"Why is fashion important to you?"

Leni scanner over the parameters: no more than 650 words, must be grammatically correct, and due along with the rest of the application on January 1. All that just to answer one question.

She lamented how it couldn't be something simpler, like what the best material was or what was the worst colors to put together. Then again, the college game wasn't supposed to be easy. If it was, then she would have already done it (at least in theory). All Leni could say was that she was glad to be looking at it now, as opposed to the last minute. Luckily, she was lined up to take the SAT and her parents have started giving her advice (which, of course, elevated the stakes).

To get to the heart of it, Mom said, Leni was gonna have to talk about one of her least favorite subjects: herself. What was there to know, outside of a warning signaling trouble come? But aside from the obvious discomfort and her questionable writing ability, Leni didn't want to do this. Part of her application was submitting a portfolio of clothes; if she was able to substitute her essay with an additional creation, Leni would have chosen that in a heartbeat. Leni loved clothes. Making them was one of the few things she had control over.

But unfortunately, she wasn't given that option. Leni had to find a way to write this down somehow. She knew this needed to be good. No, more than good. This had to be so astounding, that it would make up for her weaknesses (her GPA, while not terrible, wasn't all that wonderful). If she couldn't make clothes, then she needed to be able to talk about them.

Knowing what needed to happen, Leni decided to start (no point in dawdling). She opened up a word document, directing her to a blank page. She stared at it for about fifteen seconds. As much as she knew about her mission, phrases didn't come so easily.

How was it that Lori was able to flow out sentence after sentence without breaking a sweat? Heck, Lucy and Lisa were practically professionals despite their young age. All her siblings had a knack for words; they just found their way out of their mouths or onto whatever piece of paper they were holding. But for her, it was hard. Really, really hard to form even one sentence, let alone something acceptable for a school.

Well, without much of a plan, Leni assumes her best course was to just type words and see what happened. And with that, she slapped her fingers on the keys.

"I like clothes becuz there nice and comfy. Like I know that every1 here likes clothes but I reely like them. I make them with my sowing masheen and I want 2 make my sisters and brother Linky happy. They want 2 b hapee and I want to make them happy. Clothes make them happy. Thats y I like making clothes."

Leni paused to examine her work. She wasn't good at math, but she knew that wasn't anywhere close to 650 words. On top of that, despite her best efforts, she knew it wasn't substantial at all. There had to be longer ways of explaining everything she just articulated in that paragraph. She kept what she had written and continued.

"I think I started liking clothes when I was 9 or so, but I don'r know. Something abowt the way they looked and the way they fellt and the way they came together just made me reely like clothes. They made me hapee and I wanted others to feel that way 2. I got a nice big sowing masheen on my 10th birthday and I use it sents I was 10. I use it all by myself and I got good at making clothes. I make clothes like dresses and surets and pants and underwhere for Linky and dresses and all sorts of fun things. And I help my sisters and Linky when they dont no what 2 where. They ask me what clothes they look good in and I say Lore looks beter in blew or say Linky looks good in oringeh. That makes them hapee 2 and I like it when they are hapee."

Well, it was kinda better (the key word was "kinda"). Leni was bewildered that she could get so many words down just by going off the top of her head.

A break was in order. Leni took out her phone and checked the latest posts by her classmates. Carol posted a "totes gorg" pic of some super old buildings. She knew Carol was smart, but being around those surroundings made her look even smarter. This one building was so old, that it had grass coming out the side of the wall. Most of the time, it would have looked weird or unkempt, but this was a special type of plant. The green was dark and rich, blending in seamlessly with the architecture.

Next, there were some of Lori's other friends. There was that one girl Whitney who took a selfie on her bed. At first, Leni thought the girl was at her house, but it turns out she had another picture attached. Taking a look at it, she saw that the nearby window revealed that the room was ten stories above the ground. Lori never mentioned Whitney living in an apartment or in the city, except that there weren't any other big buildings outside that view (there were just smaller buildings, fields, and trees).

And speaking of Lori, she had some new updates herself. It was a picture of a yummy-looking sandwich on a plate. Below the image was the caption (Chillin with my booboo Bear!) It was cute know hat those two were together. Leni was sure that if she were right there, she would have seen a big smile on her big sister's face.

Who knew college could be so much fun? Without having to wake up to her disturbances every day, Lori had more room to spread her wings. And now it was time for Leni to grant that same liberty to everyone else. They deserved it.

In that case, Leni realized how little she was accomplishing by sitting around doing nothing. This was important, after all.

Putting her phone away, Leni examined her work. Reading it over again, she realized that there was a lot more to explain. She was gonna have to write more just to fill up that word count and give some much needed answers. The question, though, was where? Answers were more difficult to produce. Leni rubbed her temples, trying to warm up her brain.

"Come on, you. Give me something. Give them something."

She poured through multiple memories, particularly of her sitting down and sewing. Leni tried to put those feelings to words. Sometimes when she was making clothes, she liked having little talks with herself. Maybe it was formulating her opinions on the most recent episode of Princess Pony. Other times, it was about a quirky or funny scene from school or just hanging around the House. It was a shame that they couldn't be included in this essay (they made the process more entertaining and less monotonous).

Monotonous? As much as Leni loved sewing, one word that summed p a lot of the process was repetitive. One side of the fabric came right after another. A lot of times, it was either a square or a stretched out square, which meant running up the side, turning the corner, and starting again. Once in a while, there would be a different shape, such as a part where the fabric bends (those were fun). Was that something these people would like to hear? It was honest and filled up the word count. It was worth a shot, she supposed.

"Sowing can b a weerd thing bcuz like its the same but different 2. There days when I make the dame shapes over and over and over again. Scuairs come 2 mined. But I also make fun shapes with circles and tryanguls and its totes fun. I go 2 the mall when I want 2 get things to make clothes. Red is a good color and blew is another color that is good. I think the only color that never looks good is brown. I cant think of any thing that looks good when its like brown and stuff. Well mayb pants look good but it has to be like lit brown not like dark brown. The word is tan i think but its ok if u have a deverent way of saying lit brown."

That seemed like enough for the moment. Besides, Leni understood the deadline was far out and she had a bunch of words written down already. Big mission or not, the urge to use the precious Internet was becoming less and less resistable. How was she gonna know what was new with Rosy Cake or Helen if she wasn't glued to her phone screen? There was no other way and she knew it.

Others would check her work anyway, her base instinct told her as she shut the computer and stowed it away under her bed.

As hard as it was for her to believe, Leni had finally finished a first draft. Checking the word count, it was 647, just under the limit. Granted, the formatting was a little sloppy, but the important thing was that the thoughts were on the page. Leni smiled at her own accomplishment. Even she had to admit that it was impressive coming up with 647 words all by herself.

Now came the uncomfortable part: getting someone to read it over. It wasn't even her idea to begin with (her English teacher highly recommended it). Leni knew what the stakes were. They were way up, past the roof and up in the sky. As much as the thought gave her jitters, Leni concluded it was for the best.

There was the teacher himself, who seemed friendly enough. Besides, he was super smart and could give her so much help, the information would pour out of her ears. Leni briefly considered it, until she realized a crucial fact. Around this time of year, he was probably super busy with school stuff. The poor thing hung had at least a hundred students to worry about, grading their homework, answering the questions, dealing with his own life (and above all else, Leni didn't have ear plugs to keep all the learning stuff inside). Leni was just gonna be a strain on that already tight schedule. And with that, she mentally crossed him off the list.

Next up were her parents. They were home quite a bit and they knew what she was doing. Surely, Mom and Dad wanted to get her out of their lives too and were willing to do anything to meet that goal. Mom would have read over the essay, told it was terrible, maybe write part of it herself, and push through a polished story that might have stood a chance. But was it worth it? Even though they were home, Mom and Dad were a lot like teachers: they had other children to deal with and time wasn't on their side.

On the other hand, what choice did she have? Lori was gone now and wouldn't be back until Thanksgiving. Sure she could have waited until then, but this would have been an unpleasant task to force upon her big sister after such a long time away. It was like, "Happy Thanksgiving. I'd love to hear all about your fun stories, but here's a bunch of stuff that's all about me."

None of her siblings were really an option either. Leni assumes that none of them had any interest. Luna would rather write a new song, Luan a comedy routine. Linky was too precious to lay all this girly stuff on him. The list went on.

The only other person she could have picked was Helen. Sweet, gentle Helen. Leni had already asked so much out of her friend. She was a real trooper for putting up with Leni's antics days in and day out, whether it was listening to her rambles about clothes or being forced to agree with her on Princess Pony. Leni didn't need to press all these words about clothes on her. On top of that, Helen was most likely thinking about college herself (Leni, of course, always forgot to ask her about it). If she was gonna guess, then Helen wasn't gonna go for fashion. To be forced to read this terrible essay wouldhave been both boring and insulting at the same time. So much for being a good friend.

No wonder this was a tough situation. After considering every angle, Leni knew that she couldn't submit her terrible essay without the help of one of these people. The only problem was that none of them deserved to be met with the heavy obligation. What was she to do?

Maybe she could try reading it herself. If the problem was her being lazy, then maybe she could start pulling a little weight herself. It wasn't like Leni had anything else do right then.

Scrolling back to the top of the document, Leni found the first word. Here went, nothing she said as she began. As Leni read the opening paragraph, she became distracted by those squiggly red lines. She didn't put those there (or at least she didn't intend to). If she sent this to the schools, would they also see them. That shade of bold red was a strong color to go with the black, but the white paper surrounding it all created a mixed complexion. In some elements, it was gross. While white usually served as a nice contrast for black, the intermediate color (red) established that it wasn't supposed to create that particular effect. Not only was the color scheme unpleasant, but its message was confused.

Leni knew she had to get rid of them. She checked some of the formatting options, but none of them had ways to get rid of (or make, for that matter) these red lines. Where did they come from? Why was it over "becuz" but not "like"? Maybe if she clicked on the word in question she would get an answer.

Leni somehow managed to highlight one of the red words and right-clicked. Another word popped up in a bold bubble beside the original word. It sounded a lot like "becuz", but it was spelt differently ("because"). Was that it?

She clicked on the bold word, causing it to vanish. As Leni reeled back from the sudden action, she slowly noticed some other changes. The word "becuz" had changed to "because" and that disastrous red line was gone.

Then it hit her. That first word sounded a lot like the bold word. As it turned out, all those red lines were indications of spelling errors. Rather than fixing the word for her, it left behind that ugly mark, tempting her to look into the matter. As this realization settled over her, memories seeped their way to the surface, minute circumstances of her being told how to use the word processor. Leni should have known that the red lines were a feature, one that was a tool for even the most perfect of users (such as Lori).

As it turned out, the first task for her was to make the paper appear beautiful. After all, how was she ever gonna get into fashion school if she couldn't give anything an attractive presentation. Leni scanned the document for all the words with red lines (which was too many for her to be proud of). It was a word, followed by the correction, and then a click to change it. No, she came to discover, it wasn't good to use the number when saying words that sounded like "one" or "two". Just because a word sounded a certain way didn't mean it was spelt that way (English was an unforgiving beast).

"I can't you believe you were gonna ask someone to do this for you."

Leni wasn't in the mood to hear that right now. Couldn't she correct herselffor once without getting so critical? It wasn't like she enjoyed being reminded of her problems. As selfish as she was, the bitter taste that voice gave was unbearable. When would it just end?

"You need me. If I don't tell you about this stuff, no one will. You're gonna forget and mess up even worse. And without me, you wouldn't even feel sorry for what you've done."

She sighed. It was all too true. Leni couldn't think of a single instance where she has remembered anything without someone else telling her. She probably would have been worse without that voice. Her voice was the best guardian out there, the entity that opened her eyes to the world. No one else would ever tell her how untalented, unlikeable, an unbearable she was. Politeness was a burden enough for her victims.

With that "pointless" (as her overblown ego put it) exercise out of the way, Leni forged ahead, fixing her mistakes one at a time. On a few of the words, she read through the correct spelling several times over, in the hope that she could eventually learn it. It was the least she could do.

Eventually, all the spelling mistakes were resolved, leaving behind a black and white document. Leni took a deep breath reveling in her progress. She was definitely into something. Her phone passed her mind. Was it time for another break? There were so many words that she must have deserved a minute or two (checking what site remained to be seen).

Her hand moved automatically. Before she could count to three, Leni had already gotten past the lock screen on her phone. She got onto Google and stared at the blank bar. Now that she had this special tool, what was she gonna do? Did Leni even have a plan on what site to go on? Maybe there was a friend on social media she could check up on. Maybe there were some cute blogs just waiting to be discovered. Or there was the chance that a new fanfic had been uploaded.

And yet despite having all these websites in her mind, Leni's fingers didn't move. For whatever reason, her eyes were glued to the blank white search bar underneath the "Google" logo. She knew she had the interest, so what was the holdup?

Going purely off instinct, Leni typed in "fashion blogs". Thousands of links popped up on her phone, cute blue lines that she could pursue. One of them was called Stitching it Together. That one sounds fun. There was another one called Beauty Quern's Court. Sure that was a little snooty, but surely the writer was a nice person.

"You know you have to be working."

Leni knew. All she needed was to click on one of them and read just a single post. That wasn't gonna be hard. She was gonna restrict herself.

She went to the Stitchng it Together blog. The home page was flooded with a massive gallery of dresses, presumably all made by the same person. Leni's eyes widened at the diversity and abundance of this wardrobe. The fabric had to havecost at least $30 a roll, not to mention the top-of-the-line sequins (which even in the day popped out like the brightest stars in the night sky). This was excellent work. Now she had to read an article.

The most recent post concerned an encounter the author had at the mall. Leni didn't quite catch her name (nor where she lived), but she nonetheless envisioned the Royal Woods Mall, painting the faces and surroundings with her familiar background.

This was gonna be the only article she read. And then it was back to work, no ifs. Anyway, the author ran into a girl she apparently has had a history with. Leni was able to understand every word being used, which miraculously also allowed her to get the gist of the story. From what Leni could gather, the author spotted a totes cute red dress (which she was kind enough to provide a picture of). But as it turned out, there was only one left and this girl was getting a little too close to it. The author took the hint (even though Leni couldn't).

The author practically sprinted towards the dress. As she picked up the pace, she spotted her rival looking at her, compelling her to speed up. It was a heart pounding endeavor. Leni gripped her hands on the screen, desperate to know who would prevail in this dramatic battle. She cheered for the author while ridiculing the rival (why that other girl was bad remained a mystery). In the end, it was the author who snatched the dress, beating her opponent by a narrow margin. The closeness wasn't daunting at all; the author took great pride in rubbing her victory in that other girl's face. After all, that would show her.

As Leni scrolled to the bottom of the page, she spotted a sentence underlined, reading "I Did the Impossible: I Made Brown Fabulous!"

She didn't know what to say. That was something Leni didn't know and a mission she had been dying to accomplish. She knew what this meant. She couldn't back down from having a fashion enlightenment. Besides, she quickly discovered other links beside this groundbreaking story. It was then that Leni realized she had a lot of reading ahead of her.

"Hi Leni," Mom said as she popped into the living room. It was just a day of nothing. Somehow, Leni found herself downstairs with her laptop for a reason she couldn't remember.

"Hey Mom," she replied. This was the best of the story, the one where the author finally got the sequins to stick on (nothing some durable thread couldn't fix. She smiled, widening her mouth.

"I meant to ask you. How's your essay coming along?"

"It's done."

No it wasn't. She had the appropriate number of words, but she knew the quality was questionable at best. Leni wanted to resolve this issue at some point, to transform the material into something extraordinary, the special kicker that was gonna get her into some place.

One more article, she kept telling herself, and then it was back to work. This author was fun to read, but she was also a great writer. She had a flow and vocabulary that clicked with her, put her in the Mall alongside her. It was like the dresses she described were really in the room, where she knew how they looked and felt.

"Did you want me to check it out?" Mom asked.

"Sure."

Leni instinctively closed the blog, leaving only the essay behind. Mom approached her and sat on the couch. Seeing her parent in close proximity, she handed the laptop to her.

And then it hit her like a ton of bricks. She made a promise. Mom wasn't supposed to be taking time for this. Leni knew she was stupid, but this was insane. She couldn't even remember her own promise, not even bothering to put effort into remembering. What a disgrace, she thought to herself.

"Like, don't you have other things right now?" Leni asked nervously.

"Not really. I've just been sitting around, relaxing," she answered calmly.

She was on a roll.

Leni, of course, knew better than that. Mom had better things to do; anything other than this would have been better. Deep down, Mom loathed this obligation. She was silently agonizing through every word, her perfect mind struggling to comprehend the whiny nonsense before her. Leni was too scared to look at her, her eyes selfishly seeking solace on the carpet. She wanted to scream, to tell her mother that she didn't need to suffer like this. Why couldn't she see? Why did Mom feel the need to hide her distress from her?

But Leni couldn't muster the courage to tell her that. And even if she did, Leni realized that her Mom would have continued. It was her way of punishing. Rather than excoriate her for the injustice, Mom would have continued down the path, tightening her face and body to keep the pain inside. Leni was forced to sit through the suffering. It was like watching a scary movie: the sights were horrifying and the wrong was inherent, but the observer had no control over the victim's fate.

At one point, Leni clenched her hands together. She deluded herself into think that if she squeezed hard enough, Mom would decide to get up and leave. Who cares how hard it was to squeeze beyond a certain point? All that mattered was that her loved one would be free, away from the obligation. Then again, seventeen years was a long time to be in captivity. What if she convinced herself that this was her lot in life?

"Well honey," Mom eventually said. Leni's eyes perked up. This was the moment of truth, "You're off to a good start, but we can work to make it better."

"In other words, terrible."

"Okay...like, what did you see?" Leni asked pensively. She was determined to keep her hands clenched. They were her one safety net against the storm she knew was looming.

"So this is about why you love fashion," Mom said, turning the laptop towards her. Leni stiffly leaned in to see her words, "but throughout your essay, there are times when you talk about other things," she then pointed to one particular excerpt, "here, you write about the color brown. I think it's great you have things to say about the color brown, but it doesn't answer the question 'Why is fashion important to you'."

Just as she thought, Mom was annoyed with the essay. Maybe this was the moment to let her go, that she shouldn't continue with this tedious process. It was gonna be like pulling teeth (painful, damaging, and pointless). Mom was certainly heading down a path that would have only ended in misery.

"I'm sorry," Leni said, gripping her hands even more. By then, they were starting to become as white as chalk.

"Leni," Mom said, her voice sounding like she was concerned (now she was trapped even deeper), "you don't have to apologize for that," (yes she did), "I'm here to help you and I think there's some good things in her. Look," she then scrolled down to a different part of the essay, "here, you talk about you like making other people happy. That's a great reason and I think you should talk more about that."

Leni perked her chin.

"You think so?"

"I do," Mom replied with a smile (she must have caught a tear in Leni's facade).

The two stared silently at each other. For a few moments, Leni was unsure whether she was supposed to speak or if her Mom was trying to formulate her next thoughts. Maybe it was a good thing, but it was uncomfortable to say the least. Why was she looking at her with those pitiful eyes? Poor Mom didn't need to torture herself like this, unless Leni already forgot what this was all about (pretty typical of her).

In the end, it was Mom who broke the silence.

"I know. Why don't you write about the Fashion Club in your essay?" Mom said, "those kids at Bartholomew's Helpers are happy because of the things you've done for them."

That was a good question, Leni thought. The past four years have been dedicated to raising money for these kids in need, those who deserve a shot. She never stopped, always pushing to see how her events could raise more money to buy talking pieces of plastic, people like Maddy, and books to read. It was an attractive concept.

"Can I have it?" Leni asked (just as she remembered the forgotten 'please').

Mom obliged and handed over the laptop. Hitting the 'Enter' button, Leni proceeded to type.

"I werk on a fashin klub at my school. Every yeer we have like two shows where everyone puts on nice dresses and walks on the stage and stuff. They smile when they go on and that makes them hapee. And peeple in the seets clap and give us monee and r hapee to see all the nice dresses. That makes me hapee to. And then we take the monee we make at the show and give all of it to a specul skool where kids have that thing I also have but they dont get the same stuff I did when I was a kid. Its not right. I feel like all those kids shod talk and have frends and no who they r."

Leni paused. Did she really want to go down this path? For all the zeal she had towards the Club's efforts, she never stopped to think about one aspect. What if someone like her grew up only to perceive themselves as terrible? Of course, there was nothing wrong with them; all the students at Bartholomew's Helpers had far more potential than she could ever hope for. But more services means more awareness, which could paint one's mistakes a darker shade of black.

On the other hand, though, these kids were different. All they needed was a little push to make them realize their greatness. Right?

After all, Leni was always broken. All Mom and Dad had to do was help her discover that. Now, it was up to her to take matters into her own hands, to minimize her disruption. Hopefully, each of the kids the Club paid for would grow up to be happy and carry no shame for who they are. Leni wasn't about to guilt any of them into thinking they're less than who they are. Maybe her program was for the good after all.

As for Mom and Dad, Leni felt that this was appropriate to leave in the essay. It would increase the chances of her getting in, which meant freedom for all her loved ones. It had to be done.

"Here you go," Leni said cheerfully, handing the laptop back over. She stared at her mother as she accepted the device and scanned over the draft. Leni hoped that she would like it. She had to impress her somehow.

Luckily (or unfortunately), Mom was a quick reader. Her expression softened as her eyes continued moving across the screen. That had to mean something. Then again, it was selfish to indulge in wishful thinking (silly Leni).

And then Mom turned to her. What would she say? The moment was here. The quicker Leni settles the chaotic noise in her brain, the sooner she would understand.

"That's pretty good," Mom said. Her lips appeared to be curled upwards, although they were too low to discern an expression. In the moment, though, Leni caved in and told herself it was a smile. After the last few minutes of hearing silliness, all she wanted was a little relief, "We'll have to work on the spelling, but the message is there. Good job!"

Leni was tempted to give a hug. Those words did feel nice and it would have been especially nice to show a little gratitude. After all, what type of "nice girl" didn't give hugs like candy? Parts of her unwound (even if others felt tight) as she tried accepting the supposed compliment.

But it took a great deal of restraint to remind herself of the mission. This wasn't about Leni gorging her disgusting self with faint praise. She wasn't a better person for doing this. It was too late for her to improve herself and she had to accept that. If anything, Leni had to thank Mom more for (once again) helping her. If it all worked out, the real prize would eventually be worked out. Leni felt it could be done, that she wouldn't be left to drag everyone else down forever.

With that said, though, Leni still left behind a little smile of her own. After all, she wasn't completely down. And besides, she was still prone to caving into receiving "praise".

"Thanks," Leni said gently. And yet, behind those soft eyes was a perpetual reminder of what was supposed to happen next.