Passion for Fashion. Coleen McLoughlin
the bus pulls into the stop and half of your school laughs themselves sick out of the windows. That stinks.
From his usual seat opposite Ben, Dave Sheekey cheered as I sat down next to Lucy and Mel and tried to sort out my bruised knee and injured pride.
“Don’t worry about him,” said Lucy comfortingly. “He’s an idiot. I don’t know what my brother sees in him.”
I took several deep breaths and imagined Dave Sheekey wearing a really bad pair of pants and nothing else. It cheered me up immediately.
Mel’s next words, however, brought me flat to the pavement with my nose inches from that Coke can again.
“Mum says I can’t do the modelling,” she said, staring at her knees.
“WHAT?” I screeched, horrified. Lucy put a comforting arm around Mel’s shoulders. “But why?”
“She says modelling ‘objectifies young girls’, if you want her exact words,” Mel sighed.
“But that’s crazy!” I spluttered. “Couldn’t you persuade her to let you do it, just this once?”
“You know what my mum’s like,” said Mel. “Once she has an idea in her head, she sticks to it like gum.”
I gawped at my best mate. This was awful! This was worse than awful!
“It won’t be the same if you aren’t modelling in the show too,” I gasped. “There must be some way of persuading her—”
“Believe me,” Mel interrupted me sadly, “there isn’t. And talking about it isn’t helping, OK? Mum won’t let me model, and that’s that. Can we talk about something else now?”
Gutted just doesn’t come near how bad I felt for Mel. She hardly said a word during PE that morning. Given that you can’t usually shut Mel up, that was extremely weird. Every time me or Lucy asked her anxiously if she was OK, she muttered “Fine” and rushed off to the next piece of gym equipment like her shorts were on fire. It was like she didn’t even want to be near us, because we were going to be in the fashion show and she wasn’t.
“We have to do something, Lu,” I said urgently as we lined up at the climbing wall.
“I know,” said Lucy, biting her lip. “It’s not normal seeing Mel so sad.”
“What if we wrote her mum a letter?” I said.
Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Behind Mel’s back? No way.”
Lucy was right. I tried again.
“We have to talk to Mel’s mum ourselves then, and see if we can make her change her mind,” I said. “Can we go over after school this week?” I was struck by a brainwave. “A sleepover!” I said eagerly. “That’ll give us plenty of time to talk Mel’s mum round!”
“Great idea,” said Lucy. “But you should be asking Mel, not me.”
Mel walked past, her head bowed.
“Mel…” I started.
“Later, Coleen, yeah?” Mel said, not looking at me as she ran towards the tumbling mats.
Mel couldn’t avoid us forever. Lucy and I perfected our plan in time for break. And then we cornered her by the snack machine.
“Please don’t start,” Mel begged as I opened my mouth. “Don’t you think I’ve been going crazy about this? You’re not helping, Coleen – honest you’re not. Mum won’t change her mind!”
“Quit being such a wuss,” I snapped. I was getting quite angry now. “Come on, Mel! This isn’t like you. You’re rolling over before the fight’s even begun! Lucy and I have a plan. We just want you to listen, OK?”
“Like there’s a choice,” Mel muttered.
She didn’t look like she was going to break into a run, so Lucy and I grabbed her, steered her towards a chair and sat down on either side of her, like prison guards or something.
“Why don’t we have a sleepover at yours this weekend?” I began.
“We could put on a mini catwalk show for your mum,” Lucy said, watching Mel nervously.
“I’ll bring round some great accessories, and we’ll all dress up and have a fab time,” I said. “We’ll show your mum how fun a catwalk show can really be.”
“A sleepover?” said Mel slowly. “We haven’t had one of those in ages.”
Lucy and I looked at each other in excitement. Mel liked our plan!
“It’ll be totally brilliant,” I said, feeling enthusiastic all over. “Lucy will do the soundtrack. We might even get your mum to dress up in something too!”
“Mum does have some pretty cool outfits,” Mel said. “She’s kept loads of stuff from the eighties in the back of her wardrobe. She might even let us borrow some.”
“Oh Mel,” I said happily, pulling my friend into a big squashy hug. “It’s so great to see you smiling again.”
“And even if your mum doesn’t change her mind about the school fashion show, we’ll still have a great time,” Lucy added.
Mel had her old positive face on again. “Who knows what Mum’ll say by the time we’ve finished?” she said mischievously. “Pigs can fly – sometimes. Erm…maybe?”
Somehow, the rest of the week zoomed by. Em had an after-school football match on the Wednesday that we all went along to watch. Then I had to walk Rascal after tea and believe me, I did some walking. I was literally dragged to the park on my knees. Then Nan came over for tea on the Thursday. Finally, I was so busy planning which accessories I was going to take for Friday’s sleepover at Mel’s that I didn’t even rise to Em’s teasing about how I might end up wearing hideous purple dungarees at the school fashion show.
I have a billion and one accessories. They drive Mum mad, because most of the time they are scattered around the house. You know – a scarf draped over the post at the bottom of the stairs, an earring under the settee – that kind of thing. But accessories are brilliant – and they’re cheap, too. You can make the same old tee look totally different: dress it up one day with a red patent belt, then dress it down the next with a bunch of funky badges. Ta-da!
By the time Friday came, I had whittled my accessory selection down to four boxes. Then, remembering that I was going straight to Mel’s after school that day and would have to carry everything on the bus, I reluctantly cut it down to an extra rucksack and a carrier bag. But hey – those two bags carried some serious fashion power!
Mel and Lucy helped me carry everything from the bus stop on Friday afternoon, all the way up the stairs to Mel’s place on the third floor, along with my rucksack of pyjamas and clean clothes for the next day. By the time we reached number thirty-six, I was feeling quite glad that I hadn’t brought four boxes after all.
I like Mel’s place. Her mum has painted it bright colours, and there are gauzy scarves hanging over all the lamps that make you feel like you are in Aladdin’s cave or something. Her mum has a thing about elephants too. They are everywhere. Little ones standing on the window sills. Big ones printed on the cushions. There’s pictures of elephants on the walls too, and – get this – even an elephant-shaped sponge in the bathroom!
“OK,” said Mel. “Let’s get ourselves a drink first. What would you like?” She walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge door. “Looks like we’ve got orange juice, or there’s Coke too.”
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