The Penguin Suit

• Bridie Rogers, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2022

Armand waddled down the bustling New York streets, his beady eyes set only on one building- FashionWorld. Bystanders gave him funny looks as he passed them, but Armand didn’t let that faze him. He was a penguin with a goal.
That goal was to become a famous fashion designer.
Armand tucked his wings into his side and strutted (as much as a penguin could) forward, puffing out his chest. When Armand got to the giant building dotted with windows and lights he stepped in without hesitation. Armand admired the beautiful dresses and suits fitted perfectly to mannequins.
The penguin flashed a smile at the receptionist, ignoring her confused expression.
“Im Armand,” he indicated his name-tag pinned on his suit.
“Shouldn’t you be in the zoo?” she asked skeptically. Armand twitched.
“No,” he replied. “Should you?”
She pursed her lips. “Wha-doyouwant?” she asked, her eyes glancing around as if she were unsure.Armand opened his beak then paused and rifled through his suitcase.
“What’s that?” The receptionist asked before she could stop herself.
Armand silently pulled out a cold-fabric suit.
“I made it,” he boasted. The receptionist eyed the suit with doubt, picking it up and taking it to another room.
“Our model will look at it but-“
Armand’s beady eyes shined. “Am I hired?”
She down looked at him from her hooked nose and shook her head.
“Sorry, Amanda, we don’t hire penguins. Plus, I’m not sure about that fabric you used,” she popped a piece of gum in her mouth and shrugged. Armand glared at her but didn’t argue. How could they insult him? Amanda? Not sure about the fabric? Pah!
Humans acted as if they were over racism, but they sure weren’t over…penguinism. In a huff Armand packed up his suitcase (taking care not to crinkle his suit-maybe he could sell it elsewhere…). The penguin glanced back at the receptionist who was absently clacking her jaw and typing on the computer. He pulled up his suitcase and promptly waddled out the door.
“Wait!” A man ran out, shoving his arm through a jacket-arm. Armand turned around-he almost didn’t hear through his gloom.
“Are you Cashew?” he said breathlessly.
“Almond, you mean?” Armand made a tsk tsk sound. “I’m Armand, the designer of that suit,”
The man nodded. “It’s…amazing! What’s that fabric! Are you a designer?” The man gushed. Armand felt his chest burst with pride. “Thankyou! It’s seagrass and-“
The man was interrupted by the receptionist rushing out.
“Sampson we need you at a shooting in 5 minutes!”
The man raised his eyebrows. “For this suit?”
She glared at Armand. “Mr Majern, I think you should leave that…animal. He has no design sense,” she scoffed.
Sampson patted Armand’s head. “You know what, Aleisha? I’m quitting! Bye!”
“What! You won’t get a job!” Aleisha the receptionist hissed. Sampson shrugged.
“We will,”
The man and the penguin left Aleisha spluttering and seething.
“So…” Sampson looked down at the penguin. “You like design?”
Armand nodded professionally, reaching out his wing to shake the man’s hand.