All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

had been dyed far too many times. She could really use a deep-conditioning treatment.

“And what’s your name?” I asked her.

“Jasmine.”

“And what do you think? Why does what you wear matter?”

She thought for a second. “Self-expression, I guess.”

“Absolutely. And our self-expression matters because . . . ?” I paused, then made eye contact with Wren. “What do you think, Wren?”

Several girls in the class turned to look at her, and I could almost feel the way she shrank into herself. If the girl would have had a shell to hide inside, this would have been her cue.

“Maybe because it’s how we make a first impression?” she answered quietly.

“Yes, exactly.” I wanted to take the spotlight off her as quickly as I could. “Now, I’m going to need two willing participants for this next part.” I pointed to Devon, knowing he was the type who enjoyed attention. “How about you, Devon, and . . .” I was about to pick Clara for my female representative when one of the residents Silas had rewarded earlier stood up from her seat at the table.

“I’ll do it.”

I smiled. “Awesome. And you’re . . . Monica, right?”

“Yes.” The curvy girl with the thick headband holding back a cascade of gorgeous dark braids and wearing dark jeans and a jewel-tone scoop-neck blouse moved toward the front. She definitely had a sense of style.

“Great. Now, do either of you mind if I take your picture? It’ll only be used right here in this room, for the purpose of this exercise only.” I made sure to qualify that for Silas’s sake. Thankfully, a quick glance his direction confirmed he’d taken note of my disclaimer and didn’t appear to be bothered by it. He actually looked . . . intrigued?

Good. Now back to ignoring him.

I reached in my bag and took out my iPhone.

“If you can each strike a pose with your arms down at your sides and your hips squared . . . yes. Just like that.”

A catcall came from somewhere behind me and the room erupted again.

I snapped a picture of each of them, getting their approval before I plugged my phone in to my laptop and projected their images on the screen pulled over the whiteboard.

“Okay, everybody, say hi to Monica and Devon as we know them now,” I instructed.

They obeyed, the class participating in earnest, invested in the process while still unsure about what was coming up next.

I bent over my keyboard and tapped a few keys on a fashion editing app I had received a few months back in exchange for a positive review. After making a few minor adjustments to the angles and colors, I tapped the share icon.

The class gasped, and I couldn’t help but release a little cheer. Monica was now wearing a crimson power pantsuit, while Devon wore a dry-fit polo and straight leg denim jeans with canvas boat shoes.

“I’ve gotta send this picture to my mama!” Devon shouted out. “She won’t believe it’s really me!”

More laughter. Even one unfamiliar laugh coming from the back.

“Now.” I held up my hand to hush them like a true professional. “One rule is that we are not here to dis anyone’s current style of fashion, and we won’t be discussing body types or specific features at all, understood?” They nodded. “Good. Our two friends here, Monica and Devon, are simply a social experiment for us to work with. Keeping that in mind, tell me what assumptions you make when you look at this picture of Devon in his new clothes.”

No one said a thing.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” I coaxed.

“Spoiled.”

The front row chuckled.

“Okay, and?”

“Like he takes care of himself.”

“Great,” I encouraged. “What else?”

“He probably has a good job.”

“Responsible,” said one of the other guys. “A college graduate.”

Devon did another one of his seated mock bows. “Thank you, thank you.”

I pointed to Monica. “And what about Miss Monica here.”

“Rich!” Devon shouted out.

The class laughed.

“Fascinating,” I added. “What else?”

“Powerful.”

“Focused on her career.”

“She looks like a boss!”

“A leader,” said a sweet, shy voice toward the back.

Ah. I glanced up at Wren’s participation and smiled at her. “Isn’t that interesting? All those positive thoughts came from a simple outfit change on two people you already knew. It tells me that clothing, though such a simple thing to change, can create one of the most powerful judgments about us. What we wear speaks for us, whether we want it to or not. It tells a story about who we are and where we want to go. When we project an image to the world—not only to the strangers we encounter, but to our teachers, our co-workers, and even to our future employers—that image fills in the gaps of what is known and unknown, whether we want it to or not. Now,” I said, pivoting on my heel, “do you think Devon and Monica would be received well if they showed up at a real estate firm to interview for a paid internship looking like this?”

“As long as their brains can back it up,” said Sasha, Monica’s seat neighbor, with a sassy bite.

The class murmured in agreement.

“Very true. And from what I understand, it sounds like all of you have made the investment in that area. So while you’re taking big steps forward in finishing up school or achieving trade certificates and job experience,” I said, “it’s also important to keep the big picture in mind as you work to achieve the goals for the next steps in your independence. How you present yourself to the world matters. If you want to be taken seriously, then putting an extra ten minutes of thought into what you should put on your body before you sit down at an interview may have the potential to change the narrative in yourself . . . and the narrative in others, as well.”

A girl from the front, one who’d been quiet yet attentive, slipped up her hand. “Do you have more examples? Like, can we all have a turn with that app thing you used on them? Also, Silas mentioned budget tips. Do you have any tips on how and