Then she burst out laughing.
“What is that?”
“My prom dress,” I said.
“That patchwork mess?” she said.
Noah stepped into the hallway.
“I made it.”
She looked at him slowly.
“You made it?”
He lifted his chin.
“Yeah.”
She smiled in that slow, cruel way she had.
“That explains a lot.”
I stepped forward.
“Enough.”
She waved toward the dress.
“If you wear that to prom, the whole school will laugh at you.”
Noah’s face turned red.
I said quietly, “I’d rather wear something made with love than something bought by stealing from kids.”
The hallway went silent.
Carla’s expression changed.
“Get out of my sight,” she snapped.
But I wore the dress anyway.
Noah helped zip the back before we left.
