Page 27 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

“Ethan thinks I should write about the first time I saw one of my mom’s runway shows.”

I’ve been seeing Ethan twice a week since grad applications were released. He’s helped me narrow down my options for applying, and review which schools offered the best fashion design and haute couture programs. I was applying to each fashion university in New York, as well as a few in the UK and mainland Europe. I was hesitant to apply somewhere that far, but Ethan said there was no harm in applying anyways. I was only interested in one master’s program though, and that was the one at Lazaro here in the city.

It was the only application I haven’t submitted yet. Ironically, it had the second lowest acceptance rate, second to ESMOD in Paris. Ethan got his master’s at Lazaro only two years ago, but worked in the industry throughout that time, so he had a lot of stories about working for A-list designers and celebrities.

He was also pretty cute, but it did make the backs of my knees sweaty and my cheeks flame during every conversation we had.

Not Levi-type-of-cute though.

Levi had a sharp angle in the curve of his jaw, charm in his smile, and way with words that made him different than everyone else. Whereas Ethan was attractive in the way that made you do a double take if you walked by him on the street. Not stare at him from behind his desk and wonder what it was like hold his hand from across a dinner table.

Levi was the man that women wrote their romance novels about, while guys like Ethan were shadow replicas of them in real life.

And as professional as Ethan’s work experience made him, it was like he had this high school football player ego at times.

I had a meeting with him earlier to go over the essay topics again. Jia didn’t have to ask why I didn’t go with Ethan’s idea to write about my dad.

“Give it time, it’ll come to you,” she reassured me. I didn’t argue with her because I was too defeated. Instead, I went back to my laptop, trying to figure out how I was possibly going to answer this question when I hadn’t experienced inspiration in years.

13

was it wrong of me to think of you

when you were never mine?

“If you think that skirt with those shoes makes that agood look,then it’s a good thing you’re not trying to be a stylist.”

Everyone in the room gasped—even me, which said a lot because I’ve heard themallsay something spiteful at this point.

Gabe was currently looking at Vera in disgust from behind his desk—the one that was placed at the front of the classroom by the projector, where a supermodel was projected from Gabe’s laptop. The rest of the club was seated in chairs facing Gabe at his makeshift podium, as he tried to explain why this was the best celebrity look of the week.

Vera very much did not think so.

Who would’ve thought people could get this passionate about celebrity fashion? Well, me, and everyone else attending fashion school here.

“Low-rise mini skirts are in!”Gabe shouted so passionately that he added a little hop in his stance.

“Not with those shoes they aren’t!” Vera shouted back with an unnerving level of passion.

I stood up before Gabe had a chance to leap over the desk—

we didn’t need to witness that again.

I clapped my hands like an elementary school teacher to get everyone’s attention. “Raise your hands if you think Gabe’s pick is the best look of the week.”

Daya and I counted the raised hands, but when there were none to be found, we all erupted in laughter.

“If any of you ever need help with your marketing, you can all goscrew,” Gabe huffed with frustration and a middle finger in the air, as he took his laptop and returned to his seat.

The funniest part about it was that he’d be incredibly drunk with all of them in about an hour. No one took each other too seriously once they left this room.

“That means Cassidy’s pick is the best Look of the Week!”

Everyone began collecting their things and moving their chairs back to their designated places. But as Daya and I cleaned up the snacks and shut off the projector, some of the girls’ voices rose.

As if reading my mind, Daya and I turned at the exact moment to find six of the girls at the doorway giggling.What were they looking at?

“I’m just looking for Daniella.” The muscles in my body jumped at the sound of Levi’s voice saying my name.