Sweet Victory by Sheryl Berk

made her mom’s blue eyes pop, but it was kind of old-fashioned looking—what Vogue would call “so yesterday.”
    â€œPass,” she said, and picked up another pin—this one a dazzling emerald-green clover made of Swarovski crystals. “This looks so pretty with your red hair. And four-leaf clovers are lucky.” It was only five dollars—a steal!
    â€œI love it,” her mom said, turning to the vendor. She hugged Mickey. “What would I do without you, Mickey Mouse?”
    But Mickey’s classmates were not quite as appreciative of her talents. In second grade, when she offered to give her friend Ally’s doll a makeover, she never expected the little girl to burst into tears.
    â€œYou ruined my princess!” she wailed on a playdate. “I’m telling!”
    Mickey examined her handiwork: Cinderella clearly needed a new look, so she’d given it to her. She combed her long blond hair out of its updo and gave it a swingy shoulder-length cut that resembled hers. Then she highlighted it with an orange marker. Finally, she taped on a black felt miniskirt and a red, plaid strapless top.
    â€œI think she looks pretty,” she said, trying to stop Ally’s bawling. “She could be on a magazine cover now.”
    Ally wasn’t buying it. “I want my mommy!” she screamed, until Mickey’s mom came running in and calmed her down with the promise of a glass of chocolate milk.
    â€œMickey, seriously?” her mom whispered to her. “Now I’m going to have to go buy Ally a new Cinderella doll—and I barely have enough money to pay the rent this month!”
    Mickey felt awful. She knew how hard her mom worked behind the makeup counter at Wanamaker’s Department Store—sometimes seven days a week, from opening till closing.
    â€œI’ll pay for it,” Mickey promised her. “I have money saved up in my piggy bank that Aunt Olive gave me for my birthday.”
    Her mom shook her head. “Honey, I know you were just playing, but you have to use your head.” She ruffled Mickey’s blond curls. “If something doesn’t belong to you, please don’t give it a fashion makeover.”
    It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last time that Mickey got in trouble for “redesigning.” In fourth-grade home ec class, the assignment was to sew a simple skirt to wear for the school’s spring festival. Most girls chose a pretty pastel fabric: pink, baby blue, or lavender in tiny floral prints. Mickey’s skirt was…different.
    â€œOh my!” Ms. Farrell gasped when Mickey walked into the classroom modeling it. She’d found a shiny brown python pleather and trimmed it with perfect tiny green stitches around the hemline.
    â€œIs it supposed to be a witch’s costume?” Ally asked.
    â€œNo, it’s supposed to be Mother Nature,” Mickey insisted. “It’s earthy.”
    Ms. Farrell didn’t know what to say. “It’s…very…unique,” she stammered. “Maybe we can put it up on display, and you can make another skirt that’s less, well, dramatic.”
    But Mickey was determined. “No, I’m wearing the skirt I made. I’m not going to make one that looks like everyone else’s.”
    So when they stood on the auditorium stage and sang, “A Tisket, A Tasket, I Made a May Basket,” she stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn’t that she wanted to. It was simply that she had to be herself.















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