Chapter 2: The Dress She Tried to Steal
Brianna didn't leave my room.
She stood beside the worktable, staring at the sketch as if I'd pulled it from a locked drawer in her own bedroom.
“That's an interesting design,” she said.
Maya crossed her arms.
“Funny. You didn't think so five seconds ago.””
Brianna ignored her.
“Nia, where did you get the idea?””
I turned the sketchbook toward myself.
“My imagination. You should try using yours.””
Her mouth tightened.
Then she laughed, a bright, artificial sound.
“Whatever. I'm just surprised you're making something so complicated when you couldn't even finish the dress you started.””
Maya rose from her chair.
“Get out.””
Brianna's eyes narrowed.
“This is my house.””
“And this is Nia's room,” Maya replied.
“You know, the one where you apparently come to steal ideas after destroying her actual dress.””
“Watch your mouth.””
“Watch your hands.””
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Brianna snatched a pink crystal from the table and held it between two fingers.
“Do you honestly think a few sparkles are going to get you into Bellamy?””
I stood.
“Put it down.””
She dropped it.
The crystal bounced off the table and disappeared beneath the dresser.
“Oops.””
Maya took a step toward her, but I caught her wrist.
I couldn't afford another scene.
Not tonight.
Brianna studied my face, perhaps expecting me to beg her to leave or threaten to tell Vanessa.
Instead, I returned to my chair and picked up my needle.
“You're right about one thing,” I said.
“The gown isn't finished.””
I threaded the needle.
“So you can either stand there and watch me work, or you can get out of my way.””
Brianna's cheeks flushed.
She turned toward the door.
But before leaving, she paused.
“You know, Nia, I could actually help you. If you give me the design, I might be able to convince the judges to let you present it as a student collaboration.””
Maya made a disgusted sound.
I didn't look up.
“Good night, Brianna.””
She slammed the door.
Maya waited until the footsteps faded.
“Please tell me you're not considering that.””
“Not for one second.””
“Good. Because I have several ideas for where she can put that collaboration.””
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then I returned to the sketch.
The original pearl-white gown had been elegant and restrained. It was designed around the idea that beauty could be quiet.
The new gown would carry the same philosophy, but in a different form.
The butterfly wings would represent transformation.
The lavender would suggest imagination.
The pink crystals would catch the light like tiny pieces of a sunrise.
And the bodice would remain structured and clean, allowing the skirt to move freely rather than burying the wearer beneath decoration.
I wrote the title at the top of the page.
*Metamorphosis.*
Maya read it aloud.
“Metamorphosis,” she repeated.
“Okay. That's a winner's name.””
“It's a name.””
“It's a winner's name.””
By morning, we'd constructed the first wing frame.
It looked terrible.
One side leaned forward. The other curved backward. The mesh puckered where the fabric met the support.
Maya stared at it.
“It's giving injured insect.””
I pressed my fingers to my forehead.
“Thank you for your professional assessment.””
“You're welcome. I charge by the hour.””
We both laughed, but the sound faded when I checked the clock.
Thirty-six hours remained.
I needed stronger support for the wings, a better method for attaching the crystals, and a skirt that could move without pulling the bodice out of shape.
I also needed to finish the dress without anyone in the house destroying it again.
Maya pulled out her phone.
“My aunt has a small alterations studio behind her bridal boutique. We can work there.””
“Your aunt will let us use it?””
“She owes me for reorganizing her entire stockroom last summer.””
“Did you actually reorganize it?””
“No. But she thinks I did.””
I stared at her.
“Maya.””
“Fine. I reorganized half of it.””
We packed the fabric, sketches, sewing tools, and surviving pearls into two bags. I left the damaged gown folded inside a box beneath my bed.
Before leaving, I paused at my doorway.
Downstairs, Vanessa was speaking on the phone.
“Yes,” she said.
“Brianna's gown is almost ready. Pearl-white, custom-fitted, beautifully finished. It's exactly what the judges expect.””
I froze.
Brianna's gown.
Pearl-white.
My hand tightened around the bag strap.
Vanessa continued, “No, she won't have a problem with the competition rules. Everything is under control.””
I couldn't hear the reply.
Then Vanessa laughed.
“Of course. Brianna deserves this opportunity.””
I stepped backward before the floorboard could creak.
Maya watched my face.
“What is it?””
“Vanessa said Brianna's gown is pearl-white.””
“So?””
“So Brianna's original design was navy and silver.””
Maya's expression changed.
“You're sure?””
“I saw her sketches last week.””
We looked at each other.
Neither of us needed to say what we were thinking.
But I didn't have proof.
And suspicion wouldn't sew a dress.
We slipped out of the house and drove to Maya's aunt's studio, a narrow room behind a bridal boutique on the edge of town. The air smelled of steam, fabric starch, and the faint perfume of roses from the display windows.
Maya's aunt, Denise, took one look at our bags.
“Let me guess,” she said.
“A deadline, a disaster, and a young woman who hasn't slept.””
“Two young women,” Maya corrected.
Denise studied me.
“What happened?””
I explained the torn gown and the competition.
She listened without interrupting. When I finished, she walked to a cabinet and pulled out a heavy-duty sewing machine.
“Your mother used to bring you here when you were little,” she said.
I blinked.
“You knew my mom?””
Denise smiled gently.
“Everyone in the neighborhood knew your mother. She repaired dresses for women who couldn't afford new ones. She used to say that clothing should make people feel like the best version of themselves.””
My throat tightened.
“I remember.””
“Then make something worthy of that belief.””
She set the machine on the worktable.
“And don't let anyone convince you that talent belongs to the people who can afford to advertise it.””
We got to work.
For the next twelve hours, the studio became a world of scissors, pins, steam, and scattered crystals.
Denise helped reinforce the wing structures with lightweight flexible stays. Maya hand-sewed clusters of pink crystals along the edges while I shaped the bodice and fitted the lavender skirt.
When the first wing finally held its shape, Maya stepped back.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Now it's giving butterfly.””
I adjusted the angle.
“No. It needs to open more when I turn.””
We experimented with the shoulder supports, adding discreet hinges that allowed the wings to respond to movement without collapsing.
The design began to come alive.
At sunset, I slipped the unfinished gown onto a dress form.
The lavender fabric fell in sweeping layers, catching the warm light from the studio windows. Pink crystals glimmered along the edges. The wings curved upward, translucent and delicate.
For the first time, I could see the dress I'd imagined.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
You need to withdraw from Bellamy.
I stared at it.
Another message arrived.
You don't know what you're walking into.
Maya leaned over my shoulder.
“Who sent that?””
“I don't know.””
“Reply.””
I typed:
Who is this?
The response came almost immediately.
Someone trying to save you from making a mistake.
I felt a cold knot form in my stomach.
Then another message appeared.
Ask Brianna where she got her new gown.
Maya looked at me.
The studio seemed suddenly quieter.
I called Brianna.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“What do you want?”” she asked.
“Where did you get your pearl-white gown?””
Silence.
Then Brianna laughed.
“Why? Jealous?””
“Did you copy my design?””
Her voice turned sharp.
“You really need to get over yourself.””
“I'm asking you a question.””
“And I'm telling you to stop harassing me.””
She hung up.
I stared at the phone.
Maya took it from my hand and set it face down on the table.
“Whatever she's doing,” she said, “we finish this dress first.””
I nodded.
We worked through the night.
At four in the morning, the last wing was secured. At five, the skirt was hemmed. At six, Maya attached the final crystal cluster at the waist.
Then I stood before the mirror.
The gown transformed my reflection.
Lavender shimmered against my skin. Pink crystals scattered light across the bodice. The butterfly wings rose behind my shoulders, translucent and luminous.
It wasn't the gown I'd planned to wear.
It was better.
For a few seconds, I forgot Brianna, Vanessa, the anonymous messages, and the months of being told I wasn't enough.
I simply looked at the dress.
And I smiled.
Denise handed me a small velvet box.
“What's this?”” I asked.
“Something your mother left with me years ago. I think it's time you had it.””
Inside lay a tiny silver needle pendant, worn smooth by years of handling.
“She gave it to me before she got sick,” Denise said.
“She told me to give it to you when you were ready to make something that frightened you.””
I touched the pendant.
My mother had been gone for three years, but suddenly I could almost hear her voice.
Don't be afraid to make something beautiful, Nia. People will always have opinions. Let your work speak louder.
I fastened the pendant around my neck.
Then I took a breath.
“I think I'm ready.””
Denise smiled.
“Good. Because your registration confirmation arrived.””
Maya grabbed the envelope from the counter and opened it.
Her eyes widened.
“What?”” I asked.
She turned the paper toward me.
My entry had been accepted.
But beneath the confirmation number was a second line.
*DESIGN VERIFICATION REQUIRED: ORIGINALITY REVIEW REQUESTED.*
I stared at the words.
“Why would they request an originality review?””
Denise's expression darkened.
“Someone may have challenged your design.””
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it was a message from Brianna.
A photograph filled the screen.
She stood in a dressing room wearing a pearl-white gown.
The bodice was fitted. The skirt swept elegantly to the floor.
And along the waist were tiny pearl clusters arranged in the exact pattern I'd drawn four months earlier.
Beneath the photograph, Brianna had written:
See you on the runway, little sister.
May you like
Then came a second message.
Try not to embarrass yourself in front of the judges.
