Open My Eyes

Bonus Scene 2: Fabric from Francis

I pouted, but shook my head and buckled down to work on my econ assignment.

Iggy was right: it was my fault for switching majors. Even though economics struck me as dry and boring, it felt infinitely better compared to the headache that was pre-med. I could actually handle being a business major.

Of course, it forced my future into a black void of I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing-with-my-life. As seemed to be the case with most business majors. Or college kids in general.

Being a pediatric occupational therapist was out of the running, and that seemed to be the only certainty in my life. Everything else—I had no idea.

Sam assured me that studying business would help me in the long run with my jewelry shop and clothing alteration hobby. However, while my tinkering with necklaces and bracelets and hemlines worked great as a time-consuming hobby, I wasn't so certain it would work as a lucrative career.

Thirty minutes later, my brain turned into sludge. Slamming my homework aside, I turned on the TV. I watched cartoons until I dozed off.

__________ __________

"A lot of business majors double with communications," Mrs. Koehl said as she cleared the table. "Maybe you could minor in it or something."

I hummed. "I do do well in my communications classes."

"Oh, Angie, think outside the box." Francis peered over the headrest of the recliner. He grinned at me, eyes dazzling. His piercings caught glints of light.

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head, releasing a hefty sigh. He flung his legs over the armrests and shoved himself upright. He placed a hand on his hip, bending a knee. "Look at you."

He gestured to my outfit: a purple jumpsuit with a matching western-style side-tie and loafer shoes. I looked like the female version of Freddie (mixed with Daphne's signature color) from Scooby Doo.

I tugged at my tie. "What about me?"

"Think of a fashion design minor."

"What?" My eyes grew wide. I had always considered my sense of fashion lacking, in the politest of terms.

Since knowing Francis, he had challenged that conception. He claimed my choices were bold, daring, courageous, and original—he admitted that I had inspired several of his own designs.

"Francis, you're just saying that because you're a fashion major. Let Angie make her own decisions."

"Mom, I'm serious!" He tilted his head, smiling at me. "You have what it takes, Ang. I dunno. You should consider it."

I frowned, deep in thought. I had never considered going into fashion. But with Francis' support and insistence that I actually had good fashion sense, maybe I could seriously consider it. It could just be my minor, after all.

.

"You think it's a good idea?"

Iggy shrugged. "It's up to you, angel-cakes."

I huffed. "That's not helpful."

He chuckled, shooting me his dirty secret smirk.

"Not surprising," Francis said, waltzing into the room. Like usual, he held a pencil between his teeth and tucked a sketchbook under his arm. "But what is he trying to help you with?"