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Flora gaped at her.  “A second butterfly dress?  Was there a first one?”

“Yes.”  Astrid clapped her hands like a delighted birthday girl. “Can you imagine?  Not only will I be queen, but I’ll be in a prettier gown than the original butterfly dress.”  She laughed, beyond pleased with her cleverness.   “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“No.”  The shock on Astrid’s porcelain face, her rosy lips curled into a perfect “o,” would normally have been enough to shock Flora into silence.  Feeling her mother’s angry eyes boring into her back, Flora took a deep breath, her fingers clutching the hem of her sewing apron.  “Astrid, the Coronation is in a few weeks.  I’ve got your gown, Nate’s tux, Eleanor Nottingham’s dress and all sorts of various prom and ball gowns.  Besides, I’ve never heard of the butterfly dress.  Eleanor Nottingham never mentioned it.  Has anyone seen this dress?  Who wore it?”

“No.”  Astrid tossed her golden hair definitely.  “But no one has seen the shoes either, but everyone knows about those.”  Her ice blue eyes glittered.  “And you know with shoes like that there had to be an incredible gown.”

Flora thought of the shoes hidden in her home studio, tucked away in her butterfly garden with her own gowns, and flushed.  “I’m sure there was.  But why wouldn’t anyone have mentioned it until now?”

Astrid leaned forward, her eyes flickering towards Heather’s office, where a badly dyed blond head was craning from the doorway.  Heather jumped back, her chair slamming into the wall with a loud crack and rattling the lamp on her desk, the beaded lampshade swinging wildly. Rolling her eyes, Astrid murmured, “Can I tell you something in the strictest confidence?  Seamstress to client?”

Flora smothered a smile, her fingers kneading her apron.  “Sure.”

“Ok, my girlfriend Sierra is one of the coronation princesses.  She’s also in some of your design classes…Sierra Sampson?”

Flora stiffened.  Sierra Sampson was one of the platinum designer clones populating the fashion design program at the college, always immacuately dressed in the latest designer dress and carrying the trendiest handbag.  She was also one of the girls who relished in Flora’s humiliation whenever Professor Skippy was feeling particularly nasty in class.  A flush rose to her cheeks.   “Yes?”

“Well, anyway, Sierra said one day after class, they were looking up some designs for a project they were doing in the library when that old woman that is Professor Skippy’s assistant”–

Flora gritted her teeth.  “Mrs. Tuttlesworth.”

“Right, her.”  Astrid waved a hand languidly.  “Anyway, she came in whispering to the librarian about silver shoes with diamonds.  Well, right away Sierra perked up because, hello, diamonds?  So they overheard…”

Flora stifled a snort.  Eavesdropped, she thought bitterly.

“…They overheard the woman talking about a pair of butterfly shoes.  The whole Coronation court knows about the shoes, so Sierra was particularly intrigued.  And then they watched the woman go off with the librarian and leave, clutching a whole stack of books.  The librarian told them the books were a collection of all the society columns from old newspapers, that Professor Skippy was doing research on Coronation dresses.”  Astrid leaned back, her eyes sparkling.

Flora blinked.  “But she never said there was a butterfly dress.”

“But what else would she be looking up?” Astrid asked, blinding Flora with a perfect smile.  “And since no one has seen it or heard about it, really, mine would be the first!”  She lay her hand on Flora’s, her sky blue eyes shining.  “Oh Flora, you’ll help me, won’t you?  I mean this gown is gorgeous, and I’ll pay for it.  But I’d love to be Queen and win the prize…”  She sighed, her whole body crumpling.  “Everyone would see how fabulous your talent is, how beautiful the gown is.”

Looking down at the perfectly manicured hand draped over her pudgy, chapped hands, Flora bit her lip.  Her eyes drooped from exhaustion, her shoulders ached from hours hunched over her work table, carefully sewing on each individual bead on the hem of Astrid’s rose colored gown.  She thought of Eleanor’s gown, Mrs. Tuttlesworth’s gown for the contest, Nate’s tux and all those ball gowns… She looked up into luminous azure pools, glittering with hope.

“Sure.” Flora sighed.  “What did you have in mind?”  Pulling out her sketchbook, she flipped to a blank page.

“Oh, fabulous!”  Throwing her arms around Flora’s neck and air kissing her cheek, Astrid perched on a metal folding chair, flicking demands off one perfect nail at a time.  “I want a sweetheart neckline, a corseted waist…”

Later that evening, after three more ball gowns and a particularly bratty senior measuring for her prom dress, Flora collapsed in exhaustion at her work table.  Astrid’s sketch stared up at her and she slid it into her bag.  The last thing she wanted to see right now was more work.  She still had hours of homework to do, and tomorrow Mrs. Tuttlesworth was coming over after class and to work on her own dress for the contest.  Plus, she had to squeeze in a couple hours on Eleanor’s ball gown before class….Resting her head on her arms, she closed her weary eyes.

Something heavy and warm dropped next to her arm.  Lifting her head, Flora saw a paper bag emblazoned with the logo of her favorite Italian restaurant.  The smell of chicken fettuccine alfredo and warm garlic bread drifted intoxicatingly from the cheap paper, making her mouth water.

She eyed her mother, lingering at the end of her work table.  “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch.”  Her mother’s wounded expression made Flora only snort.  “Really?  You’ve just been working so hard…”

“Cut the crap, Mom.”  Flora leaned back, running her fingers through her greasy hair.  All she wanted was a hot bath and a good book.  “What do you want?”

Heather Oak’s lips drew into a snarl before she regained her composure, smoothing them into a sneer that might have passed for a smile on a crocodile.  “I was wondering if you could do me an itsy bitsy favor.”

Flora narrowed her eyes.  If garlic bread and chicken alfredo were involved, this had to be big.  Normally, her mother barely sprang for Whataburger.  “What kind of favor?”

“I need a dress.”

“For what?”  Flora crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes.

“For the Coronation Ball.  I want to enter the contest.”  Heather Oak’s eyes glittered.  “I want to win that prize.”

“You don’t even know what the prize is.  No one does.”

“So?”  Heather snarled.  “That doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”  She shoved the bag closer to Flora.  “So are you going to do it or not?”

“I’ll think about it.”  Flora shoved the bag back.  To Heather, eating was a contract.  Even as her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled, she pressed her lips shut.  That garlic bread could be her death sentence.

Heather hissed, her brow furrowing.  “That’s not fair.  You have to make my dress.  You work for me.”

“You make money off me,” Flora countered, rehearsing the age old argument.

“Flora, I demand you”–

“Hey Flora.”  The shop door jingled open and Nate’s dark head grinned at her.  “Ready?”

Flora blinked.  “For what?” she asked stupidly, smoothing back her grimy hair.   Of all days for Nate to stop by, of course she had to look like more of a troll than normal.

“For our date.  It’s Thursday night.  The butterfly garden, remember?”  Nate held out his hand.  “Ready?”

Ignoring her mother’s gaping stare, Flora grabbed her bag and threw her apron on the chair.  “I sure am.”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a special tribute to the Babies tomorrow and a new week of whimsy!

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