Page 57 of Darn Knit All

An avalanche of emotion hit me, crushing the breath from my lungs.

“I have to, I mean, I?—”

“Go see your partner.” Sophia nodded, smiling. “I’ll see you after the show.”

I pushed through the crowds of people milling about as crew raced here and there, setting up for the runway event.

“Mai!”

I spun, spotting Theo sitting on a chair beside a woman in green scrubs.

“Theo.” Relief hit, and for a second, I swayed on my feet as the world tilted.

“Whoa!” Theo caught me, pulling me into his arms. “Take a load off before you collapse.”

“I’m okay,” I said, shaking my head a little to clear it. “I’m just?—”

“Exhausted, starving, overwhelmed?” Theo asked, glaring at Bruce as he walked toward us.

We ignored him. “How are you? What do you need?”

“Nothing, I’ll be fine.”

“Rest,” the medic interrupted. “He’s got some bruising but should be okay.”

Bruce intruded on our little group, placing his hands on his hips. “The show is about to resume. If you’re both cleared by the medic, follow me.”

The medic nodded and so off we went, following him like little ducks through the chaos and into the interview room. The runway was projected onto a giant screen along one wall, while an array of comfortable seating had been positioned across the floor in front of the screen.

“Looks like we’re the last,” Theo murmured, guiding me across to the only set of empty seats left in the back corner.

Once seated, I took the opportunity to consider our competition. Some were designers whose work I admired, like Nina and Dakila Basa. They had established their street wear brand three years ago, and everyone from Wolf Rodriguez to Justice Wild wore their designs.

In addition to Nina and Dakila, there were Meg and Bec Pecherczyk, Alec and Tempest De Soto, Gretchen and Jodie, and, of course, Keeley Walters and Jude O’Malley.

I had wondered how the show might portray me as a woman of color. If there’d be endless questions about my heritage, whether my parents approved of my choices, if they’d write me off because I was an introverted, Japanese woman. But seeing my competitors and the hosts, and knowing they represented the Black, Filipino, Chilean, and First Nations communities gave me a sense of comfort.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be as burdensome as I’d assumed.

Music began to play from the speakers around the room, and the lights dimmed as the runway projection lit up the screen.

“Here we go,” Theo murmured.

Music pumped loudly as the first model strutted out. She wore Nina and Dakila’s design, an oversized puffer jacket dress made from latex and covered in hand-painted graffiti. It swamped the model, whose only visible body part happened to be her head.

“Grunge meets red carpet,” Erike said, the camera panning to where he sat in the audience. “An interesting choice.”

On one side of him sat Michelle, on the other sat Minerva Devillian, the editor ofVogue Astipia, and Alison Louis, a former model turned fashion director to the stars. If she liked a design and put one of her clients in it, you were guaranteed to be a knockout success.

“I don’t know,” Alison said, tapping an elegant finger against her jaw. “An artist attending the Oscars does so to be seen. This would work better as a dress for the Royal Gala, rather than an awards night.”

“I agree,” Minerva nodded. “There’s no finesse. The execution is excellent but how does one capture this on film? How does it portray the beauty and grace of the wearer?”

“We’re agreed,” Erike declared. “It’s a disastrous choice for the challenge—no matter how much we might like it.”

I glanced at where the Basas sat and winced at their devastated expressions.

“Ouch,” Theo said. “Brutal.”

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