Sincerely,
D. Spencer
I read it twice to make sure I understand what it says. The coach who ran our class said he would turn all the forms in to the school. I guess mine got lost somehow—but is this missing form holding my degree hostage? I’m the salutatorian of our class. I have taken seven AP classes. The reason I even took off-campus PE was because that was the only way I could make my schedule work with all the other classes I wanted on my transcript. My choices were golf or tennis, and even though Charlie insisted that I wasn’t coordinated enough for either, I agreed with him that I would stink at tennis but I could handle golf since it involved less running.
Today is May 8th, so Mr. Spencer has given me a week from tomorrow to clear this up.It’s just a mistake, it’s just a mistake,I chant in my head.
“Olivia?” Nonna asks.
I snap to attention.
Charlie leans in close. “Favorite club,” he whispers.
I draw a blank. The past four years fade away now that I can’t think past the e-mail.
“It’s probably same as mine,” Charlie blurts out.
Tilting my head toward him, I glance at his paper.
Ping-Pong Club
I didn’t even know we had one of those, but I nod and say, “Yes, so fun.”
My eyes go back to Mr. Spencer’s e-mail. My chest starts to feel tight and my breath comes a little quicker.
“Next question!” Nonna announces.
“We need to speed this along,” Uncle Charles says. “Or we’ll be eating this food for breakfast.”
Uncle Marcus yells, “Match!”
Nonna looks at me, completely ignoring two of her sons. “Let’s start with Olivia and go back around the opposite way this time.”
I read the next question aloud. “Where do you see yourself living in ten years?”
In my head, my answer is:In a cardboard box because I’m jobless and homeless because I never graduated high school.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “Undecided.”
A chorus of matches echoes through the room, even though almost everyone who says that ended up right back here in Shreveport, only a few blocks from this very house.
There are twenty more questions and I’m not sure I can face answering them in this room.
“I don’t feel so good,” I whisper, but it’s loud enough for Nonna to hear.
Concern washes across her face. “What’s wrong?”
I shrug. “Not sure. I feel sick.”
Grabbing my paper, I push back from the table and weave through the crowd toward the back door.
“We lost one. Does that mean we’re done and can eat?” Uncle Sal asks.
I’m racing down the driveway, but I stop short when I see someone on Nonna’s front porch.
Leo.
He’s sitting on the steps, looking at his phone, but stands when he sees me.
