“Oh, this is great. You’re going to prom dressed in old jeans like some kind of charity project, and you think people will applaud?”
I looked straight at her.
“I’d rather wear something made with love than something bought with money stolen from kids.”
The hallway went completely silent.
Her expression hardened.
“Get out of my sight before I really say what I think.”
But I wore the dress anyway.
On prom night Ethan helped zip the back. His hands were shaking.
“Hey,” I said.
“What?”
“If someone laughs, I’m haunting them forever.”
He cracked a small smile. “Good.”
Melissa insisted on coming.
She said she “wanted to see the disaster in person.”
I even overheard her on the phone earlier saying, “Come early. You need to witness this.”
When we arrived at prom, she was already standing near the back with her phone ready.
But something strange happened.
No one laughed.
People stared, but not the way Melissa expected.
One girl from choir said, “Wait… is your dress denim?”
Another asked, “Where did you buy that?”
A teacher walked up and touched the fabric.
“This is beautiful.”
I still didn’t trust it. I kept waiting for the moment everything would fall apart.
Melissa watched me intensely, like she was waiting too.