“What is that?”
I stepped into the hallway. “My prom dress.”
She laughed harder. “That patchwork mess?”
Noah came out of his room immediately.
Carla looked between us. “Please tell me you are not serious.”
“I’m wearing it,” I said.
She clutched her chest like I had offended her. “If you wear that, the whole school will laugh at you.”
Noah went stiff beside me.
I said quietly, “It’s fine.”
“No, actually, it’s not fine.” Carla gestured at the dress. “It looks pathetic.”
Noah’s face flushed red. “I made it.”
Carla turned to him. “You made it?”
He lifted his chin. “Yeah.”
She smiled—the kind of smile meant to hurt slowly. “That explains a lot.”
I stepped forward. “Enough.”
Carla looked delighted. “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?”
I answered quietly, “I’d rather wear something made with love than something bought by stealing from kids.”
The hallway fell completely silent.
Her expression shifted.
“Get out of my sight,” she said, “before I really say what I think.”
I wore the dress anyway.
Noah helped zip it up. His hands were shaking.
“Hey,” I said.
“What?”
“If one person laughs, I am haunting them.”
That made him smile. “Good.”
Carla had already announced she wanted to “see the disaster in person.”
I even overheard her on the phone earlier saying, “You have to come early. I need witnesses for this.”
When prom night arrived, I saw her near the back, already holding up her phone.
Tessa leaned in and whispered, “Your stepmom is evil.”
The strange thing was—no one laughed.
People stared, but not in a bad way.
One girl from choir said, “Wait, your dress is denim?”
Another asked, “Did you buy that somewhere?”
A teacher touched her chest and said, “This is beautiful.”
I still didn’t trust it. I kept waiting for everything to collapse.
For illustrative purposes only
Carla was watching too closely—like she was waiting for that exact moment.
Then came the student showcase.
The principal stepped up to the microphone and gave the usual speech—thanking staff, reminding us to be safe, announcing awards.
Then his gaze shifted.
He looked past us.
Right at Carla.
His expression changed.
He lowered the mic slightly. “Can someone zoom the camera toward the back row? Toward that woman there?”
The cameraman adjusted.
The big screen lit up with Carla’s face.
She actually smiled at first, thinking she was about to be part of something pleasant.
Then the principal said, slowly, “I know you.”
The room went quiet.
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 her.
He looked at me.
Then at Noah, who stood near the wall with Tessa’s mom.
Then back at Carla.
