Vanessa entered.
Marcus straightened.
“Mrs. Whitmore.””
Her eyes moved from him to the fabric on my table.
“What exactly is going on here?””
“I’m making my graduation gown,” I replied.
“You have already been assigned a presentation slot.””
“I know.””
“Then you should be preparing for your appearance instead of using school materials without authorization.””
Marcus folded his arms.
“The materials are allocated to final-year design students.””
“Not for unauthorized replacement garments.””
“There’s no rule against making an alternative.””
Vanessa turned toward him.
“I wasn’t speaking to you.””
“Then perhaps you should speak to the person whose work you allowed your daughter to take.””
The room went still.
Vanessa’s face tightened.
“Be very careful, Marcus.””
He didn’t move.
“I’m being careful.””
She turned back to me.
“Nia, you have a choice here.””
I kept stitching the temporary seam along the bodice.
“What choice?””
“You can stop this foolishness, attend graduation in something appropriate, and avoid turning a minor wardrobe dispute into a disciplinary matter.””
I lifted my head.
“You call a stolen gown and a slap a wardrobe dispute?””
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed.
“You are making an accusation you cannot substantiate.””
“The entire workroom saw what happened.””
“And yet no one has filed a formal report.””
Her words landed with deliberate precision.
She knew exactly how institutions protected themselves.
If no complaint existed on paper, then no wrongdoing had occurred.
If no wrongdoing had occurred, then she could continue behaving as though her authority made her untouchable.
Vanessa glanced at the emerald silk.
“Even if you finish that dress, it won’t change the fact that Brianna is the featured designer tonight.””
“I never asked you to change her position.””
“Then what are you trying to prove?””
I threaded a needle.
“That I can finish my work.””
She laughed softly.
“You think this little performance will make people take you seriously?””
“No.””
I drew the needle through the fabric.
“I think the dress will.””
For the first time, Vanessa seemed unsure what to say.
Then she leaned over my table and picked up the emerald sketch.
Her gaze lingered on the gold detailing.
“Where did you get this design?””
“I drew it.””
“When?””
“Months ago.””
She examined the signature at the bottom.
I watched her eyes move across the page.
Something flickered in her expression, but it disappeared so quickly I couldn’t identify it.
“You should be careful about submitting work that resembles another designer’s collection,” she said.
I slowly took the paper from her hand.
“It doesn’t resemble anyone else’s collection.””
“You would be surprised how often students mistake inspiration for originality.””
“Would you like to see the dated sketches?””
Her lips pressed together.
“No.””
“Then perhaps you should stop suggesting I copied something.””
Vanessa stepped away from the table.
“Finish your dress if you insist, but understand this: the panel will not reward a student who disrupts the graduation showcase.””
She walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned back.
“And Nia?””
I met her gaze.
“Do not make me regret giving you a place at this school.””
The door closed.
Marcus waited until her footsteps disappeared.
Then he looked at me.
“She’s frightened.””
“Of what?””
He glanced at the sketch.
“I’m not sure yet.””
I returned to the dress.
By 5:05, the bodice was taking shape.
The emerald silk curved around the mannequin, fitted through the waist, and opened into a skirt that would move like water.
I reinforced the inner seams with narrow strips of organza.
The gold panels came next.
I cut them into delicate arcs, allowing the embroidery to follow the contours of the bodice instead of sitting flat against it.
The design began to look alive.
Then I reached for the tin of salvaged crystals.
There weren’t enough to recreate the original pattern.
That didn’t matter anymore.
I sorted the stones by size, setting the smallest ones aside for the neckline and arranging the larger pieces along the gold embroidery.
Some had lost their settings.
Others were scratched.
I cleaned them one by one.
The broken pieces of my first gown would become the details that made the second one impossible to duplicate.
At 5:21, someone knocked.
“Nia? It’s me.””
I recognized the voice of Tessa Morgan, my closest friend at Whitmore.
I unlocked the door.
She stepped inside carrying a garment bag and a small sewing kit.
The moment she saw my cheek, her mouth fell open.
“Tell me Vanessa didn’t hit you.””
I looked down.
Tessa set the garment bag on the chair.
“She actually hit you?””
“Yes.””
“And Brianna took the gown?””
“Yes.””
Tessa closed her eyes.
“I swear, one day I’m going to say something to that woman that gets me expelled.””
“Please don’t.””
“Why not?””
“Because I need you to help me finish this dress.””
Her eyes opened.
