Page 5 of And Back
"Mr. Russo, would you care to share what's so important?" The teacher asks
"Sorry, sir. It's, um, a family emergency," I lie, already out of my seat.
"Fine. Be quick about it," he grumbles, clearly not buying it but letting me go anyway.
I step into the hallway and quickly answer the call. "Hello?"
"Good afternoon. Is this Zoe Gray?" a crisp voice asks.
"No, this is Virgilio Messina. Zoe gave my phone number in her submission for the contest."
"This is Michael Thompson, Valerie Moore's sponsor. I'm calling to arrange a meeting to discuss Ms. Gray’s attendance at Milan’s Fashion Week."
“What?” My heart leaps into my throat. "Did she win?" I can barely contain my excitement.
"The first selection, yes. She passed to the next stage of the contest. She is one of the few contestants to make it to the grand finale."
"Understood. Can you please hold for a minute?" I try to keep my cool over the phone, but I feel like I might burst with joy as I race through the crowded hallways, dodging students and ignoring curious stares. My heart pounds with every step, adrenaline pushing me to run faster.
Finally, I reach the art room. The smell of paint and the soft rustle of paper fill the air as I burst through the door.
"Zoe!" I call out, breathless from running.
The entire class looks up, but I don't care. My eyes are locked on Zoe, who sits quietly sketching at her desk. Her head snaps up at my voice, confusion clouding her features.
"You need to take this call!" I rush over and hand her my phone.
Zoe takes it hesitantly, her brow furrowed in confusion as she listens to the sponsor on the other end. I watch intently as her expression shifts—first disbelief, then joy lighting up her eyes. But just as quickly, a shadow of fear crosses her face.
CHAPTER FIVE
ZOE
Isit at my desk, pencil in hand, lost in the lines and curves of my drawing. Each stroke on the paper feels like a tiny rebellion. I used to dream of fashion shows, of the glamorous designs I once believed I could create. They are all so distant now, like a foggy memory.
Suddenly, the door bursts open with a loud bang, and it jolts me out of my reverie. Virgilio rushes in, his face flushed with excitement. "Zoe!" he calls out, his voice echoing through the classroom and causing all heads to turn.
He strides over to me, holding out his phone. "You need to take this call," he insists, breathless with urgency.
Confused and curious, I take the phone from Virgilio’s outstretched hand. "Hello?" I say into the receiver.
The voice on the other end is warm and authoritative. "Hello, is this Ms. Zoe Gray?" they ask.
"Yes," I reply, my heart beginning to race.
"Zoe, this is Michael Thompson from Valerie Moore's team. I'm calling to discuss your attendance at this year’s Milan’s Fashion Week," he announces.
My eyes widen in disbelief as his words sink in. "What... Why?" I stammer, hardly able to believe it.
"You made it to the grand finale. Valerie herself was very impressed with your designs, congratulations," Michael continues.
My eyes dart to Virgilio, who is watching me with a hopeful smile plastered on his face. He nods encouragingly as if to say, "Believe it."
The entire class falls silent, sensing the importance of this moment. The usual buzz of chatter fades into an expectant hush as everyone listens in.
"Thank you," I manage to say into the phone, my voice trembling with emotion. "This means everything to me."
Michael continues, "We will arrange for your transportation to Milan's Fashion Week. A car will pick you up and take you directly to…”