Page 69 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
My eyes go to the clock. After our elevator ride the other day, Anna and I have eaten lunch together. I wouldn’t have said we were friends before today, but the way she seems to want to share something important with me makes me think that she thinks we’re friends.
I’m on board with that. I like her.
I grab my bag with my iPad and follow her to the lunchroom. We set up in the corner we’ve claimed as our own. There’s no free food today, but Anna shares her bibimbap, which looks and smells better than anything I’ve ever eaten in Koreatown.
When I tell her as much, she says, “My mom makes it a lot. I’ll bring you some next time.”
“What did you want?—”
With a quick shake of her head and a glance over her shoulder, I get the message and leave my question unasked. When I glance in the direction of her gaze, I see Arianna at the table behind us.
“You mentioned Japanese boro the other day,” she says quickly and quietly. “What do you like about it?”
I’m surprised by her question since we already talked about this, but I follow her lead. “I’m fascinated by the idea of usingfabrics that hold the material history of generations of use, while at the same time incorporating modern values of sustainability and reuse. The patchwork is both functional and beautiful, you know what I mean?”
Anna nods, acting casual except for the occasional glances over my shoulder where I assume Arianna must still be sitting.
So I ask her questions about herself. We talk for a bit about her living with her parents. Even after three years at Valente, Anna’s still not earning enough for her own place. Anna is even more frustrated than I am—understandably—about doing boring tasks with limited opportunities to design on her own.
Her eyes go over my shoulder again, but they stay there for a few seconds before she leans across the table. “Have you used boro techniques in your own designs?” she asks whispers.
I give her a hesitant nod, and she offers me one of her rare smiles.
“Will you show me?”
She doesn’t need to ask if I’ve got them with me. She’s seen me pull out my sketchbook or iPad whenever I have a spare minute. Today I left my sketchbook home, but I brought my iPad where my finished designs are stored.
I bite the inside of my lip, considering whether I should trust her. Fashion designers are notorious for cannibalizing other designers’ work. Not always on purpose. Sometimes someone else’s idea gets so stuck in your head, you forget it didn’t start there.
But Anna is the closest thing I have to a friend—at least at Valente. While Stella and I made plans to get together this weekend, Anna has been a bright spot in a disappointing first week.
I open my iPad and go to the program where I’ve copied some of the patterns from fabrics I’ve looked at this week. I’ve made notes about how I’d spotlight the defect in the fabric, usingJapanese boro techniques that involve using scraps and unique stitches for a patchwork look. The misprints, uneven lines, frayed edges, or other problems would become interesting focal points instead of discarded defects. At a deeper level upcycling the fabric instead of throwing it away honors the values of resilience, sustainability, and imperfection that boro represents, and that are missing in the culture of fast fashion.
Anna studies my pictures, a frown pulling at her mouth.
“Do you like them?” I poke at my share of the bibimbap, watching her expression for some kind of encouragement, irritated that I want her validation.
Finally, she looks up at me. “These are really good, Piper.”
“Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief.
Anna’s expression doesn’t match her compliment. She looks upset. “Did you send in a portfolio to Valente?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t everyone who applies for an internship?”
“Do you have it with you? Can I see it?” she asks, ignoring my question.
I open a new file and pull up my portfolio. As Anna scrolls slowly through the pictures, her face grows dark, and I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. I have no idea what it could be if I did.
At last, she looks at me and slides my iPad back to me. “They’ve done the same thing to you that they did to me.”
“Who? What are you talking about?” My eyes drop to my open portfolio, looking for what she’s seeing that I’m not.
“Valente. They’ve stolen your designs, Piper. Not your exact designs, but I’ve seen the mockups for the Fall line they plan to show in February, and now I know where they got their inspiration. The entire line is centered on Japanese boro. And this idea for a patchwork jacket…” She spins my iPad back to me and points to the design I’m proudest of. “They have a design that is almost identical, only the colors are slightly different.”
Anna lifts her eyebrows with a certainty that makes my stomach drop. My vision narrows, going black in the corners.
If what Anna says is true—and I don’t have any reason to doubt her—then the internship I thought would lead to my dreams coming true has turned into a nightmare.
