On Pins and Needles Read online

  “Well, lookit there,” exclaimed the secretary as Zoey lifted the lid from the box. “Aren’t those the cutest . . . What on Earth are they for, do you think?”

  “Oh my gosh! They’re labels!” Zoey said, and she knew exactly what they were for!

  Fashionsista had sewn one just like them in the dress she’d remade for the fashion show. And now here were at least a hundred more, all saying the same thing—“Sew Zoey”—in the same exact font and color Zoey used in her blog!

  And there was a note, Zoey suddenly noticed, tucked into one side. She pulled it out.

  Dear Sew Zoey,

  Every Sew Zoey original should have a label, don’t you think?

  Good luck with the contest—and keep up the good work!

  Fashionsista

  “Aren’t they amazing?!” Zoey beamed at Mrs. Beckstein from across the counter. “I can sew them into all my clothes!”

  The secretary nodded, though she looked a bit doubtful. “Well, it’ll keep you from losing them, I suppose . . . .”

  Zoey dashed out of the office and toward her locker with the box tucked tightly under her arm. She wanted to make sure it was safely put away before first period, but at the same time she was dying to show them to someone.

  Zoey passed by the trophy case. By then Kate and the others had gone. She glanced through the glass and noticed a clipping: “Mapleton Girls’ Soccer Leads Conference; Kate Mackey Scores Tenth Season Goal.” So that’s what Lorenzo and everyone had been looking at. Kate must have had a really great game the day before. Zoey sighed, sorry she’d missed it. She wished Kate were there with her, so she could congratulate her right then. Well, she’d tell her later, Zoey decided . . . if Kate wasn’t too busy with her new group of friends.

  “Hey, Zoey!”

  Zoey turned to see Libby, who’d just walked into school.

  “What are you looking at?” Libby asked. “Oh wow! Good for Kate!” she said as she read the sports news.

  “I know,” said Zoey, nodding.

  “So what’s in the little box?”

  “Oh yeah!” Zoey stood up a little straighter. “Check it out. These came to me at school!” She held up the box and opened it. “Fashionsista sent them. They’re labels for my clothes!”

  Libby gasped. “That’s so cool! Do you know who Fashionsista is?”

  Zoey shook her head. “I have no idea! I wish I did, though!”

  “Well, she sure has perfect timing,” said Libby. “You can put one in your contest dress.”

  “You’re so right! I can!” Zoey smiled. The whole label idea was still sinking in. “And you’re still coming over this weekend to take pictures, right?”

  “Definitely,” said Libby. “Have you decided which dress you’re going to do?”

  “Not quite . . . I actually put the final two sketches up on my blog for a vote.”

  “Good idea,” said Libby, grinning. “Then I can vote for the pink one as soon as I get home!”

  Zoey laughed, knowing how hard Libby had lobbied for the “birthday cake dress.” The other dress was Zoey’s favorite, but only by a tiny bit.

  “By the way”—Zoey paused, gazing down—“I love those ombré jeans!”

  They were skinny and white at the top, but somewhere just above knees they began to turn the faintest pink, which kept getting darker until they reached Libby’s ankles, where they were full-on bubble gum.

  “Thanks,” said Libby. “I got them—”

  “Don’t tell me,” Zoey said. “From your aunt.”

  “Yep.” Libby nodded and twisted a springy red curl on her finger. “What can I say? She knows I like pink. I think she liked them mostly, though, because she’s super into this whole ombré thing.”

  “Lucky! When can I meet her?” asked Zoey.

  Libby shrugged. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “We’ll see.”

  Zoey dropped the subject. It was clear that was all Libby had to say, even though why she didn’t want to talk about her aunt more, Zoey had no idea.

  “I better go. Social studies,” she told Libby. She checked the clock. “I’ll be late if I don’t run. Have fun in first period!”

  “I’d tell you that too,” said Libby. Her smile was back. “But I know you won’t.”

  - - - - Chapter 8 - - - -

  The Results Are In: Ombré Everything!

  Okay! This is the moment at least 243 of you (!) have been waiting for. The votes are officially in! And we have a winner, Sew Zoey fans: By a vote of 130 to 113, it’s the “Avalon dress,” the one inspired by the Middle Ages! Honestly, I can’t thank all of you who voted enough for your help! Now I just have to make the thing . . . in forty-eight hours! . . . which is why I can practically guarantee you that I won’t be blogging again until this dress is done! I really appreciate, by the way, all the suggestions that came for me to start the whole thing by making a muslin test dress. Who knew? And for the step-by-step directions, DressDiva, BIG thanks to you! I have the muslin fabric, and it’s all ready to go. I just hope poor Marie Antoinette is prepared to be a pin cushion . . . . (Ouch! That’s the life of a dress form, I guess.)

  There’s just one thing that might change, I’ll warn you—which you can probably guess from the sketch above. I’ve discovered ombré! Yep! (It’s pronounced om-bray and it means “to shade” in French.) Basically, they dip the fabric in dye, so the color changes gradually from dark to light. I’m in love. My friend Libby wore these fabulous ombré jeans to school today, and the idea’s been stuck in my brain ever since. Thanks for the inspiration, Libby! So, I’m thinking I might take the off-white silk for the Avalon dress and ombré-cize it! Is that even a word? I don’t know, but I’m going to try it.

  Oh! And how could I forget?! I have one more ginormous thank-you to shout out. This one goes straight to Fashionsista, who just sent me the best designer gift in the world: a whole box of Sew Zoey clothing labels! Real labels. Like, embroidered and professional-looking. Dear Fashionsista, if you’re reading this, what would I ever do without you?!

  At last. Zoey had the muslin test dress looking the way she wanted it. It was perfect.

  Or at least, very close to perfect!

  As soon as she counted all the votes that had come in, the rest of her Saturday was a blur. First, she had to make sure she had the dress sketched from every angle.

  Then she pinned a big piece of plain, white muslin around the dress form, adjusting it so it fell in the right places on Marie Antoinette. Next, she cut out the shape of the neckline, pinned more fabric to the shoulders for the sleeves, and added the pieces of the skirt.

  When the muslin looked right on the dress form, Zoey unpinned it and trimmed the pieces, allowing an extra inch for all the seams. She then used wide, loose basting stitches to temporarily hold the pieces together and put the basted dress back on Marie. When that part fit just right, Zoey slipped the muslin dress off the dress form and cut along the basted seams.

  The pieces she was left with made a pattern—like the paper patterns she’d used before. And so from that point on, it was easy: pin it onto the Avalon fabric, cut out the pieces, and sew!

  Uh-oh! she thought as she realized she cut one panel for the bodice a little too small. She tried to make it work, but the seam allowance began to fray, making the piece of fabric even smaller. In the end she had to recut the panel at the right size and try again.

  Finally, she slipped the actual, mostly finished dress on Marie Antoinette.

  Zoey stood back and rubbed her eyes. She was tired from a long day’s work, but proud. Still, the longer she looked at the dress, the more she thought, It sure is white . . . .

  She suddenly realized what she had was basically a dress for a flower girl. Then she remembered Libby’s ombré pants. Ombré was just what it needed.

  Luckily, she had all kinds of dye left over from tie-dyeing the summer before. After she mixed up some violet dye, she dipped a swatch of fabric halfway in. Then she pulled it out of the dye, and kept dipping and pulli
ng, letting less fabric go in each time. It was a little like the candle making she did with her class on their field trip to the pioneer town. And by the time she got to the edge, the fabric looked perfectly shaded, from white to purple—like a crocus when it bloomed.

  The skirt and the sleeves of the actual dress took a bit longer, but they worked just as well, to Zoey’s delight. It was way too late when she finally made her way to bed. And by the time she brushed her teeth and stumbled down the stairs Sunday morning, it was after ten a.m.

  “Finally!” Her brother’s shaggy head leaned out of the kitchen doorway. “We’re hungry!” He let out a zombie moan. “I was about to make Dad go and wake you up.”

  “Ugh . . .” Zoey hung her head back. “I forgot it was Sunday. Do I have to make pancakes today?”

  Sunday secret-ingredient pancakes had been a tradition in Zoey’s family for years, and the tradition was basically this: Zoey and her dad made the batter and spiced it up with something different every week, while Marcus had to guess what was in them. If he failed, he had to do the breakfast dishes all by himself. He was usually pretty good at guessing—and Zoey was usually pretty kind. She’d toss in something superbasic like chocolate chips or bananas if she was feeling particularly nice. Last week, though, she tried to be tricky and added orange zest, fresh mint, and pomegranate seeds. The joke had ended up on Zoey, however, when Marcus guessed right, and the woody seed middles got stuck in her teeth.

  Zoey looked over at Marie Antoinette, whose left sleeve was slipping down. She still had so much to do on her dress, she thought as she let out a weary yawn. “Do you want to make them today?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

  “And you guess what’s in them?”

  “Uh-huh.” Zoey nodded. “Sure.”

  Marcus’s face broke into a wide, sneaky grin. “Okay!” he said. “Done!”

  A half an hour later breakfast was ready and Marie Antoinette’s sleeve was firmly in place.

  “Come and get it!” Zoey’s dad called from the kitchen. “How’s it going?” he asked as she walked in and took a seat.

  “Good,” Zoey said. “I still have a lot to do before Libby comes over, but it’s getting there.” She sniffed. The air was thick with . . . something. “Smells . . . interesting,” she said.

  She sat down as Marcus approached from the stove with a steaming platter piled high with pancakes the size of pizzas—the personal kind, at least.

  “Ta-da!” he said, setting them down.

  “Those are huge!” Zoey said.

  “The bigger, the better,” Marcus replied.

  Zoey tried to study them for clues to what might be inside. But there was nothing very obvious . . . nothing more helpful than the warm, cakey smell. Zoey would have to rely on her sense of taste alone, it seemed.

  “Well,” Marcus said. “Dig in.”

  Zoey skipped the butter and syrup and cut off a piece with her fork and knife. She opened her mouth and popped it in and chewed as Marcus watched.

  Hmm . . .

  If there was a spice, she couldn’t taste it. No, wait. Maybe she could. And only one thing could be so delicate . . . .

  “Saffron. Right?” she guessed.

  That’s why the pancakes were so golden. It totally made sense.

  Marcus looked at their dad. “Man, she’s good. That was his idea, Zo, by the way.”

  “Nice try, Dad.” Zoey smiled at him.

  “I knew you’d get it,” he said.

  “And? What else?” said Marcus.

  Zoey sighed and filled her fork again. What else . . . ? She took another bite.

  “They’re kind of crunchy . . . but I think I taste pineapple.” She glanced at her dad. “Juice?”

  He nodded proudly. “Bingo. Made it myself.”

  “Two down,” Marcus said. “One secret ingredient left.”

  Another bite went in and Zoey slowly chewed. “I don’t know. This is hard . . . . I think you put in too much salt.”

  “No excuses,” Marcus said, chuckling. “So? Do you give up?”

  “No,” Zoey said stubbornly. “Wait . . . I know!”

  There was another sense she could use, she realized. Feel. What is that crunch?

  She took another bite to confirm the texture.

  “Cornflakes!” she told Marcus.

  “Nope.” He shook his head.

  “Rice Krispies?”

  “Nope again.”

  “No?” Zoey sighed. “Oh fine. I give up.”

  “Aw! You were so close,” said Marcus.

  “So what is it?!” she asked as her dad laughed.

  Marcus pumped his fist in victory. “I win! Potato chips!”

  Marcus very sweetly offered to do the breakfast dishes for Zoey—this time—so she could get back to her dress. But a deal was a deal, Zoey told him, and besides, there wasn’t that big a mess.

  She returned to her dress as soon as she was finished. The ombré looked even better in the daylight. She still had to do the hem, but she had to wait for Libby to try on the dress. Oh, and her new labels. She couldn’t forget to add one of those!

  Zoey finished adding the label just as Libby arrived, and she ran to the door the second the bell rang.

  “You’re here!” she cried. “It’s almost done!”

  “Yeah?!” said Libby. “I can’t wait to see it!” Then she paused. “Uh . . . what is that sound?”

  “Oh, that?” Zoey shrugged off the clanging and banging that was blasting from the garage. She was so used to it, she realized, she hardly noticed it anymore. “It’s just my brother,” she told Libby. “Practicing drums. We have plenty of earplugs, by the way, if you want. Just let me know. Come on!”

  She took Libby’s hand and led her away from the noise and into the relatively peaceful dining room. “Ta-da!” She held her arms out toward Marie Antoinette. “I still need to hem it, but it’s just about there. What do you think?”

  “Oh my gosh! You dyed it! It’s amazing!” Libby clapped her hands and knit her fingers, holding them close up under her chin. “I love it! It’s just like your sketch, only better! But . . .”

  “But what?” Zoey said.

  She turned back to the dress, searching for major flaws she’d overlooked.

  “It’s just that it looks like you don’t need me, after all. You have a model already,” Libby said.

  She nodded to the fuzzy black gorilla mask, and Zoey had to laugh.

  “Ah, yes.” She went up and patted its head. “But she’s camera shy.”

  Still giggling, Zoey lifted the furry rubber mask off the dress form and pulled it down over her own face.

  “So,” she went on, arms crossed. “The dress. You really like it? Be honest. I mean, could you see it in a store?” She tilted her head back so she could see through the eye slits.

  Libby was nodding and laughing at her.

  “I know you liked the birthday cake one better.”

  “I know,” Libby said, “but that’s just me. This is just as pretty.”

  “Why, thank you.” Zoey bowed and tugged the gorilla mask off and used it to fan her hot, human face. “Enough monkey business.” She smiled at Libby. “Are you ready to try it on?”

  “Are you kidding? So ready!” said Libby.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Zoey said. “Come on!” Gently, she lifted the dress off Marie Antoinette’s shoulders and placed it in Libby’s hands. “Let’s go up to my room. You can change there, and then I can finish up the hem.”

  As she waited for Libby to put on the dress, Zoey didn’t even realize she was holding her breath. It wasn’t until Libby opened Zoey’s bedroom door that she gulped for air at last.

  “How do I look?” Libby asked. She smoothed the dress’s front, just above the waist. Then she twisted her hips gently, swirling the flared skirt back and forth.

  “Perfect!” Zoey said, holding out her arms. “How does it feel?”

  “Really nice!” Libby said. “In fact, I wish you didn’t have to hem
it. I love it at exactly this length.”

  “You do?”

  Zoey stood back and crossed her arms and eyed the bottom of the dress. It fell just below Libby’s knees, which was far longer than Zoey had planned. But now that she saw in on Libby, she kind of liked how it looked as well. It had such a nice flow, and she knew when she hemmed it, that would change a lot. But the fabric frayed really easily, and Zoey couldn’t leave the edge all raw like that . . . or could she?

  She knelt down and gently began to pull at the loose strings dangling from the skirt.

  “What are you doing?” Libby asked her.

  “I’m not exactly sure . . . . But don’t worry,” Zoey said. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll just do the hem above the knee, the way I planned before.”

  She kept pulling and trimming when she needed to, until there was more than an inch of soft, frayed edge. It looked a little like she’d added fringe and a little like the fabric gradually disappeared. The effect, along with the ombré, was pretty cool.

  She stood up and turned Libby’s shoulders, so she could see herself in the mirror again. “What do you think?” Zoey asked.

  “How’d you do that? It looks great!” said Libby. “You’re totally going to win!”

  “I hope so!” Zoey said. “Ready to take pictures?”

  “Sure. That’s what I’m here for. Let’s go!”

  Zoey had gotten her dad’s good camera, the one with the big telescopic lens.

  “So where do you want to take it?” asked Libby, turning to the mirror to check her hair.

  “Hmm . . . I don’t know,” Zoey said.

  She gazed around her cluttered bedroom. Somewhere under the collage of sketches and posters were her once-pink walls. And beneath the stacks of glossy magazines there was a desk, she thought. Zoey adored her room and wouldn’t have had it any other way. But it was not exactly the best backdrop for a contest-winning fashion shoot.

  “Outside?” Libby said, and Zoey nodded.

  “Excellent idea!” Zoey crossed the room to her window and peered out at the backyard. “We could do it by my old playhouse. Or back against the fence.”