“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“I need Hazel's measurements.”
I blinked.
“My daughter's measurements?”
He nodded.
“Prom is in eleven days.”
“I know.”
“I can make her dress.”
I stared at him.
“You can what?”
“I can make her dress.”
“Eli, have you ever made a dress before?”
He looked embarrassed.
“No.”
“Have you ever sewn anything?”
“A pillow.”
I almost smiled.
“A pillow?”
“It was a good pillow.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then I noticed how serious he was.
“Why are you doing this?”
Eli looked toward the stairs.
“Because Hazel thinks she doesn't belong there.”
He paused.
“And she does.”
I didn't know what to say.
He took a breath.
“I've been watching tutorials. I have patterns. I found fabric. My grandmother has an old sewing machine.”
“Eli…”
“I know I'm seventeen. I know it sounds crazy. But I have eleven days.”
He looked directly at me.
“I just need you to trust me.”
I should have said no.
I should have told him it was impossible.
Instead, I heard myself ask:
“What measurements do you need?”
His shoulders relaxed.
“All of them.”
“And Hazel can't know?”
He shook his head quickly.
“Please don't tell her. If she knows and it doesn't work, she'll blame herself.”
That sentence broke my heart.
So I agreed.
For the next eleven nights, Eli worked.
Every evening, after dinner, he disappeared into his room.
His bedroom light stayed on long after the rest of the house went dark.
Midnight.
One o'clock.