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IN Catwalk, DEBORAH GREGORY creates a new YA series that takes her famously upbeat urban voice and combines it with the appeal of Project Runway and America’s Next Top Model. Catwalk follows Pashmina, Felinez, Angora, and Aphro, four best friends at Manhattan’s Fashion International High School who are about to enter the contest of their lives. Each year, students split up into Fashion Houses and compete to design, produce, and show fully original fashion lines. The winner gets a scholarship, a professional show, and a real shot at a career in fashion. Bouncy, smart, and nearly irresistible, Catwalk is a fierce introduction to a fashion world where fabulosity trumps waist size, and there truly is room for everyone.
IN Catwalk, DEBORAH GREGORY creates a new YA series that takes her famously upbeat urban voice and combines it with the appeal of Project Runway and America’s Next Top Model. Catwalk follows Pashmina, Felinez, Angora, and Aphro, four best friends at Manhattan’s Fashion International High School who are about to enter the contest of their lives. Each year, students split up into Fashion Houses and compete to design, produce, and show fully original fashion lines. The winner gets a scholarship, a professional show, and a real shot at a career in fashion. Bouncy, smart, and nearly irresistible, Catwalk is a fierce introduction to a fashion world where fabulosity trumps waist size, and there truly is room for everyone.
Due to publisher restrictions the library cannot purchase additional copies of this title, and we apologize if there is a long waiting list. Be sure to check for other copies, because there may be other editions available.
Due to publisher restrictions the library cannot purchase additional copies of this title, and we apologize if there is a long waiting list. Be sure to check for other copies, because there may be other editions available.
Excerpts-
From the book
1 My younger sister, Chenille, says that I prance instead of walk. I should, since my motto is Sashay, parlay! Even Fabbie Tabby knows how to work it like a cat on a hot tin ramp. You can tell by the way she prances on the heels of my bare feet as I patter down the creaky hallway to the bathroom. My mom hates when I walk around without shoes on the craggy wooden floors, but I'm feeling too wiggly this morning to be on splinter patrol. Once I hit the cold faux-marble bathroom floor, I fling open the purple paisley plastic shower curtain, swiping Fabbie Tabby in the process. "So sari," I apologize to my kitty sister, to whom I bear a striking resemblance. See, we both have the same ultraslanty hazel eyes, pushed-in nose with wide-splayed nostrils, and bushy sprout of golden auburn hair (mine on my head; hers from head to tail). The only way we differ: Fabbie has a plumpalicious hinie, which I push out of the way so I can squeeze sideways into the too-tiny shower stall, but then I stub my big toe hard on a chipped tile. Serves me right for dismissing my beloved boo. I'm feeling like a bona fried frittata today for good reason. It's my first day back to school, and now that I'm a junior I'm finally eligible to run in the most important elections in the fashion galaxy: house leaders in the annual Catwalk fashion show competition. If I don't snag one of the five highly coveted nominations, however, then I will not have a reason to survive like Gloria Gaynor. "Oh, no, not I! I will survive!" I screech along to the hyped hook of my mom's favorite disco song like it's a motivational mantra. Chenille swears that I sound like a cackling jackal. So what if I can't sing? I'm just trying to put myself on blast, okay? What I desperately need right now is a blast of hot water, because everything is about to be on like popcorn. Everything except the hot water, I realize after I turn the screeching knob and watch the pathetic dribbles sputter from the shower nozzle. "Chenille!" I scream at the top of my lungs, because now I'm feeling extra crispy. Serves me right. I can't believe I let that early-bird specialist take a shower first when I know how rickety the hot-water situation is. All you have to say are the words "broken" or "repair" and our landlord Mr. Darius's English takes a magic carpet ride to Babbleland. It doesn't matter how many times my mother complains and the repair guy futilely descends into the building's danky Tomb Raider basement. The water situation remains chilly to tepid. The truth is, that relic of a boiler needs to be replaced with a new one from this century. And despite the fancy-schmancy name of our housing complex—Amsterdam Gardens—there are merely a few wilting shrubs on the premises. Any green thumb Mr. Darius has is from counting the thick stack of Benjamins he collects monthly in rent. "Get out of here—caboose babaluse!" blasts Mr. Darius, his loud combustible rant rising from the courtyard into my second-floor bathroom window. That's precisely why we call him Big Daddy Boom behind his back. Standing over the bathroom sink, I brace myself to swipe at my underarms with a washcloth soaked in freezing cold water and dabs of Tahitian vanilla soap. If you ask me, loitering knuckleheads like the ones Mr. Darius just shooed out of the courtyard have it easy breezy: they don't have to sweat the big stuff, like entering the Wetness Protection Program or getting nominated in the most important election any budding fashionista worth her Dolce dreams could run for. Shivering, I hightail it back to my bedroom, catching a glimpse of plodding Chenille in her bedroom, already dressed in a gray polo shirt under her signature blue denim overalls and...
About the Author-
Writer, performer, and designer DEBORAH GREGORY is the award-winning author of the Cheetah Girls series. She has also been a contributing writer for Essence Magazine since 1992, winning a number of awards from the National Association of Black Journalists. Deborah Gregory earned an AAS from the Fashion Institute of Technology. She lives in New York City with her pooch, Cappuccino.
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Random House Children's Books
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