He had used seams and pockets and faded pieces in ways I never would have imagined. It looked intentional.
Sharp. Real.
I touched one panel and whispered, “You made this.” I went to bed incredibly proud of myself that night.
***
The next morning, Carla saw it hanging on my door. She stopped. Then she walked closer.
Then she burst out laughing.
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 and said, “Please tell me you are not serious.”
I said, “I’m wearing it.”
She put a hand over her chest like I had wounded her.
“If you wear that, the whole school will laugh at you.”
Noah went stiff beside me.
I said, “It’s fine.”
“No, actually, it’s not fine.” Carla waved at the dress. “It looks pathetic.”
Noah’s face went red. “I made it.”
Carla turned to him.
“You made it?”
He lifted his chin.
“Yeah.”
She smiled the way people do when they want to hurt you slowly. “That explains a lot.”
I took one step forward.
“Enough.”
