Chapter 1: The Dress Made of Memories
My stepmom ridiculed the prom dress my little brother made from our late mom's old jeans—but karma was already waiting for her.
"Spending that much money on a prom dress is completely pointless."
My stepmom said it without even glancing up from her phone.
I stood across the kitchen holding the school notice with the prom dates on it.
I'd spent the whole afternoon working up the courage to ask.
"Mom left us money for things like this," I murmured.
Carla snorted.
"We need that money for actual expenses now," she replied.
"Besides, nobody needs to watch you parade around in some expensive fairy-tale gown."
Then she tossed her new designer purse onto the counter.
The price tag was still attached.
My dad had d*ed unexpectedly from a heart attack the year before.
Ever since, Carla had controlled every cent we had—including the money my mother had saved for my younger brother and me.
That settled it.
No gown.
No prom.
I went upstairs and held back tears.
But my brother Noah had heard the entire conversation.
He was fifteen.
The previous year, he'd ended up in a sewing class because there were no spots left in woodworking.
Other boys teased him about it for months.
Afterward, he refused to mention sewing again.
Until one evening, he appeared at my bedroom door carrying a pile of Mom's old jeans.
She'd kept them for years.
"Will you trust me?" Noah asked.
For the next two weeks, he turned our kitchen into his sewing room.
What he created was beautiful.
Shades of denim blended together like fragments of memories I'd shared with Mom.
When Carla saw it on prom morning, she started laughing.
"That is the most embarrassing dress I've ever seen," she said.
"Show up wearing that, and everyone there will make fun of you."
I wore it anyway.
My little brother had made it for me.
And every scrap of fabric had once belonged to Mom.
Carla even came to prom with her phone in hand, telling other parents she couldn't wait to film my "fashion catastrophe."
But the instant I walked onto the stage, the music abruptly stopped.
The principal headed directly toward Carla and extended the microphone.
Then he gestured toward the cameraman.
"Get a close-up of this woman," he said deliberately.
"Because I'm pretty sure I recognize her..."
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What did the principal recognize — and what is Carla hiding?
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