That made me laugh.
Carla insisted on coming to prom too.
She said she wanted to “see the disaster in person.”
When we arrived, she stood near the back with her phone ready.
I overheard her whispering to another parent that she couldn’t wait to record my “fashion failure.”
But something strange happened.
People didn’t laugh.
They stared at the dress, but not the way she expected.
“Wait,” one girl said. “Is that denim?”
Another asked, “Where did you buy it?”
A teacher walked up and touched one of the panels.
“This is beautiful,” she said.
I still didn’t relax.
Carla was watching too closely.
Like she was waiting for everything to collapse.
Then the student showcase part of the night started.
The principal stepped up to the microphone.
He thanked the teachers. Gave the usual speech.
Then his eyes moved across the crowd and stopped.
Right on Carla.
He lowered the microphone slightly.
“Can the camera zoom toward the back row?”
The projection screen lit up with her face.
She smiled at first.
She thought she was about to be part of something cute.
Then the principal said slowly,
“I know you.”
The room went quiet.
Carla laughed nervously.
“I’m sorry?”
He stepped closer.
“You’re Carla.”
She straightened.
“Yes. And I think this is inappropriate.”
He ignored her.
“I knew their mother,” he said.
He looked at me. Then at Noah.
“She volunteered here. Raised money here. And she talked constantly about the savings she left for her children. She wanted those kids protected.”
Carla’s face drained of color.
“This isn’t your business,” she snapped.
