It was an instant joke, when the straws were drawn, everyone laughed, even the professor. Ash and Fenix could barely contain their disappointment, even if they covered it up with that fashion girl flash of friendly insincerity. “Great!”
Fenix disappeared moments later pouting in a puff of tulle, leaving Ash alone in a classroom full of teams making plans. Sinking into the blank sketchbook in front of her, her hand listlessly tracing a croquis.
That night at Allie and Ash’s apartment, we whipped up a bitching session. “Group work sucks, ugh,” said Allie. “The PR committee is totally fighting all of the time. We hardly get anything done.” Allie’s group for the major third year fashion show production semester was being “led” by a notoriously strong personality, Wanda. I was grateful to be in a smaller group that handled the copywriting and web stuff, for the most part my team members were reticent nerds like me.
“Fenix is famous for doing everything at the last minute. I just can’t work like that. I’m sooo stressed!” the gentlest look of perturbation ever glanced over Ash’s face as she took a sedate sip of her second glass of wine.
“Plus, her designs are just so… not menswear,” I added. “She’ll probably want to put them in skirts, or pants with bumflaps or something.”
Allie laughed and Ash looked… ashen. You could almost see a trimly tailored, mod boy fantasy dissemble into an androgynous tossed salad over her head.
“We’re supposed to meet tomorrow and she said she was going to bring a ton of ideas. This is going to be such a ridiculous collection. She’ll want to have it all her way.”
“Don’t let her walk all over you!” Allie exhorted. “You’re a great designer and you’re way better at sewing than Fenix. She needs you because she needs to get a good mark on this! Stand your ground!”