A soft smile graces my lips as she begins to hum a song, and she catches it in the small makeup mirror. “There you are.”
“Here I am.”
42
SOPHIE
Sal loops her arm through mine as I approach the gymnasium doors. The late morning sun is hot on my skin, beating down through a sky so blue it almost feels insulting. It’s graduation day. I’ve made it. The cheap polyester gown clings awkwardly to my body, sticking in the humidity, and the cap feels too tight against my scalp, like it’s trying to squeeze me to death.
I’m supposed to be happy. I should be.
But underneath the fake smile on my face lies a quiet, aching hollowness I can’t seem to shake. It hums beneath my ribs, a low vibration of loss that no amount of celebration can drown out.
I’m trying, though. I really am.
Sal pulls me to a stop just before we enter, her grip firm and steadying me. She turns to face me, her perfectly molded curls bouncing slightly with the movement. “You ready?”
I nod, swallowing hard, trying to force down the lump rising in my throat. “I am. We did it.” My voice is thin. I try to fill it with enthusiasm, to rise to the occasion. But all I can think is that he should be here. That today should be something weshared. That I should’ve seen him watching from the crowd, pride in his eyes.
But he’s not. He left. So I have to make the most of it.
My family is here somewhere, packed into the crowded bleachers of the gym, fanning themselves with the programs they were handed at the door. No dinner plans, no party waiting afterward. But they showed up, and I guess that counts for something. My sister is probably grinning like an idiot, shouting my name, waving like crazy. And Sal... Sal is here, linking arms with me, grounding me. So what more could I ask for?
We step into the gym, the smell of the waxed floors and body heat hanging in the air. Folding chairs line the floor in rigid rows, every seat filled with jittery students. The buzz of conversation crackles like static electricity, and the sound system whines faintly before the ceremony starts. Sal and I find our seats, the metal cold through the fabric of my dress.
The speeches begin. A student I barely know talks aboutlegacy, and the principal stumbles through clichés about our “bright and sunny” futures, but I barely hear a word. I spend most of the time scanning the crowd, eyes flitting across unfamiliar faces, searching for one I already know won’t be there.
But hope is a tricky and mean-spirited thing. It blooms in my chest anyway, pressing sharply against my ribs. A bone-deep ache that won't go away.
They start announcing the honors students, calling out accolades with bursts of applause from the packed bleachers. I clap along, but I shrink into myself, heat creeping up my neck. That’s not me and never was, though I’m sure my parents wish differently.
Then it’s time. They call the first row to stand.
One by one, we rise. My stomach twists tighter with every step closer to the stage. I keep my eyes on my shoes, black Converse, worn down over time, like they might guide mesafely across without tripping. My palms are slick with sweat and my heart hammers behind my ribs, my pulse echoing loudly in my ears.
When my name is called, I force a deep breath into my lungs and step forward. I paste on a smile that doesn’t reflect my insides and stride across the stage with fake confidence infused into every step. The principal’s hand is dry, and too firm, his grip jerking me forward as I take the diploma folder. The flash of a camera stings my eyes. I smile wide anyway.
Then I’m walking back. One foot in front of the other, back to my seat. Back to quiet.
Sal crosses next. I cheer like an idiot for her, clapping hard enough my hands sting. She owns the stage, strutting like it’s hers, chin high and glowing. Her family erupts in cheers, whistles bouncing off the gym walls. My own family claps politely, and I pretend not to notice the difference. I love it for her. I do.
But as the last of the students walk across the stage, something in the air shifts. The hair on the back of my neck prickles, standing on end.
I feel it before I see it, that strange sensation of being watched. I whip my head around, my eyes scanning the back of the gym just in time to catch a tall figure turning toward the exit.
No way.
But it looked like him. The set of his shoulders and the way he moved.
My breath catches in my throat. My legs twitch with the urge to move, to chase, to find out. But I can’t. Not here, not now. I’m stuck in this chair, surrounded by too many witnesses, too many expectations.
I sit frozen, staring at the doors long after they’ve closed behind him.
The gym erupts around me. Cheers, laughter, a sea ofgrinning faces and caps already being tugged off heads. I smile as best I can. I'm grateful to be done. I am.
But I feel like I’m watching it all from behind a pane of glass. The world is distant and unreachable.
My heart isn’t here.
