AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I nibbled at my lip, glancing inside the doors. A few of my classmates had gathered there, admiring each other’s clothing. “I’m in the Garment District.”
“What are you doing there?”
“It’s like…a night class.”
“What?”
I sighed. “I have a life you know.”
He grunted. “I’ll have a car there in twenty. Text me the address. I’ll see you here.”
The line went dead. I frowned down at my phone. A few choice retorts balanced on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them. Something seemed to be seriously amiss, so I’d save the comebacks for later. But he’d hear about this. Especially since I was ten feet away from my classroom, and desperate to not fall behind or fall out of grace with my professor.
Damian had said twenty minutes. I at least had time to explain myself to the professor. I sent Damian the address and then darted inside, waving a quick greeting to my classmates gathered by the doors, and headed for the large warehouse-style room that served as classroom, runway, and incubator. The murmur of conversation and the dress forms lined up along the far wall sent a wave of calm through me. I loved these classes; I loved being here. Part of me never wanted this course to end.
But there was no way in hell I could afford another term without keeping the job that paid the bills. I pushed the familiar anxiety aside, the money worries and the future woes. I knew them too well; they were as familiar to me as the smell of cigarette smoke in the morning, my mom stumbling bleary-eyed and hungover through the kitchen.
“Mr. Mitchell?” I stepped up to our dapper and refined instructor, who had once told the class that we should all find our unique fashion hill and die on it. He rummaged through a briefcase at the large desk at the front of the room. Gray dotted his temples and streaked his neatly trimmed beard. He mentioned famous fashion names as easily as my friends back home mentioned McDonalds.
“Jessa! Your dress is on point today. Excellent use of patterning in this design, whoever made it. What can I do for you?”
I relished the warmth of his compliment before launching into my bad news. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you. I want you to know I didprepare for tonight’s pattern making class. But something has come up—an emergency—” I was assuming as much, based on Damian’s bizarre messages. “And I have to leave.”
Mr. Mitchell’s face fell—more than I expected. His brows knit together. “Okay. First of all, I hope everything is okay. But tonight’s class is the foundation for the subsequent lessons, Jessa. How can we make sure you get caught up?”
“I’ll be here early next Monday,” I blurted, without even considering what that would entail. If I came early, I’d have to leave work early. And Damian had onlyjustfound out that I did anything outside of work hours. I nibbled on my lip. “Or, you know, stay late on Monday, too, if that helps. Or I can do extra work between now and Monday? Uh—”
“Early on Monday will work just fine.” The perplexity on his face softened, and he offered me a smile. “Good luck with whatever you’re going through.”
I could have hugged him for that. Instead, I covered my heart with my hands and sent him my biggest smile. “You’re such a peach, Mr. Mitchell.”
“So are you, Jessa.” He winked, and I rushed out of the classroom, relieved that I was still in Mr. Mitchell’s good graces. It felt wrong to be tearing myself out of the classroom as everybody filed in, noisy and excited for the lesson to come. But Damian needed me, and he was bankrolling this whole New York experience now. What else could I do?
I paced the sidewalk outside the building, transferring all my anxiety about the missed class to what might await me at the office. They’d never sent a car for me, so I wasn’t even sure what to expect in the next five minutes. Half of me was disappointed they hadn’t sent a helicopter, but where would it have landed? I inspected the building behind me, imagining the logistics of an emergency helicopter landing. I’d probably have to go to the roof—that made sense. Unless helicopters could land in traffic? While I was staring up at the building, a horn beeped behind me. I turned to find a sleek black SUV at the curb, hazards flashing.
The passenger window rolled down. From the driver’s seat, a man in a black suit leaned closer. “Jessa Walton?”
I nodded, my mouth going dry. My gaze bounced off the mirror-like reflection of the paint job, the enormous chrome wheel wells, the likes of which I’d only ever seen inside car showrooms. The driver tipped his head toward the backseat. “Hop in. Damian is waiting for you.”
“D-do you mean…” My voice wilted as I pulled open the door to the backseat, half expecting to find Damian waiting in the back, head propped against his fingertips, watching me like a hawk. But the leather backseat was empty, and the cool air smelled fragrant and pure. Like they used an ionizer, which I wouldn’t put past them.
Once we were in motion and I had discretely rubbed my palm against the entire length of the backseat, I said, “Thanks for the ride. I hope it wasn’t a bother.”
The driver smiled. “Not a bother. This is what I do.”
“What’s your name?”
“Legs.”
“What?”
“Legs,” he said again, tapping his thigh. “Like your body part.” His Brooklyn accent was in full swing now, and I smiled to myself. I loved how every day in the city felt like an adventure. And on really special days, like a trip to a foreign country.
I suspected Tara and Jeremy would never understand this sort of thing or why I loved it so much.
“Should I even ask how you got that name?” I asked with a laugh. “Or is that your legal name, the one your mom gave to you?”
“Just a nickname,” Legs said with a knowing grin. “And you’ll hear the story someday. But not today.”
