Novel & Cerita Jacob Sartorius You Can Wear My Sweatshirt

"I think I've found my one true love." One true love? At a sweatshop? That was no different than discovering trash in a trash can. I concealed the contempt on my face, replacing it with eager curiosity for the story. "What? Who is it?" Sydney looked around, ensuring no one we knew was around, then leaned over. "My manager, Mr. Walmsley." As in, the Fred Walmsley, the manager of that sweatshop? She quickly covered my mouth before a squeal could escape. "Hey, keep it down! Mr. Walmsley prefers to keep things lowkey."

He cleared his throat quietly. “Ma'am,” he said. “If you ever find yourself in need of funds… I'd suggest checking the value of what you're wearing before considering other options.” I frowned. “What do you mean?” He clasped his hands behind his back. “The shirt alone, ma'am. Custom. Single stitch. Imported fabric. It starts at forty-two thousand dollars.” A small pause. “The sweatpants are a limited edition from a private label. Twenty-eight thousand.” My mouth opened.

Expensive, expected, wrong. Instead I found mine. Cream sweaters folded exactly the way I fold them. Oversized hoodies. Worn-soft jeans. A pair of white sneakers identical to the ones I owned, down to the scuff on the left toe. My hands found a gray hoodie before my brain caught up. I lifted it without thinking, and that's when I saw it stitched into the inside collar in small silver thread. M.H. Maya Hart. I dropped it like it burned me. "No," I whispered, to no one. "No, no, no."