By the end of the week, Roxie had money.

Not a lot. Not enough to fix anything major or stop Claire from selling the house. But enough to fold into the envelope under her drawer and feel like she had done something besides panic.

Four shifts at Corner Grill meant four nights of hot water, wet sleeves, aching feet, and plates that came back dirtier than they should have been allowed to.

Since she was suspended, her days felt wrong. Briarwick kept moving without her. The cheer group chat kept buzzing. Homecoming kept getting closer. Coach Miller still had not called, which probably meant he was avoiding her, avoiding a stroke, or both.

So Roxie worked. Clock in, wash dishes, keep her head down, earn cash, go home.

Then Ethan noticed.

It happened Thursday night while she was stacking plates near the dish station, sleeves damp to her elbows, hair tied up badly because her scalp still hurt when she pulled it too tight.

Ethan walked past with a tray of burger buns, stopped, and looked at her.

Roxie looked back. "What?"

"You look different."

She narrowed her eyes. "Careful."

"I’m serious."

"So am I. This is my workplace face. It comes with bleach damage and emotional decline."

"No." Ethan shifted the tray against his hip. "You look less like you’re about to stab the dishwasher."

"That’s rude."

"You’re smiling."

Roxie’s face dropped immediately. "No, I’m not."

"You were." His eyes moved to her phone on the shelf. "You were looking at your phone."

Roxie turned back to the plates too fast.

Ethan’s voice went quieter. "Prescott?"

Roxie rinsed a fork harder than necessary. "Go cook something."

"That bad?"

"That’s none of your business."

"So yes."

She turned the sprayer on too hard, and water splashed against the sink. "Ethan."

He lifted one hand and backed off. "Fine."

Roxie kept working with her face hot, because he was right. She had been smiling.

Unfortunately, embarrassingly, it was Zac.

By Friday evening, Roxie finished her shift early, washed the smell of dish soap from her hands as much as she could, changed into clean clothes in the restaurant bathroom, and took the bus to the Robinsons’ house.

It was the first time she had been back there since Zac showed up at the restaurant and made everything ugly, so when Mrs. Robinson opened the door wearing a silk robe over a half-zipped dress, Roxie already felt tense.

"Roxie, sweetheart," Mrs. Robinson said, stepping aside. "Come in."

Roxie stepped inside and held her bag against her side. "Hi, Mrs. Robinson."

Mrs. Robinson’s eyes moved over her face. The scratch near Roxie’s cheek had faded, but not enough.

"You look tired," Mrs. Robinson said.

"I’m going for mysterious."

"You’re seventeen. Mysterious usually means sleep-deprived."

Roxie’s mouth almost twitched. "Then I’m very mysterious."

Mrs. Robinson smiled, but she was still looking too closely. "Come upstairs with me. I’m almost done getting ready."

Roxie glanced toward the hallway. "I should check on Jason first."

"You don’t need to. Jason’s with Daniel. They’re in the playroom building something with blocks. I was told I’m not allowed inside unless I bring snacks."

"Sounds serious."

"Very. There were rules."

Mrs. Robinson started up the stairs, and Roxie followed her.

The primary bedroom was clean and bright. The bed was made, the lamps matched, and there were flowers near the window because apparently some people had flowers in rooms they barely used.

Then Mrs. Robinson walked into the closet.

Roxie stopped for half a second.

It was not really a closet. It was a room with shelves, lights, rows of shoes, bags in dust covers, and dresses hanging by color.

Mrs. Robinson sat at the vanity and picked up a lipstick. Roxie stayed near the doorway, hands around the strap of her bag.

Mrs. Robinson caught her in the mirror. "You can sit."

"I’m okay."

"You always say that."

Roxie stiffened.

Mrs. Robinson applied lipstick. "How are you?"

Roxie knew then. That was why she was here.

Her shoulders tightened. "Fine." Roxie looked away.

Mrs. Robinson set the lipstick down. "I heard there was trouble at school."

Roxie’s stomach dropped. "I don’t know what you heard."

"Enough."

Roxie’s face got hot. Enough could mean the fight, the suspension, Bianca, her mom, Zac, or all of it.

Mrs. Robinson turned in the chair. "Enough to know some adults should have paid attention sooner."

Roxie looked at her. She had not expected that.

Mrs. Robinson picked up mascara. "I also know you probably don’t want another adult questioning you like you’re in the office again."

"Not really."

"I figured."

Roxie watched her put on mascara and did not know what to do with Mrs. Robinson being kind without asking for a whole story.

Mrs. Robinson set the mascara down. "I want to ask you something, and you’re probably going to hate it."

Roxie’s shoulders tightened. "That is a great opening."

"How are things with that boy?"

Roxie looked down at her shoes. She remembered how Mrs. Robinson looked after that fiasco in the restaurant. "Fine."

Roxie wanted to disappear just thinking about it.

"That was a misunderstanding," she said quickly. "I’ll tell him to apologize to both of you next time."

"It’s okay." She waved her hand.

"Then why are we talking about it?"

Mrs. Robinson turned in her chair. "Because his first reaction was to assume something insulting about you."

Roxie’s mouth shut.

Mrs. Robinson did not sound angry. That made it worse.

"He was jealous," Roxie said.

"Yes," Mrs. Robinson said. "And jealousy can make people stupid."

Roxie crossed her arms. "He said sorry."

"I’m glad."

Roxie looked at her, ready to argue, but Mrs. Robinson did not look like she was arguing back.

She looked like she had already said the part that mattered.

Mrs. Robinson picked up one earring from the vanity. "I’m not saying he’s bad. I’m saying you should pay attention to what he does when he feels jealous."

Roxie looked away.

The room got quiet except for the little click of Mrs. Robinson putting her earring in.

"He didn’t say it like that," Roxie muttered.

"But you knew what he meant."

Roxie hated that she did.

Mrs. Robinson looked at her through the mirror. "You’re a good girl, Roxie. If he assumes the worst about you, that is his problem to fix. Not yours."

Roxie’s jaw tightened.

"I’m not some victim."

"What I’m saying is, you deserve better than being treated like that."

Roxie had no fast answer for that.

Mrs. Robinson turned back to her makeup, letting the conversation breathe. "Maybe he learned from it. Maybe he won’t do it again. That would be good."

Roxie stared at the floor.

Mrs. Robinson looked at her in the mirror again. "That’s all I’m saying."

Roxie hated that it was short.

She hated more that it made sense.

Mrs. Robinson turned back to the vanity and changed the subject before Roxie had to answer. "Homecoming is this week, isn’t it?"

Roxie almost sagged with relief. "Yeah."

"Do you have your dress?"

Roxie’s body went still.

She had money now, but that money was not for a dress. It was for food, bus fare, and whatever happened when Claire decided to sell the house.

"I’m going to look this weekend," Roxie said. She was not even sure she would go.

Mrs. Robinson turned around. "This weekend?"

"It’s fine."

"Homecoming is this week."

"I know."

"Most girls bought dresses weeks ago."

Roxie forced a shrug. "I like pressure."

Mrs. Robinson stared at her.

Roxie stared back.

Then Mrs. Robinson’s face softened in a way Roxie did not like.

"I’ll find something," Roxie said quickly.

"I’m sure you will."

"You’re saying that like you don’t believe me."

Mrs. Robinson’s mouth twitched. "A little."

Roxie looked away.

Mrs. Robinson was quiet for a second. Then she turned toward the back of the closet. "Wait. I might have something."

"No."

"You don’t even know what I’m going to say."

"I know the tone."

"What tone?"

"The rich-woman solution tone."

Mrs. Robinson laughed. "That is very specific."

"And accurate."

"I was going to say you can borrow a dress."

"No."

"Roxie."

"No, Mrs. Robinson."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because is not a reason."

"It is if I say it with enough attitude."

Mrs. Robinson ignored her and kept moving hangers. "We’re about the same build."

Roxie blinked. "We are not."

"We are close enough."

"You’re an adult."

"And dresses do not check IDs."

Roxie stared at her.

Mrs. Robinson pulled out a garment bag from the back of the closet and laid it across the bench in the middle of the room.

Roxie did not move.

"Mrs. Robinson," she said slowly, "I can’t."

"You can."

"I don’t want charity."

"Jovani would have a panic attack if you called this charity. This is the latest design I was supposed to use in that company dinner." She shook her head like she remembered some bad memories. "You should wear this."

Mrs. Robinson looked at her. Her smile was still there, but it was not soft now, which Roxie could handle better.

"Borrowing is not begging," Mrs. Robinson said.

Roxie hated that, mostly because she had no answer. "I don’t know."

"Wait till you see it." Mrs. Robinson unzipped the garment bag.

The dress inside was deep green. Dark emerald satin, thin straps, fitted waist, and a slit that was high enough to matter but not high enough to get her dress-coded. The beading was beautiful.

Roxie stopped breathing for a second.

"I know," she said. "Daniel never asked how much it was, and I’ll never tell." She grinned.

Roxie swallowed. "It’s too nice."

"That is the point of a dress."

"I’ll ruin it."

"No, you won’t."

"You don’t know that."

"I know you."

Roxie shut her mouth.

Mrs. Robinson lifted the dress gently from the bag and held it up. The green looked even better in the light, and Roxie hated that she wanted to touch it.

Mrs. Robinson’s eyes moved from the dress to Roxie’s hair. "With your hair, this would look beautiful."

Roxie looked away too fast.

No. She was not getting emotional because someone said she would look pretty in a borrowed dress.

"I don’t know," Roxie said.

"You don’t have to decide right now."

Roxie looked back at the dress.

Yes, she did.

Because if she waited, she would go home, open every cheap dress website, put three options in a cart, stare at the total, and close the tab. Then she would tell herself she did not care about Homecoming anyway.

Mrs. Robinson held the dress out. Roxie did not take it, but her fingers moved anyway.

"Borrow it," Mrs. Robinson said. "Wear it. Bring it back. That’s all."

Roxie looked at her. "You won’t make it weird?"

Mrs. Robinson smiled. "I make no promises. I’m a mother."

"That’s horrifying."

"It’s honest."

Roxie stared at the dress one more time. Then she reached out and touched the satin.

It was smooth under her fingers. Very expensive-feeling. Very dangerous.

Mrs. Robinson looked away on purpose, giving her a second.

Roxie noticed, and that made it harder to say no.

"Fine," Roxie said.

Mrs. Robinson’s smile widened.

"Borrow," Roxie added quickly. "Only borrow."

"Only borrow."

"And if it doesn’t fit, we never talk about it again."

"Agreed."

Roxie finally took the dress.

Mrs. Robinson turned back to the vanity and reached for her earrings. Roxie held the dress against her chest and looked into the mirror.

The green looked good against her hair.

Too good.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Roxie looked down.

Zac.

Her pulse jumped before she could stop it.

Mrs. Robinson saw it in the mirror. She did not say anything.

Roxie locked the screen without answering, but her face had already betrayed her.

Mrs. Robinson smiled.

Roxie groaned. "Please don’t."

"I said nothing."

Mrs. Robinson laughed and put in one earring.

Roxie looked back at the dress in her arms. She was still annoyed, still embarrassed, and still taking it.