“I am sorry, though.”
I studied her.
Maybe she meant it.
Maybe she didn’t.
Grandpa’s words returned to me.
I hope life teaches them gently.
I nodded once.
“Okay.”
That was all.
I didn’t forgive years of cruelty in a hallway.
But I didn’t need to carry the moment any further either.
Madison stepped aside.
Caleb offered me his hand again.
This time I took it.
We walked back into the ballroom together.
Everyone stared.
For one terrifying second, I nearly turned around again.
Then someone started clapping.
One person.
Then another.
Then dozens.
Soon the entire room was applauding.
My cheeks burned.
I wanted to disappear.
Caleb leaned toward me.
“For the record, I didn’t plan this part.”
“I hate you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
For the first time since Grandpa died, the sound didn’t feel wrong.
The DJ slowly restarted the music.
People returned to dancing.
Caleb led me toward the center of the floor.
“I should warn you,” I said, “I can’t dance.”
“Perfect.”
“Why?”
“Neither can I.”
“That cannot possibly be true.”
“It absolutely is.”
Thirty seconds later, he stepped on my foot.
I stared at him.
“You weren’t kidding.”
“Nope.”
Grandpa would have loved this.
The thought hurt.
But for once, the hurt came with something warm beside it.
I looked down at the dress.
The stitching wasn’t perfectly straight.
One seam near my waist curved slightly.
The left sleeve really was different from the right.
I’d never noticed before.
Now those imperfections felt precious.
They were proof of his hands.
Proof of evenings spent under lamplight.
Proof that somebody had loved me enough to give away hours of his life without asking for anything in return.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Caleb misunderstood.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
He smiled.
We danced until the song ended.
Then another began.
And another.
Eventually I went to the restroom to fix my makeup.
When I returned, Caleb was waiting near our table.
But something had changed.
His face had gone pale.
“What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
He was staring at my dress.
“What?”
“Nora…”
“What?”
He pointed toward my waist.
“Your seam.”
I looked down.
The curved seam I’d noticed earlier had started coming loose.
“Oh no.”
A tiny section of thread dangled from the fabric.
“Grandpa must’ve missed it.”
Caleb crouched slightly.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“That isn’t a normal seam.”
I frowned.
He carefully touched the loose section without pulling it.
“There are two layers here.”
“So?”
“So there’s something between them.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“I can feel something.”
We hurried into the empty hallway.
I found a small pair of scissors in the emergency sewing kit the school had placed near the restroom.
My hands shook.
“Should I cut it?”
Caleb looked uncertain.
“It might damage the dress.”
I thought of Grandpa.
Then of the strange curve in the stitching.
He wasn’t a skilled tailor.
But he’d been meticulous.
He’d ripped out an entire zipper because it wasn’t straight.
Why would he leave one seam strangely curved?
Unless he’d meant to.
I carefully snipped one thread.
Then another.
The fabric opened.
Something slipped into my hand.
A tiny brass key.
Caleb stared at it.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
Attached to the key was a small paper tag.
Three words were written on it.
Miller’s. Locker 17.
My pulse raced.
“The hardware store?”
Caleb nodded slowly.
“There are employee lockers in the basement.”
“Did Grandpa have one?”
“Yeah.”
“Number seventeen?”
“I don’t know.”
I closed my fingers around the key.
Suddenly Grandpa’s letter felt heavier in my pocket.
We left prom twenty minutes later.
Maybe that sounds ridiculous.
Maybe I should have stayed.
But nothing in that ballroom mattered anymore.
Caleb drove.
Miller’s Hardware was closed, but Caleb had an employee key for the side entrance.
“We could get fired for this,” he whispered.
“You’re seventeen.”
“Exactly. This job represents nearly my entire net worth.”
I almost smiled.
We entered.
The store was eerie in darkness.
Rows of tools stretched into shadow.
Caleb turned on his phone flashlight and led me downstairs.
The employee lockers lined the basement wall.
11.
12.
13.
My heartbeat accelerated.
14.
15.
16.
Then—
17.
A faded name sticker was still attached.
JACK HARPER.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
