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It hurts that he stood me up, because I felt drawn to him, a pull like static electricity making fabrics stick together. It’s a distraction, and I don’t have time to be distracted.
“Tania, did you finish the bodice for the Blue Moon dress?” Alice asks.
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
“The bodice. Sathior wants that done tonight.”
“Right, just about done.” I finish stitching on the last of the embroidery, completing circuit on the beaded moon. It lights up, the solar beads shimmering in the overheads.
Alice grins. “We’re making really good time. At this rate, we’ll be done with our makeup work before we know it.”
As soon as we landed on Glimner, Sathior told us, “Now, ladies, I know you had a lovely time on this little vacation, but from here, we must hit the ground running. Glimner Fashion Week is only three months away, and we must pull out all the showstoppers. Unfortunately, you two will have to work overtime to catch up with the rest of the girls.”
I suppose that I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still felt like a slap to the face, a reminder that she saw us as nothing but work animals to be sacrificed on the altar of productivity. But voicing this feeling is an easy way to get fired.
So, I forced a smile and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Alice echoed me, and our boss grinned. “Wonderful! I knew I could rely on you two.”
So, here we are, a week later, and only barely catching up to the other girls. We have about twenty full outfits to make between now and fashion week, so I need to focus.
That means no more getting lost in daydreams about a certain hot Kaleidian and the night we spent together.
“Can I have it?” Alice asks, reaching for the completed bodice. “I can attach it to the skirt if you want to get started on the headpiece.”
“Sure,” I say, grabbing the pattern for the veil.
“Are you okay? You seem distracted.” She feels my forehead.
Rolling my eyes, I flinch away from her touch. “I’m fine. Just having trouble transitioning back to work mode after the vacation, I guess.”
She leans in conspiratorially. “Still thinking about Garet?”
The blush spreading across my cheeks is answer enough. “Shut up.”
Her eyes widen, delighted, and she glances around the studio for any listening ears. Content that no one would overhear, or that anyone who might would not care, she grins. “I knew it. You’re down bad for him.”
I sigh and plug the size dimensions into the fabric cutter. “But obviously, he didn’t feel the same way.”
The machine whirrs to life, and lasers begin cutting the pieces I need before discarding the rest on the floor. I set the scraps aside, rescuing them for later. Now to piece the scraps together and—
“Shit!” Petra exclaims from across the room. Everyone looks up, eyes locking on the white fabric splattered with red. She holds her thumb protectively in the other hand, pressing on a bleeding wound. It looked like she had gotten it caught in the machine.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
Alice nods and resumes her work. I pull a piece of scrap synthfabric from my pocket and approach her.
She’s doubled over with tears welling in her eyes. Even before the trip, Petra had been acting off. Usually, she’s vibrant and effervescent, but about a month ago, she started acting anxious and cagey. Her friends would try to ask her what was wrong, but she’d never give them a straight answer.
Up close, she looks even worse. Bruise-like bags have formed under her eyes and her cheeks look sallow. “Here,” I say, offering the fabric to wrap around the damaged digit.
A chunk of flesh had been torn from her thumb and a rivulet of blood rolled down her hand. She must not have been paying attention while stitching the pants seams together and got her thumb in the way of the needle. It’s not a common accident,especially among the advanced seamstresses like us, but it happens from time to time.
“I got blood on it,” she says mournfully, looking at her project.
I smile and pat her shoulder. “We’re women. We’re used to getting unfortunate bloodstains out of fabric.”
Normally, when I say that to other women, they laugh. It’s a little bit crass, but it gets the point across and lightens the mood. But Petra just goes a little pale, looking sickened at the thought, and not in the exaggerated disgust that some of the more prudish people show when I make the joke. “Right. It’ll be fine.”
