“Wait here.”
It was early evening, the campus quiet, but the admin building was bustling with teachers and counselors finalizing graduation requirements and paperwork.
I stormed to the records office and threw open the door. “I need my diploma. Now.”
Ms. Reed, the records secretary, peered at me through half-moon glasses. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want my diploma. Or whatever record that proves I’ve graduated.” I smiled, showing all my teeth. “Please.”
“Name?”
“Holden Parish.”
“Well, Mr. Parish, I hate to disappoint you, but we mail those out the week after the ceremony—”
“I’m not walking in the ceremony. I’m leaving town.”
“We will mail it to you. That is standard.”
I clenched my teeth. “I won’t have an address. I’ll be…backpacking across Europe.”
I heard that was something normal people did. And I wasn’t lying about being in Europe, so I had that going for me.
Ms. Reed arched a dubious brow. “I can’t release these records to you, but if you’re going to be at a different address than what we currently have on file, give it to me, and I will make sure it’s sent there as fast as possible.”
“Fine.” I fished in my coat pocket for my wallet. I pulled out the card of my family’s lawyer, Albert Bernard, and wrote my name on the back. “This is who you send it to. His office in Paris.”
Ms. Reed took the card and peered at it.
“You got that? Albert Bernard. Paris.”
“I can read, dear,” Ms. Reed said, then smiled thinly. “I’ll see that he gets it.”
“Thank you. You’ve been a huge help,” I muttered bitterly and stormed out.
I was nearly free when Ms. Watkins’s voice sounded from behind me.
“Holden? Holden, wait—”
I walked faster, but the woman was persistent; her heels clopped on the sidewalk as I strode back to the parking lot.
“Holden, please.”
I ground out a curse and whirled around. “What is it? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“I never heard back from you about pursuing a degree at the university.”
“Something else has come up.”
“You mean you’re running away.” She cocked her head, concern painted all over her face. “Are you really going to leave the country? By yourself?”
“Safer for all involved.”
Ms. Watkins’s face was irritatingly sweet in its concern. “I disagree. I’m worried about you. I don’t think it’s healthy. You need stability. Community—”
“Please don’t psychoanalyze me. It’s been tried. It failed. You’re a teacher. A great teacher, Ms. W.” I walked backward toward the car. “The best I’ve ever had.”
“Holden, wait—”
