The classes at Wash Academy weren’t at all like the ones Miranda had had at her public school at home. They were small, only five or six students per room, and the teachers all seemed more attuned to what their students actually needed. There were the regular classes like math and science, and others that they called specialty classes.

Miranda was in art class that day, holding Sarabeth, remembering the stinging comments Hannah had made about her dress. Her hands sift through the different scraps of cloth, wandering.

The art teacher walks up to her. “Do you want to make a dress for your doll?”

Miranda nods.

Together, they cut a pattern, chose the cloth, and stitched together a new dress for Sarabeth. As she pulled it over the doll’s head, she knew that she would never throw away the old one. It had too much of herself in it. But perhaps, the new dress on Sarabeth would be the start of a new autobiography.