Chapter 4: The Lie They Prepared Before Prom
For several seconds after Evelyn Hart ended the call, I couldn't move.
The garment bag hung from the wardrobe door, its clear plastic cover revealing the crimson roses beneath it. They looked different now. Not less beautiful, exactly, but heavier, as though every petal carried a question I wasn't ready to answer.
My mother had designed a collection for Bellamy.
That wasn't the part I couldn't understand.
It was the accusation that she'd taken something without permission.
My mother had spent her final years teaching me to return borrowed books on time, to pay back every dollar I owed, and to apologize when I made mistakes. She'd once driven across town in a thunderstorm because she'd discovered she'd been given five dollars too much in change.
The idea that she'd stolen an entire fashion collection felt impossible.
"Lena?"" Lily asked softly.
I stared at the phone in my hand.
"She said my mother left Bellamy after a collection disappeared.""
"Maybe the collection didn't disappear. Maybe someone took it.""
I looked at her.
Lily shrugged, but her expression had sharpened.
"Think about it. Vanessa's mother calls the judges before prom and suddenly claims your dress is stolen? That's not a coincidence.""
"She could have information I don't have.""
"Then we find out what it is.""
I looked toward the hallway.
Downstairs, a cabinet slammed. Diane's voice rose, followed by Vanessa's unmistakable laugh.
My stomach tightened.
They'd already begun preparing their story.
I pulled the dress from the garment bag and laid it across my bed.
"If they want to say I stole something, I need to know exactly what they're talking about.""
Lily took out her phone.
"Then let's start with Bellamy.""
She searched for the school's archives, old exhibitions, and former student collections. Most of the results were modern promotional photographs and interviews with designers. After fifteen minutes, she found a scanned page from a fashion magazine published eighteen years earlier.
The headline read:
*YOUNG DESIGNER MARGARET CARTER REIMAGINES THE BEAUTY OF BROKEN THINGS.*
Beneath it was a photograph of my mother.
She looked barely older than I was, with her dark hair pinned up and a measuring tape draped around her neck. Beside her stood a mannequin wearing a midnight-blue gown decorated with red fabric flowers.
My breath caught.
It wasn't identical to my dress.
But it was close enough to make my knees weak.
The original gown had a sculpted bodice, a dramatic skirt, and crimson roses climbing from the waist toward one shoulder.
I leaned closer to the screen.
"That's her.""
Lily nodded.
"Definitely.""
The article described my mother as a scholarship student whose work explored transformation, memory, and the beauty hidden in damaged materials.
One sentence made my chest ache.
Margaret Carter believes discarded fabric can tell the stories people try to erase.
I touched the screen.
That was exactly what she'd taught me.
The article ended with a note that her collection had been scheduled for a major exhibition the following spring. However, the exhibition was canceled after a dispute over ownership, and Margaret Carter withdrew from the program.
There was no explanation.
No mention of theft.
No mention of misconduct.
Just a brief statement saying the matter had been resolved privately.
"Resolved privately," Lily repeated.
"That's convenient.""
I scrolled to the bottom.
There was a photograph of the original dress on a mannequin, followed by a credit line.
*Design and construction: Margaret Carter.*
My hands began to shake.
"If my mother created it, why would Diane claim our dress belongs to her family?""
"Maybe because she knows something we don't.""
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed.
A message from Dad.
*Dad: I'm sorry I had to leave early. Please don't let anyone ruin your day. I'll meet you at prom tonight.*
I typed a response, then deleted it.
How could I tell him that the family he'd built after my mother's death might have been hiding something about her?
I finally wrote:
*Me: Dad, did Mom ever tell you why she left Bellamy?*
The typing indicator appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then his response arrived.
*Dad: She said someone she trusted had taken credit for her work. She didn't want to talk about it.*
I read the message twice.
Someone she trusted.
My gaze shifted toward the hallway.
"Lily," I whispered, "what if the person who took credit for my mother's work was someone in this house?""
Before she could respond, the bedroom door flew open.
Vanessa stood there in a white silk robe, holding a printed sheet of paper.
She didn't bother knocking.
"Get away from that computer.""
Lily straightened.
"Excuse me?""
Vanessa ignored her and thrust the paper toward me.
It was a formal notice from the school's scholarship committee.
At the top, in bold letters, were the words:
*DESIGN ELIGIBILITY UNDER REVIEW.*
My name appeared beneath them.
I read the notice slowly.
A complaint had been submitted alleging that my gown incorporated designs and materials belonging to another party. Until the dispute could be resolved, the committee reserved the right to remove my entry from consideration.
My mouth went dry.
"You filed this?"" I asked.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
"Mom did.""
"Based on what?""
"Based on the fact that you're wearing something you don't own.""
"I bought the dress.""
"That's not what I'm talking about.""
She pointed at the magazine photograph on the computer.
"You think you're clever, don't you? Digging through old articles and pretending you understand something you know nothing about?""
Lily stood.
"Your mother called the judges before Lena even entered the competition. That's not exactly innocent behavior.""
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
"Nobody asked you to speak.""
"Nobody asked you to pour paint on someone else's dress, either.""
For one moment, Vanessa looked genuinely startled.
Then she recovered.
"You can't prove I did that.""
The room went quiet.
I stepped toward her.
"You keep saying that.""
"Because it's true.""
"Then why are you so worried about what I wear?""
She glanced at the gown.
Her eyes lingered on the roses.
"Because you're about to make a fool of yourself in front of everyone.""
"Maybe. But at least I'll be wearing something I made.""
Vanessa's cheeks flushed.
She snatched the printed notice from my hand.
"You have until five o'clock to withdraw. After that, the committee will make its decision.""
"And if I don't?""
She smiled without warmth.
"Then everyone will hear what your mother did.""
The threat landed harder than I'd expected.
Not because I believed it.
Because Vanessa had chosen to use my mother's memory as a weapon.
I felt my hands curl into fists.
"Get out.""
Her eyes widened.
"What?""
"Get out of my room.""
She stared at me, then at Lily, as though expecting one of us to retreat.
Neither of us moved.
Finally, Vanessa tossed the notice onto my desk.
"Fine. Wear your little costume. Just don't cry when the truth comes out.""
She slammed the door behind her.
Lily exhaled.
"I really hate her.""
I looked at the notice.
The committee would review my eligibility at five. Prom began at seven.
We had hours, not days.
"We need to talk to Evelyn in person," I said.
Lily nodded.
"And we need to find out what happened to your mother's collection.""
I carefully folded the magazine page and slipped it into my bag beside the handwritten note.
Then I looked at the dress.
For months, I'd imagined prom as a chance to stand in a room full of people and feel beautiful for once.
Now I wanted something more important.
I wanted the truth.
And somewhere in the house below me, Vanessa was preparing to make sure I never found it.
At eleven thirty, Dad called.
I answered before the second ring.
"Lena, I spoke to Diane.""
"And?""
A long silence followed.
"She says Vanessa is upset because she thinks you're trying to compete with her.""
I closed my eyes.
"That's what she said?""
"She also claims you found old sketches of your mother's and copied them without understanding their history.""
"Those sketches were in Mom's notebook. I've had them for years.""
"I know.""
"Then why are you listening to her?""
Dad sighed.
"I'm not taking anyone's side. I'm trying to understand what's happening.""
"Mom left Bellamy because someone took credit for her work. You told me that yourself.""
Another silence.
"Yes.""
"Did you ever find out who?""
"No. Your mother didn't want me involved.""
"Why?""
"I think she was afraid that if she challenged the person publicly, she'd lose more than her reputation.""
I sat on the edge of my bed.
"Do you think she stole anything?""
His answer came immediately.
"No.""
The certainty in his voice nearly broke me.
"Then help me prove it.""
"I will.""
"Can you come to prom early?""
"I'll be there.""
After we hung up, I felt a little steadier.
I wasn't alone anymore.
But as I reached for my mother's note, I noticed something I'd missed earlier.
The paper had been folded into quarters, yet a thin strip of writing extended beneath the final crease. I carefully opened the paper completely and smoothed it flat.
There was another line at the bottom, written in much smaller letters.
If the original is ever questioned, look for the second signature.
I stared at the words.
The second signature.
A signature proving ownership?
A signature proving who had made the collection?
Or something else entirely?
I turned the note over, searching for more writing.
Nothing.
Then Lily's phone chimed.
She glanced at the screen, and her face drained of color.
"What is it?"" I asked.
She turned the phone toward me.
It was a message from an unknown number.
*Tell Lena to stay away from the scholarship tonight. If she shows that dress to Evelyn Hart, she'll destroy the only good thing her mother left behind.*
A second message appeared.
*Ask Diane who signed the original collection contract.*
Lily looked at me.
I looked at the door.
For the first time, I understood that someone wasn't merely trying to stop me from winning a scholarship.
May you like
Someone was terrified that a signature would expose the truth.
And we had only until five o'clock to find it.
