Page 33 of Stranded

My roommates seemed to take it in turns to bug me, constantly interrupting me for pointless reasons while I was sewing. But I stuck with it, because I wanted to prove myself. Show them all that I can make real runway fashion, and I belong in this class.

Show them that I’m on the right path.

I obsessively fixed every tiny detail I could see. I went to bed at one in the morning, and woke up at four to unpick and redo the shoddy seams. I waited outside the thrift store until itopened to hunt down exactly the right blood-red buttons. I even tore off the sleeve cuffs to remake them in lace—with a lot of swearing.

But it was what happened next that hurt the most.

Professor Meyer walked around my mannequin twice and scribbled in her notebook, looking distinctly disappointed. I remember the sinking feeling like a stone in my gut, dreading her feedback…

It was even worse than I expected.

“It’s a D-worthy project, Ronan. It doesn’t improve your portfolio.”

Fuck

It still hurts. Every time I see this shirt, it brings back the scorned fury… and the humiliation of listening to my roommates snicker, riding high on their As. Do I really want to bringthatvibe to my new home?

It’s way too big for me to wear, anyway. I was hoping to summon a hunky man by using a hunky mannequin. I should just stuff it in the black garbage bag of clothes for the donation bin.

But even beyond the sentimental value of my family’s repurposed clothes… I can’t let it go. Like there’s something else—a secret, buried treasure in its seams.

If there is, it’s too deep for my teachers to find it.

“D-worthy,” I grunt, holding it at arm’s length and squinting.

Huh. Now that I’ve allowed those memories in—and through me—I can really look at it with fresh eyes. And… something’s wrong. Not the seams, buttons, or fit… much worse.

It’s the concept.

Off-the-rack, my roommates sneered at me for weeks afterward. They’re wrong, butI’dwear this in public these days. Maybe even in an office, on casual Friday. It wouldn’t fly at myfamily’s firm… but somewhere more laidback, I bet it would be a conversation piece that wouldn’t get me fired.

I chose officewear, and made it into slightly unconventional officewear.

“Ohhhh, fuck.” I sit back on my heels, reeling as it hits me like a ton of bricks: Professor Meyer was right.

It’s a compromise. And what’s the one rule of runway design?Be uncompromising.

I thought that wasn’t a problem for me. After all, my greatest fear is waking up one day, opening a closet filled with identical dress shirts and shiny black shoes, and realizing that I’ve spent so long pretending to be someone else that it’s become the truth.

Maybe I’m already on that slippery slope.

A chill runs down my spine despite the heat in my drafty old room.

“No,” I breathe out defiantly, tossing the shirt into the suitcase. Decision made: I’m keeping it. I slam the suitcase shut and stand up, fists curled as I breathe hard. “I won’t let that happen. Not ever.”

That creative spark has always burned bright, in every bone of my body. I have to believe that it’s good enough… thatI’mgood enough.

I’m a hell of a lot more than D-worthy.

Chapter

Thirteen

RONAN

I’m packedand waiting by the door.

I don’t think I have long enough to sneak to the bathroom for another quick Alph-related fantasy, but I do have time to look around and say goodbye to one home, even if it never really felt like home.

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