La Vie En Rose

Chapter 01

“Winter break!” Alma cheered, “Fucking FINALLY!”

I looked over at my roommate and laughed. We were both in the best of moods. It was a wonderful Friday morning. Two steaming hot cups of coffee were sitting on the living room table, old Christmas tunes were playing softly on the radio and Alma and I were doing our final bag of laundry before packing our suitcases and heading home for the holidays.

It was my second year living in the city that never sleeps: New York City. When I first visited the city, I was only at the rip age of eight. It only took four days and one impressionable mind to realize that I needed to live here one day. From the busy streets and the sketchy hot dog vendors to the hustling in Time Square and Central Park, I knew this place was my calling.

You see, I am originally from Tempe, Arizona and when you’re from a quaint, ordinary town, like Tempe, you are desperate to take on bigger and better things as soon as possible. But how? What did I have to do to make it in the big city? I did a lot of brainstorming through middle school and high school, trying to figure out what could I contribute to the world. It wasn’t until a friend came crying to me in the middle of lunch period with a ripped hem bunched up in one hand and a needle and thread in her other, that I had a revelation. I could sew. Really well. I thought ‘Hey, you know what? I have a wild imagination. Maybe I can create things. Clothes. Maybe I can become a fashion designer’.

At the time, my thought process seemed a bit far-fetched. After all it was just another one of my crazy ideas (a couple of days before, I was starting to convince myself that being a drummer for a band wouldn’t be so bad...then I realized I had zero rhythm. Reality really crashes down on you. Hard.). But, boy, did I end up having more than I bargained for. Who knew a couple of weekends locked up in a bedroom with a drawing pad, a plain old pencil, stray pieces of fabric found laying around the house and a sewing kit could predict such an intricate, broad future? I was now going to Parsons, the best fashion school in Manhattan, on board with a full scholarship. I’m only a sophomore but I’m finally starting to get noticed by the public. TeenVogue has featured me in one of their issues as the ‘upcoming designer of the month’, I’ve been interviewed by Seventeen, I’ve been gaining roughly 50-100 followers daily on my Twitter (which is just outrageous to me because I tweet the most pointless things ever! I will never understand that website. Pretty sure my last tweet was something along the lines of “Just made a sandwich”.) and I’ve been offered a plethora of internships by big-time designers like Marc Jacobs (“Mr. Jacobs thinks you have great potential with your designs” his assistant told me over the phone one afternoon, “You would be a great addition to the Marc Jacobs team”) and DKNY. But I didn’t want to be an underdog. I didn’t want to be the intern who gets some pish-posh top notch designer his starbucks and run errands around the city. I wanted to work my way up to the top by myself. I knew that meant that I would have to work twice as hard but I was ready for it. I’m ready to finally get my name out there in the fashion world.

“God, was picking Fashion school as a choice of college a great idea or what?” Alma asked as she lazily folded her shirts and stacked them carelessly on the couch, “Two and a half months of no classes is just beyond wonderful.”

The first time I met Alma Kilbourne, was at orientation during the summer before I started freshman year at Parsons. We both ended up being in the same group because of our surnames and we also ended up wearing the same plaid shirt from Forever 21. The same, exact shirt.

“Well, I know one things for sure” She said after realizing our twin moment, “We’re going to become good friends. Nice shirt.”

We were inseparable ever since. Alma was the kind of friend who was easy to talk to. I could trust her with every secret I hid from the world and I knew she would bring my secrets to the grave if I asked her to. Alma is all kinds of crazies, too. With her mud-colored eyes and disheveled brown hair, she was a very outspoken girl. She scared boys away with her confidence and wasn’t afraid to call out catty, over-dramatic girls when they’re on the prowl.

“I know!” I agreed. I was now sitting on the wooden floor, with my laundry neatly set around me in sections: Shirts, underwear, bras, PJs and others, “What time is your flight to Washington again?”

“My flight departs for Olympia at 6:15pm” She responded, “How about you?”

“About seven-ish. Wanna share a cab to JFK?” I asked.
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The first chapter. Hi! I hope you liked it. I've had this story idea in my head for way too long. It's time to share it with all of you. I know this is a bit short. They get longer!

All I ask of you is patience. Things will start getting heated up soon enough. I promise! x