Sky Meridian's Arc

Chapter 8 of 6

Sky finished the last seam at dawn. Eight panels held their curve on the cushion form, red flowing to violet. She stepped back and let herself breathe. The dress was done. She only had to carry it to the judging. Then the wind hit. A gust slammed the patio and yanked the silk canopy loose. One corner tore free of the frame and flapped. Cold air poured over the table. Sky ran outside barefoot. Dew already sat on the grass, and the sky was gray with more coming. The panels had no cover now. She touched the top of the yellow panel. Damp. Not soaked yet, but the glitter would smear if water reached the gel. Wet fabric would sag and drag the seams crooked. Every hour of the night could ruin in minutes. She had to move the dress somewhere dry and warm, and she had to do it before the dew climbed higher. Her own house was too small to lay the form flat, and the walk to the contest hall was long and open. She needed shelter close by, indoors, dry. She pictured the candy store two doors down, its glitter roof and lavender walls, its warm ovens running since before sunrise. The owner opened early. It was covered. It was near. Sky lifted the cushion form with both arms, dress and all, pins still holding. She hugged it to her chest and half ran across the wet grass. The torn silk trailed behind her like a cape. At the candy store, she pushed the door open with her hip. Warm air rolled out, sugar and vanilla. The owner looked up from a tray of sweets and stared. "My dress," Sky gasped. "The dew. I need a dry corner. Just for an hour." The owner waved her toward the back, near the ovens. Sky set the form down on a clear counter. Heat from the ovens washed over the panels. She spread the torn silk aside and checked each color, red through violet. The yellow was only faintly damp. She pressed a clean cloth to it and blotted. The glitter held. The gel had not run. The warm dry air pulled the moisture off the fabric while she watched. By the time the rain started outside, the dress was dry and safe. The seams stayed straight. The rainbow still wrapped the form, whole and bright. Sky leaned on the counter and laughed once, shaky. The dress had survived. But she checked the clock on the wall and her stomach dropped. Judging opened soon, and she was standing in a candy store two blocks from the hall, holding a dress pinned to a pile of couch cushions. She still had to get it off the form, onto herself, and to the judges, without wrinkling a single seam.