There was one thing Celeste had not managed to take over. Aunt Ruth had spent six weeks making Amara's dress. It was a soft ivory gown with a draped shoulder, stitched partly from silk Naomi had bought years earlier for a special project she never finished. Ruth had carefully strengthened the delicate seams and added a flowing sash. The fabric was modest and graceful, nothing like the expensive dresses Celeste ordered for herself, but when Amara tried it on she recognized the faint scent of cedar from her aunt's sewing room and felt, for a moment, held by someone who understood her.
Inside the sash Ruth had sewn a tiny line in blue thread: YOU NEVER HAVE TO EARN YOUR PLACE. Those had been Naomi's words to Amara on her first day at a new school. Ruth told her that she could keep the message hidden if she preferred. Amara touched the stitches and shook her head. "I want to know it's there," she said. "Even if nobody else does."
On the morning of the party, Celeste stood in Amara's bedroom doorway and examined the dress with an expression that made the girl instantly self-conscious. "You're not wearing that," she announced. "I've arranged something appropriate."
The garment bag Celeste held contained a fitted silver gown that belonged in a magazine advertisement. Amara knew it would photograph beautifully. She also knew it did not feel like her. "Aunt Ruth made this one," she said. "From some of my mom's fabric. Dad knows."
"Your father said to let me handle the details." Celeste hung the silver dress on the wardrobe. "We have guests coming who matter to his business. This isn't a school play."
Amara kept her voice steady. "It's my birthday. I want to wear the ivory dress."
Celeste stared at her for a moment and then smiled. "Wear what you like. But don't expect me to rescue you from the consequences."
By four o'clock, the house had become a showroom. Guests entered beneath a high stone arch. Servers carried sparkling cider, and a quartet played beside a wall of flowers. Amara's friend Talia arrived in lavender, hugged her, and whispered, 'You look beautiful. You look like you.' Earlier, Amara had hidden a box of handmade scholarship envelopes under her bed, hoping to bring them downstairs when Celeste was busy.
Just before the speeches, Amara discovered the box sitting open in the service corridor. Half the envelopes were missing. The photograph of Naomi, smiling with a measuring tape around her neck, was facedown beside a trash bag. Evelyn was gathering items from the floor, her expression tight with anger. "I found these before they were taken outside," she said. "I'm sorry, baby."