“She’s not rehearsing,” Noah said quickly. “She mostly sits and sews.”
“That’s not the point, Noah.”
“I know, sir.”
“Then why encourage her to hide it?”
Noah looked up.
His voice became softer.
“Because she wanted to learn how to use her mom’s sewing machine.”
Michael stopped moving.
For a moment, he simply stared.
“What?”
Noah swallowed.
“The sewing machine in the auditorium.”
Michael looked confused.
“What sewing machine?”
“The one you donated to the school.”
Michael’s expression changed completely.
Then he whispered:
“That’s still there?”
Principal Whitaker suggested we go to the auditorium.
None of us argued.
The theater smelled faintly of paint, old curtains, and freshly cut fabric.
On one side of the stage, a large table was covered with colorful scraps, costume patterns, and spools of thread.
Beside it sat an old sewing machine.
Michael stopped in the doorway.
His hand rose slowly to his mouth.
