“I know what you’re thinking. Why would you let me make you a dress when you can clearly afford to shop at Simone Couture? But what you don’t know about me, is that I’m going to be a famous designer one day, so in a few years’ time you can say that before she was even famous, you owned an original Thembikile design.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of perfume.

“Sorry, what?”

“Look, honestly, you’d actually be doing me a favor.” She spritzed herself with the most divine-smelling scent. “I need something else for my portfolio. The Paris school, remember?”

“Why don’t you make a dress for Amber, or Tasandra, or one of your other friends?”

“I’ve already done that. And now I want to work on something for the fuller figure.” The words came out of her mouth unemotionally and I cringed.

“Plus-sized fashion is one of the fastest growing trends. I’d be stupid to ignore it like some of those other narrow-minded designers do.” She rattled the words off, and I listened for the judgment in her tone, but . . . there was none? I’d never had someone talk to me in such a direct manner about my size, without a hint of judgment or sarcasm in their voice. Or maybe that was just her strange, flat way of speaking?

“So, what do you say?” she asked again.

“Uh . . .” I looked up blankly and blinked. This was still not completely registering. Thembi leaned in expectantly, as if waiting for my answer. I formed my lips into what was meant to be an N shape. N for no, but instead, something totally different came out and I didn’t know why.

“Okay? I guess . . .”

“Excellent,” she replied and then flashed me a small smile.

Crap! What had I just done? Had I just agreed to let the most gorgeous girl at school take measurements of my body? I bet my upper arm measured the same as her waist.

“I’m going to make you look incredible. When I’m done, no one will be looking at the bride, trust me.” She spritzed the perfume into the air and then traipsed through the mist like she was in a perfume commercial shoot in Monte Carlo or something equally glamorous like that.

“Here’s my number.” She pulled a business card out of her bag and handed it to me. I looked down at the white card with glossy, embossed white writing on it, very chic.

Thembikile Designs

“Okay, I’ll call you,” I said as she walked out of the room, leaving a lingering floral scent behind her.

27

“How was the party?” Vicki was knee-deep in the flower bed. This time I wasn’t helping her—I was sitting at the table in the garden sketching the various succulents. I wanted to study them; they’d become somewhat of an obsession to me lately. My muse, if you like.