Salted Caramel Dreams Read online

  “Hey, amazing job today,” I say. “You were on fire!”

  “Really? You think? I feel like I missed a lot of shots.”

  “But you made a lot too! I’m so impressed.”

  “Thanks,” she says, smiling. “But still, it’s hard not to want to do better . . .”

  “Ha, I know the feeling,” I say, thinking of my failed dresses. “But really. You should be thrilled. You did great.”

  “Aw, well thanks so much for coming, Jas. You have no idea how nice it was to see a friendly face in the stands.”

  “I wasn’t the only one, given how you played!”

  Kiara beams, unable to hide her happiness. “Well, I hate to do this, but I gotta run. Need to shower then get into the bleachers before the boys’ game. We’re required to watch,” she says, rolling her eyes. Though even as she does it, I can tell that she really doesn’t mind.

  For a moment I pause, wondering if she’ll ask me to stay and watch the boys too. Not that I’m dying to watch, especially with my sketchbook and sewing projects awaiting me at home. Though if it meant I could spend more time with Kiara, I’d probably stay. But after a moment of silence, I decide the invitation isn’t coming.

  “I guess I’ll see you later then. Monday morning?” I say.

  Kiara nods. “Sorry, I’d ask you to stay and watch with us, but it’s kinda a team thing. I’m really happy you came though.”

  “Of course. Any time.”

  Kiara starts to wave goodbye before stopping mid-wave and reaching for my arm. “Hey! That reminds me. One more thing before you go.”

  She twirls me around until I’m facing Aliyah and Beatrice, both of whom are now talking to their parents.

  “So? What do you think?”

  “Think? Of what?”

  “The headbands, silly!”

  Biting my lip, I look at the girls again. And there I see the thin stripes of navy blue fabric poking through their hair, a small pink KM monogram a centimeter from their ears.

  “Oh wow,” I say, surprised at how different the headbands look from her earlier prototypes. “They look great!”

  “I know, don’t they? I’m making them now for the whole team. Thought maybe we could get other sports teams into it too, and maybe you could even design some bags to match . . .” Kiara’s eyes dance with possibility.

  “Yeah, maybe. That could work,” I say. And even though I’ve never designed a sports bag before, right away I can see that it’s a good idea. Kiara’s energy spreads through me as she goes on about duffle bags and water bottle holders and matching ribbons.

  “It’d be a great way to combine interests, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely,” I say. “Wanna come over tomorrow? Maybe we can work on some of the plans. I can’t believe break’s only two weeks away. In two weeks, JKDesigns will be a reality!”

  “Yeah, I know! Though I’m busy tomorrow. But I’ll see you Monday. On the way to school?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say.

  “Sounds fabulous. And I’d say we could talk in science, but after what happened this morning, I don’t think there’ll be time for much girl talk.”

  I raise my brow. “Why?”

  “He asked to join our group.”

  “Carter?”

  “Yup. Before warm-ups. He found me and asked if he could partner with us. Since Teddy switched classes last week.”

  “And then there were three,” I say.

  Kiara shrugs. “Guess so! All right then. Tick tock, girl,” she says.

  But instead of extending her hand for a shake, she slips away toward Aliyah and Beatrice, who are already yelling for her to join them.

  Chapter Four

  FASHION DISASTER

  The next day, Sunday, I spend most of the day in my room, draping fabric and trying to get this custom pattern thing right. I turn up the music and belt out my favorite playlist as I pin the fabric I’m using to make my dress pattern onto my dress form. It’s a bright yellow polka-dot cotton—the cheapest fabric I could find. When my playlist begins its second loop, I’m finally ready to slip the pinned-together dress off the form and try it on. I cross my fingers and breathe in as I slip it over my head.

  And then I sigh. Once again, it’s too small.

  “Of course,” I say, taking it off. I place it back on the form, then let out the pins by an inch all around. This time my practice dress hangs off me—way too big. I frown, once again wishing I had enough money to buy myself one of those fancy dress forms where you can adjust the size.

  And that’s when the idea strikes. Excited, I take my measurements again. Then I look around my room, finally eyeing an old pillow. Biting down on my lip, I grab it and rip it open, gathering up the stuffing buried inside. With a roll of duct tape in one hand, I use the other to spread the stuffing across the dress form’s hips until they are two inches wider, and actually my size.

  “There, that should work,” I say aloud.

  I re-pin my fabric to the dress form in my original design and try it on. This time it fits!

  “Yes!” I say, dancing around the room. “Maybe this one will work!”

  I take my pinned dress and draw on all the pencil lines—where to place zippers and seams and darts—then unpin the fabric until I have a pile of pieces making up the top, the skirt, and the sleeves. I pin these to the actual fabric for my final dress (a pretty pink-and-white-stripe pattern), then cut it.

  Finally, I start to sew, using the hand-me-down machine Mom gave me last Christmas. I stop once I’ve put together the top part. Too excited to wait for the whole dress, I tear it off the machine and throw it over my head.

  And it’s too small. Still. Too. Small. Even though the pinned pattern pieces fit.

  I fight the urge to scream as I ball up yet another wad of pink for the trash.

  “That’s it! I’m never gonna get this,” I say.

  “Sounds like someone needs a break,” I hear Abuela say.

  I turn around to see her standing by the door, an apron tied around her waist.

  “Abuela!” I say, glad for the distraction. “I didn’t know you were cooking today.”

  She shrugs. “It’s Sunday. A good day for chicken stew. Hungry?”

  My stomach growls. “Definitely.”

  I throw down my scissors and hop up, ready to join her at the door. But before I can, I see her walking around my dress form.

  “In my day we didn’t use patterns. Did everything up here,” she says, pointing to her head. “I used to be able to make a shirt in thirty minutes. Would just take the old one, trace it onto the fabric and cut. Then a few minutes with the needle and that was that. One, two, three.”

  I sigh, having heard the story before. Abuela was never much of a fashion designer, but before her eyesight got bad she was an expert seamstress, making much of her family’s clothes.

  “Yeah. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” I say.

  She pulls my pink top out of the trash and looks it over. “This for you?”

  I nod.

  “Too small.”

  “I know. I think I messed up the cutting.”

  “You have to allow for that,” she says. “Don’t just add for seams. Add for cutting too. You can always adjust fit later.”

  “Isn’t that more work?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Maybe, but you can always make smaller. But making it bigger . . .” She shakes her head.

  I mentally file away the tip as she stands up. “Now let’s go. Stew’s ready and no one else is home. Only thing I hate more than cold stew is eating alone.”

  I laugh. “They’ll be back later tonight,” I say, reminding Abuela of the twins’ indoor baseball tournament. She just rolls her eyes—if there is one thing Abuela doesn’t get, it’s sports—and guides me to the kitchen.

  An hour later I’m back in my room with my fabric, stomach full. But my mind keeps drifting—winter break, and the launch of JKDesigns, is only two weeks away. As much as I’d like to work on gettin
g my dress right, I need to finish up my bags. Reaching for my basket of prototypes, I wonder if I should turn one of my totes into more of a sports bag, like Kiara mentioned yesterday. But having never played sports myself, I have no idea what features the bags need. And would they vary for different sports? Perplexed, I run a few searches on Etsy but am overwhelmed with results. Maybe I should ask the twins, I think, as I hear them pounding around again downstairs. But if I go downstairs, I’ll be stuck there for hours, listening to every detail of the day’s events. So instead I decide to call it an early night. Kiara and I can talk about it tomorrow on the walk to school.

  I wake the next morning with renewed energy, a list of questions about sports bags queued up in my head. As I reach for my backpack, my new messenger bag catches my eye. And even though the beading’s still not perfect, I decide I’m in too good a mood to leave it behind. Within minutes, I have my books transferred and I’m ready to show off my sparkling new messenger bag to Kiara, along with my ideas on sports bags.

  But when I reach our meeting spot, Kiara isn’t alone.

  “Hey girl, you know Mary Beth,” she says, waving me over.

  “Uh, yeah, of course,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “Um, how are you guys?”

  “Did you know she lives just off Ridgeway?” Kiara says, pointing to the road intersecting ours. “She’s only two blocks up.”

  “Oh cool,” I say, readjusting my messenger bag as we start walking. Has Kiara even noticed it? Her eyes are focused on Mary Beth.

  “I usually cut the back way through the woods,” says Mary Beth, “but when Kiara told me she was gonna rehash her convo with Carter, I figured I couldn’t miss it.” She giggles as she rubs her hands together for warmth. The weather has turned cold overnight, and my dreaded puffy coat is now zipped up to my chin.

  “Oh yeah, I can’t wait to hear either. This was Saturday, right? When he asked to join our lab group?” I say, remembering what Kiara said after the basketball game.

  “No, not that,” Mary Beth says. “Right Ki, I mean, I was there for that. I thought you were gonna tell us about last night?”

  “What was last night?” I ask.

  “Carter asked her to call him. After the team lunch. He gave her his number!”

  Team lunch? With Carter? And Mary Beth? A pit forms in my stomach.

  “Really? Uh, wow,” I say.

  “I know, right? I couldn’t believe it,” says Kiara. “I meant to text you about it, but then it got late and I figured I’d just tell you today on the walk. But God, I feel like I’ve been shaking ever since. The whole thing is just so rich!” Kiara’s voice rises and falls like a hummingbird as she dances across the asphalt.

  “OhmiGod it’s so rich! She wouldn’t even fill me in first!” says Mary Beth.

  I nod and smile as Mary Beth waves her hands in unison with Kiara’s and I try to ignore the gurgling in my stomach. Even though I know Sunday’s event was a team lunch, I can’t help but feel left out of something fun. Or rich, as Kiara and Mary Beth would say. I sigh under my breath as I stare up at the few remaining leaves still clinging to the maples. Even the words they use are different. How am I supposed to fit in?

  Yet I force myself to smile as Kiara starts dissecting her phone call, and I wonder the whole time if Kiara really is sharing her new life with me after all. Some days she tells me everything, other days nothing. She’s always enthusiastic when I text her with updates on my bags or ask homework questions, but lately her responses have been short. More emojis, less conversation. And now she hasn’t even noticed my new messenger bag. I breathe in deep. Calm down, Jas, I tell myself.She just has a lot going on. But watching her dance down the street, I can’t help but wish I had as much going on too.

  “So then, get this, Jas.” Kiara grabs my hand, snapping me back to the conversation. “Carter actually asked if I could make him one too!”

  “Wait. Make him what? A headband?” I say.

  “Yes! Isn’t that hilarious?”

  “OhmiGod that’s crazy!” says Mary Beth.

  “Yeah,” I say. “What would he do with it? Wear it?”

  “Well, he does have all those curls,” says Mary Beth. “Maybe they’ve been getting in the way. Don’t want him having to squint to see you.” She gives Kiara a nudge.

  Kiara’s face reddens. “Hey, cut it out! I think he was just trying to be supportive.”

  “And tell you he likes you,” Mary Beth says.

  “You think?”

  “You think!” Mary Beth says.

  I laugh and nod along. The conversation is moving too fast for me to jump in.

  But then Kiara turns to me. “What do you think, Jas?”

  I bite down on my lip. Knowing Carter only from afar, it doesn’t seem fair to answer. But with Mary Beth so sure and Kiara so excited, I decide it’s safest to agree.

  “Seems like he definitely likes you,” I say. “A lot.”

  Kiara giggles just as the red brick exterior of Southfield Middle comes into focus. “Well, thank God, because all I keep thinking about are those curls!”

  I laugh along with Kiara and Mary Beth as the first bell chimes overhead.

  “See you at lunch?” Mary Beth calls to Kiara.

  “Of course—see you both then,” she says.

  We both nod. Lately Kiara’s been sitting with me and Cam and Lori just long enough to devour her sandwich. Then she spends the rest of lunch “visiting” with the basketball table. Cam and Lori don’t really seem to care—Lori has started using lunch to update her crush sheet. But it’s left me really missing my best friend.

  Before we part ways, Kiara turns to me and I wonder if she’s going to say something about my bag. But it turns out her mind is still on Carter. “Now if only we could fast forward to science,” she says.

  “I know,” I say, then pause, wanting her to smile and laugh with me like she used to, like she’s been doing with Mary Beth. So, mustering up some enthusiasm, I reach for Kiara’s arm. “That’d be rich,” I say.

  Kiara’s eyes light up and relief courses through my veins. “I know. I bet he’ll even sit at our science table now. You know, since we’re all partners.”

  She shoots me a wink and I keep laughing, even though the thought of Carter at our table makes me nervous—because right now Kiara and Mary Beth and I are all laughing together. Maybe I can fit in with these basketball girls yet, I think, envisioning a future where we’re all friends. I smile as I walk away, the remnants of saying my first rich still caught in my teeth. I swirl it around a little, trying to get used to it, this new word in this new world of Kiara. By the time I reach social studies class, I decide I like it. Today will be rich. Today will be grand.

  Yet I struggle to focus as Mr. Worthington instructs us to open our books to the chapter on China. Usually I love this class, but today Mr. Worthington’s energy just distracts me, like a fly buzzing around my food. My mind jumps from China to my new sports bag idea and then to Kiara and back again. And as the day goes on, the closer we get to science, the antsier I get. By the end of English, I’m counting down the minutes.

  And then it’s time. As I walk toward science, I wonder how nervous Kiara is, knowing she’s about to sit next to her crush. I brush away the thought as I swing my new messenger bag into my arms and start digging for my Chap Stick. I run it against my lips, then throw it back into my bag, taking a moment to inspect my beadwork. It looks good! So far, the bag seems to be working well. It fits all my books, but isn’t too bulky when I’m walking down the halls. Plus, the bright colors and sparkling beads really make it pop.

  Weaving through the congested hallway, I scan the crowd for any familiar faces.

  And that’s when I see him. Someone new. Walking to my right. Strolling, really. Head back, dark tan skin, and piercing blue eyes shining through the shadows cast by his chewed-up baseball cap. He’s wearing a faded Bruce Springsteen concert T-shirt. Old school, I think, eyeing the shirt’s frayed hems, the gray threads hanging
from them almost a perfect match to the ones on his hat. He’s staring out straight ahead smiling, and for a second our eyes meet. My heart races as he tips his head.

  “Hey,” he says, moving his hand off his backpack strap just long enough to give a little wave.

  My cheeks burning, I eke out a “Hi” just before he ambles by.

  Who was that? I wonder, my palms sweaty. And why have I never seen him before? My heart is thudding heavily. Is this how Kiara feels about Carter? Because, wow—now I get it.

  I move to the side of the hall, then turn and try to spot him again, but he’s been swallowed up in the crowd. My mind races as I consider the possibilities. Is he a seventh grader? I need to ask Kiara. Or sign on to FriendChat. See if I can recognize his profile picture in any of my friends’ feeds. But of course I can’t do any of that now—science awaits. With Kiara and Carter. So, no girl talk allowed.

  I sigh, then readjust my messenger bag, ready to brave class. Then I hear a familiar voice behind me.

  “Did you see her bag today? I mean, I know she’s your friend and everything, but it was kinda ridiculous,” it says.

  I freeze as kids brush past me.

  That voice. Those words.

  It’s Mary Beth. Talking about a bag. Which sounds a lot like mine.

  Chapter Five

  ALL ALONE

  My stomach flips as I look for a place to hide, my mind already replaying the conversation I had with her and Kiara earlier, the one where I thought we’d gotten along as friends. Was she just pretending the whole time?

  I’m right by a dark, empty classroom, so I bolt inside and crouch there in the dark. The door isn’t all the way closed, and through the crack I can see Mary Beth standing and laughing outside the science room with Kiara and Aliyah. I wait and listen for Kiara’s response. Kiara loves my bags. She’ll come to my defense, right?

  But then, she doesn’t.

  “Yeah, I know,” I hear her say. “She’s really into this whole fashion design thing, but her bags are just so juvenile. I’ve tried to push her to make other things, but what can I say? In her mind, sparkles and neon are cool.”