Page 16 of Racking Up Penalties
“Remember when you turned that thrift store dress into a masterpiece for homecoming? Who else could see beauty in something so overlooked?” Her reminder is a lifeline, a flicker of the confidence I know is buried somewhere deep inside me.
“Maybe,” I concede, though her words feel like seeds of hope taking root. Emma’s belief in me is a powerful thing, and despite the turmoil, I cling to it.
I remember that project. I didn’t have the money for fresh fabric and we had a school dance coming up. So, Emma and I went to a thrift store and found something there.
I wanted to look incredible because… because Tristan had asked me to go with him. My body was alight with excitement before I realized he was taking Emma too and it was a pity ask.
He pitied me. That’s when I knew he didn’t see me that way and I needed to move on.
Pushing that aside to the deep corners of my mind, I remember the actual dress.
“Maybe I got lost in trying to impress Ms. Jones,” I muse out loud, the realization dawning on me like the first light of dawn. “I forgot why I do this… for the love of creating something beautiful, something meaningful. Not for one teacher’s approval.”
“Exactly.” Emma’s green eyes sparkle with pride. “You do it because it’s who you are. And no criticism can change that.”
I feel it then, the flicker of fire reigniting in my chest. The warmth spreads, chasing away the cold fingers of insecurity. With each beat of my heart, my determination solidifies. Emma’s faith in me becomes the fuel I need to burn brighter, to challenge the shadows of doubt.
“I’m going to take that next assignment and make it undeniably mine,” I declare, the edges of my vision sharpening with renewed purpose. “No holding back, no second-guessing. I’ll show Ms. Jones, and myself, what I’m capable of.”
“That’s the spirit,” Emma cheers, her voice a melody of encouragement all its own.
I stand, feeling the power of her words infusing every movement.
“Thanks, Em,” I say, a genuine smile claiming my lips as I head towards the door. “For everything.”
“Anytime, Tess.” Her reply is a soft note in the symphony of support that surrounds me.
As I walk away, I carry the essence of Emma’s encouragement within me, ready to weave it into every stitch of my next creation.
In the corridor, whispers and fleeting glances from other students are mere background noise, inconsequential to the symphony of determination that crescendos within me.
My fingers brush over the hem of my self-made skirt, its vibrant hues a silent testament to the creativity that pulsates through my veins.
I stride down the hallway, my thoughts a kaleidoscope of color charts and fabric textures. My mind whirls with creative fervor. That’s when I collide with a solid wall of muscle, sending my sketchbook flying.
“Whoa, sorry!” His voice is deep, resonant, and unexpectedly soothing.
I look up, and up, into the most intense brown eyes I’ve ever seen. They belong to a guy with short dark hair that looks like it obeys his every command. He’s got an athletic build, the kind that suggests he plays a sport but I don’t recognize him.
“Hey, no problem.” I try to collect myself and my scattered papers.
He bends down to help me, and as he hands me a sketch, his gaze lingers on the lines I’ve drawn. There’s an appreciation in his eyes. And then, those eyes rake over me, taking in my vintage-inspired outfit with genuine interest.
“Nice outfit,” he says, pointing at my jacket and skirt that I made myself. “I like it.”
A blush blooms across my cheeks. It’s one thing to create and another to be seen. And by him? It sends a thrill through me that I wasn’t prepared for.
“Thanks,” I stutter out, clutching my sketchbook like a shield.
“Sorry, I’m running late.” He gives a nod away from us, his voice carrying a hint of regret. “But I hope I see you around. What’s your name?”
The question catches me off guard. He wants to know my name? My heart does a little somersault.
“Tessa!” I call out after him as he’s already halfway down the hall.
He turns, giving me a smile that etches itself into my memory, and mouths ‘Ethan’ before disappearing around the corner. For a moment, I stand there, my name lingering in the air like a promise.
Chapter 9
