Then he said something I’ll never forget:
“You look like someone who deserves good things.”
Prom night came.
For the first time, I didn’t feel out of place.
Not perfect.
Not rich.
Just… myself.
Until she saw me.
Mrs. Tilmot.
She looked at me like I didn’t belong there.
Then she said it, loud enough for others to hear:
“Well… if the theme was ‘cleaning out the attic,’ you nailed it.”
The room went quiet.
She didn’t stop.
“Did you really think you could compete dressed like that?”
I froze.
Then she reached toward my dress.
“My dress.”
My mother’s dress.
“Handmade pity?” she added with a laugh.
