Since ninth grade, I’d imagined my prom dress while scrolling Instagram and saving pictures of satin and tulle. I didn’t want anything extravagant, just something simple and magical—something that made me feel like I belonged in a world where dreams could come true.

My mom, who passed away when I was 12, always said, “I want your life to have sparkle.” I liked to believe she’d be watching from heaven, seeing me in something sparkly. Ever since, I’ve been chasing sparkle like it was a finish line.

Dad remarried when I was 14, and that’s when Linda entered the picture. She carried herself with designer perfume, flawless posture, and a voice that always sounded like she knew better. Along with her came Hailey, her daughter—my age—who moved in during junior year.

We weren’t enemies, but we weren’t close either. We coexisted, like strangers sharing the same train ride in opposite directions.

When February rolled around, so did prom fever. Girls at school started group chats about dress colors and playlists. Pinterest boards were shared like treasure maps.

Even Linda caught the energy. She plastered a “Prom Planning Board” on the refrigerator like it was some kind of science fair project. It was filled with checklists: venue, nails, spray tans, shoes, hair trials, corsage etiquette.

Hailey’s name appeared in glittery purple ink, underlined in sparkle gel pen. My name? Nowhere.

I didn’t care. I was saving quietly.