HIM

c h a p t e r 69: Surprise, Surprise!

Beverly

"Go! Go!" I hurriedly yell as the models—girls my age group— form a straight line, walking out one after another in utmost composure, strutting elegantly and showcasing the cloth designs on the runway.

"Alero, I want the glitter on her eyes to give! It's not giving," I tell the makeup artist who's leaving final touches on the face of the last model on the line.

"Okay, ma. I'm doing it. She's almost ready,"

Today everything must go right! In about six minutes, I'll be going out there on the runway, in the presence of top fashion names, personnel, and media houses to round up the biggest fashion show of the year. This is what I've prepared for these past weeks with sleepless nights, barely focusing on school, almost failing some tests... God! I'm nervous, my hands are shaking and my legs are almost wobbling, and let's not even talk about my breathing which keeps changing rhythm.

Being backstage, my anxiety is raising the roof. I look like everything's fine on the outside but on the inside, I'm screaming. I move to the curtains and peep through it, trying to see if I can catch the faces of the people sitting in the audience, but I'm blinded by the flashes of different cameras positioned at different angles, so, I quickly step away from the curtains and occupy a free director chair, trying to calm my anxiety.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Everyone I hold dear is out there (except my parents who are home watching me on TV) waiting for me to walk out in my special design and finally wrap up the show for the night and the thought makes me calm. I've worked hard for this and I'm proud.

"Beverly, you're up next. You and Mr. Adams are taking the last walk," The director informs and I spring up from the chair, adjust my dress and walk up to Mr. Adams, a white man in his late thirties who has solely been in charge of bringing my designs to life, in other words, my backbone throughout this whole process.

"Are you ready?" He asks, his Australian accent evident in each word as he takes my right hand in his, set to go out there and do a few bowing and speeches.

"Yes, I am," I reply, looking up at him and returning his charming smile.

When the models start to return backstage, Mr. Adams and I walk out hand-in-hand and the audience begins to cheer and applaud causing my face to give in to an uncontrolled grin. My stomach is filled with joy seeing that something I've dreamt of all my life is right in front of me.

Zayyad

Watching her walk out from backstage in a beige-coloured flowing bodycon dress adorned in rhinestones which shines as light in the room reflects on it, my jaw drops. Her hair is in a ponytail which gives her face a different look because her round eyes are now slightly slanted, her feet perfectly fits in the white ankle strap stiletto that makes each step she takes, elegant; the thigh-length slit on the dress makes everything hotter; I'm in awe of this woman all over again and looking at her beautiful face as she grins uncontrollably, I want to get up from this seat and kiss her.

"Calm down, do you want to swallow her?" Seun says as he applauds alongside me.

"Look at her," I dreamily say with a grin.

"I am," He chuckles.

"She's perfect,"

"Don't make me throw up. You're so cringe,"

"Try to be accepting love once in a while abeg,"

It wasn't difficult amending our friendship, yes, there was an apology and a heartfelt conversation but it wasn't all tension-filled. He knew how bad I wanted to see her after that phone call and he was kind enough to invite me to this fashion show.