Page 79 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
I yanked a skirt from the rack and fingered the buckles that fastened up the entire side seam. Straight out of my sketches, no question. When a full minute passed with no answer from Amber, I turned to glare at her. “Why?”
“I don’t know! She hates you. Maybe that’s the only reason.”
“Because of what? Cash Guidry? He’s not worth this. He was never worth this, not even to her.” How could she hate me enough to do this over a boy she had dropped within a month? I snatched up a pair of fabric shears and lunged for the rolling rack again, wanting nothing more than to feel the sharp bite as the scissors sank into cloth.
“No!” Amber said, grabbing my wrist and pushing it down toward the worktable. “Don’t.”
I strained against her grip for a minute, but she only pressed harder, squeezing until I winced and let go. Backing away from her and rubbing my wrist, I noticed the tears on my cheeks for the first time. It made me angry to cry and the anger prompted more tears. I swiped at them.
“Stop it,” Amber repeated, planting herself between me and the rack. Concern and anxiety pinched her face.
I backed up, bumping into the dress form behind me. Broken Dreams tipped over and fell. How fitting.
For a tense, ugly minute neither of us said anything. Amber looked scared of what I might do.
I kicked the mannequin. “Did you know my aunt treats me like total crap?”
She shook her head.
“She does. Like I’m the dirt on the bottom of her shoe. And even she has never done anything as bad as this.”
Amber inched forward a step. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”
I drew a deep breath, shuddering in the aftermath of tears. “Did you know I’m applying to the SoHo School of Design?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “No. But it makes sense. You’re good.”
I rubbed my hands over my face and brushed against my mask. I untied it and stared down at it. “Did you know that Aidan Helm is coming to the Night of Design?”
She gasped.
“Yeah, that’s happening,” I said.
“Angelique has been hinting about Smoki Branson having a special guest, but we all thought it would be her husband. Aidan Helm?”
I pulled the mask through my fingers over and over again, the cheap polyester gliding easily, until my voice steadied. “Did you know Aidan Helm is on the SoHo advisory board?”
She shook her head.
“Living at my house isn’t great, Amber. It’s so far from great that I don’t think you could even imagine it. I need SoHo. It’s almost impossible to get in. It’s all who-you-know, and I don’t know anyone important enough to pull strings for me there. The showcase is my only chance to prove that I have talent, that I deserve a shot.”
Amber eased next to me and leaned down to pick up the fallen dress form, her movements slow and gentle like she didn’t want to startle the crazy girl mid-breakdown. “For what it’s worth,” she said, smoothing the layers of chiffon back into place, “I don’t think Angelique had any idea you were trying to get into SoHo. Until a couple of weeks ago, none of us even knew you were this good.”
I leaned on the worktable, tucking my head down and searching again for a trace of composure. I found none. “So she’s just so naturally talented that she can ruin my life without even trying.”
“She wants to humiliate you, yes. But she’s not trying to destroy you.”
I didn’t say anything, but a loud sniff betrayed the fact that I hadn’t pulled myself together.
“Cam.” Her voice was soft, coaxing. “Cam, look at me please. I need to look you in the eyes.”
It felt like dragging a heavy anchor from the bottom of the Mississippi to get my head up.
“The Cash Guidry thing kind of started this whole mess with you two, but it was never about him.” She sighed. “This is about Miss Cecilia.”
“What does her mom have to do with me?”
“Miss Cecilia is a sweet lady, but she is bent on being canonized as a saint before she leaves this earth, I think.” She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t even like to hang out around here because her do-goodiness is so tiring.”
