Carla looked delighted that I had spoken back. “Oh, this should be fun. You’re going to show up to prom in a dress made out of old jeans like some kind of charity project, and you think people are going to clap?”
Noah helped zip the back. His hands were shaking.
I said, very quietly, “I’d rather wear something made with love than something bought by stealing from kids.”
The hallway went dead silent.
Carla’s eyes changed. Then she said, “Get out of my sight before I really say what I think.”
I wore the dress anyway.
Noah helped zip the back. His hands were shaking.
I said, “Hey.”
She said she wanted to “see the disaster in person.”
“What?”
“If one person laughs, I am haunting them.”
That made him smile. “Good.”
She said she wanted to “see the disaster in person.”
I overheard her on the phone telling someone, “You have to come early. I need witnesses for this.”
The weird thing was, people didn’t laugh.
When prom night finally arrived, I saw her near the back with her phone already out.
Tessa muttered, “Your stepmom is evil.”
The weird thing was, people didn’t laugh.
They stared, but not in a bad way.
One girl from the choir said, “Wait, your dress is denim?”
Another said, “Did you buy that somewhere?”
Then his eyes moved past us and landed on Carla.
A teacher touched her chest and said, “This is beautiful.”
I was still braced for impact, though. I did not believe the room yet. Carla was watching me too hard. Like she was waiting for the exact second it would all collapse.
Then, during the student showcase part of the night, the principal stepped up to the microphone.
He did the usual speech. Thanking the staff. Telling us to be safe. Announcing awards.
Then his eyes moved past us and landed on Carla.
She actually smiled at first.
His expression changed.
He lowered the mic a little and said, “Can someone zoom the camera toward the back row? Toward that woman there?”
The cameraman adjusted. The big projection screen lit up with Carla’s face.
She actually smiled at first. She thought she was about to be part of some cute parent moment.
Then the principal said, slowly, “I know you.”
The room quieted.
I felt every hair on my arms stand up.
Carla laughed nervously. “I’m sorry?”
He stepped off the stage and walked closer, still holding the mic. “You’re Carla.”
She straightened. “Yes. And I think this is inappropriate.”
He ignored that.
He looked at me. Then, at Noah, who had come with Tessa’s mom and was standing near the wall. Then back at Carla.
“I knew their mother,” he said. “Very well.”
“This is not your business.”
I felt every hair on my arms stand up.
He kept going. “She volunteered here. She raised money here. She talked constantly about her kids. She also spoke, many times, about the money she put aside for their milestones. She wanted them protected.”
Carla’s face drained.
She said, “This is not your business.”
The principal’s voice stayed calm. “It became my business when I heard one of my students almost skipped prom because she was told there was no money for a dress.”
“You cannot accuse me of anything.”
A murmur rolled through the room.
He turned slightly and pointed toward me. “Then I heard her younger brother made one by hand from their late mother’s clothing.”
Now people were fully staring.
