After Prom
When we got home, Carla was waiting.
“You think you won? You made me look like a monster.”
I said, “You did that yourself.”
She turned on Noah. “And you. Little sneaky freak with your sewing project.”
For the first time in a year, Noah didn’t go quiet.
“Don’t call me that,” he said. His voice shook, but he pressed on. “You mocked everything—Mom, Dad, me for sewing, her for wanting one normal night. You take and take and act offended when anyone notices.”
A knock interrupted. It was the attorney and Tessa’s mom.
“Given tonight’s statements and prior concerns,” the attorney said, “these children will not be left alone without support while the court reviews guardianship and the funds.”
Three weeks later, Noah and I moved in with our aunt. Two months later, Carla lost control of the money.
The dress now hangs in my closet. Sometimes I touch the seams.
Noah was invited to a summer design program after a teacher sent photos to a local arts director. He pretended to be annoyed for a day, but I caught him smiling at the acceptance email.
Carla wanted everyone to laugh at me. Instead, it was the first time people truly saw us.
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