea for me. And Minerva?”
“Uh . . ” I stare blankly.
“Let’s get her a milk tea,” Clarissa decides.
I bob my head up and down in agreement, unable to form words.
“Coming right up.”
A few moments of silence pass. I continue to stare at Clarissa with wide eyes. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. I’m standing intheClarissa Lee’s private office in her original boutique.
“You’re more than welcome to stay standing, but the sofa might be more comfortable.”
“Oh, um, yes!” My legs collapse and I plop down onto the sofa.
“Your top is lovely. Is that one of your original designs?”
I glance at my shirt. I’ve momentarily forgotten what I put on this morning. It’s a royal-purple ruffle-sleeved blouse with gray pinstripes. I’ve paired it with black wide-leg trousers. “Yes.”
“I love the drama of the sleeves and the subtle interplay of the pinstripes with the purple.”
“Thank you. I, er, made this for a school project that asked us to create a contemporary look inspired by men’s fashion.”
“Oh, I did that project!” Clarissa takes a seat opposite me. “Mr. Brunswick’s class, if I remember correctly.”
I nod.
“Nearly everyone in my cohort ended up creating a suit dress.” She laughs. “We all thought we’d come up with something new and original.”
“The same thing happened on the day our final designs were due. About three-quarters of my class showed up with a suit dress.”
“Tell me, does Ms. Smith still teach the avant-garde module for the second years?”
“She does.”
Clarissa groans. “Hers was the one class I always dreaded. Nothing I dideverpleased her. I was terrified I’d fail.”
“Me too!” I scoot to the edge of my seat. “Shehatedevery single sketch I brought to class.”
“It’s been done. Think unconventional,” we both say in Ms. Smith’s low, flat, raspy voice. We share a laugh. The ice has been broken; my nerves begin to settle.
It’s easy for me to forget that Clarissa is not much older than me. We spend a few minutes swapping stories about teachers we shared at the London School of Fashion.
“Knock, knock. Room service.” Sonya walks in carrying a tray of bubble tea drinks. “I picked one up for Paddy too. It’s in the break room refrigerator.”
“Brilliant. Thanks, Sonya. What would I do without you?”
“Nothing, because I’m irreplaceable,” she jokes, flipping her hair.
I shake my milk tea, then stab the top with a straw. It’s easy to see that the friendship between Clarissa and Sonya runs deep. I can’t help but think about Liz and myself. I couldn’t have made it through school or settled in to my life here without her. I wonder if the same would’ve been true of Corinne. I make a mental note to text her soon. Last Iheard, she’d been promoted to principal dancer with the LA City Ballet.
As I take a sip, I let the rich flavor and a few chewy tapioca pearls hit my mouth. “Mmm, this is so creamy. Where is this from?”
“Just around the corner. I’ll point the cafe out when you’re leaving,” Sonya promises. She settles herself next to me.
