What You're Not | ✔

22. Fear Of Feelings

My favorite part of Project Runway was when Tim Gunn walked around the room and critiques the designers' work. He offered up helpful advice and a different perspective. Seeing how the contestants took his critiques was always entertaining.

Being on the receiving end of that—with not one, but three Tim Gunns— was not as fun.

In the few hours I had while they were at practice I drew up a few new designs based on the trends I saw at school. The sketches were rushed and lacking my usual flare. But I needed something to show them and the previous designs weren't going to cut it.

My usual designs were a mash up of patterns and textures. They were loud compared to what the people at school wore. If I wanted the fashion show to be a success, and to actually make a profit, then I had to stick to what was trending now.

The girls talked excitedly as they looked over the few designs I had. They seemed to like them. However, that didn't stop the voice in my head telling me that the designs were trash.

"These are really good." The compliment broke through my negative thoughts, chipping away at some of the doubt I had.

The praise came from Jem, who wore a wide smile on her freckled face as she placed the sketches back into the folder.

"Thanks." My voice was barely above a whisper, if I spoke any louder, they probably would've heard how shaky it sounded.

It was nice to know that they liked the designs. But what if no one else did? What if no one bought them and we couldn't raise the funds for the new uniforms?

"Loren, that was a compliment. You're not supposed to look like you're heading to get root canal," Chelsea commented, taking another bite of her salad.

I straightened up in the chair, trying to look like I wasn't in distress as I forced on a smile.

"No, it's just that there's so much to do in only a few weeks," I told them, sipping on my soda to cure my dry mouth. "There's still a lot to do with picking models, choosing a theme and setting up bidding."

"Don't worry, we have that all under control," Kimber announced, pulling out a glittering, pink planner. She opened it up, showing me her detailed plans. "Everyone has their individual tasks. Chelsea is working out the pricing for the tickets and clothes. Riley is working on the stage, lighting, etcetera. Jem's looking for models. I'm doing promotion and making sure everything goes as planned," she said, all in one breath. "Oh, and all you have to worry about is making the clothes and if you need any help—"

"I prefer to work alone," I cut in, quickly. If last weekend was any indication of what was to come, I didn't want anyone around to witness any self-loathing and possible tears.

"Are you sure? Because I can have two girls at your side to help with the sewing," she offered.

"I'm sure."

She nodded, jotting something down in her planner. "Well, now that we have fashion plans done we—"

"Oh my gosh," Chelsea's mouth gaped open, a fork full of leafy greens hung in mid-air. "Is he being serious?"

When I turned around, the first thing I saw was a giant, white bear, dressed in a Christmas sweater. It grabbed the attention of everyone in the diner.

Owen's face peeked out from behind the bear that was nearly bigger than him. Chelsea let out an exasperated sigh, her chair screeched loudly as she stood up. The smile Owen wore faded as she marched over to him, tugging him out of the diner by his sleeve.

Owen had been apologizing to Chelsea every day since I've gotten to Westbrook. It was unclear what he did. Whatever it was must've been serious because Chelsea showed no sign of forgiving him. But he showed no signs of giving up.