Chapter Three
Nico
“So,myfinalwordsto the class of twenty twenty-five, are these: Don’t settle. Be unambiguously and unapologetically who you are. Be generous. Be ferocious. Be real. And most of all . . .”
I watch as Alex pauses. His eyes find mine, and he gives a tiny nod before he continues scanning the rows of graduating seniors in our class.
“...most of all, be kind. Because kindness, above all else, is what the world needs more of.”
That sentence stabs me in the gut for whatever reason. And it’s one hundred percent Alex.
We haven’t had a chance to talk yet, and since his mom is taking him to some fancy restaurant with his grandparents in Omaha tonight, I doubt we’ll get to talk today at all. But I still feel guilty enough about last night—how I let my anxiety turn me panicked and scared and spiral into that uncontrolled anger, as it always does—so maybe it’s better this way.
Everyone’s clapping for him, and I join in. His eyes find mine again, just briefly, and it’s probably because I know him so well, but I see the concern in them. I try to smile at him, to let him know it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m not sure if he understands, though. He shifts his gaze out to where the audience sits, gives a littlewave, and then moves away from the podium and back down to his seat in the first row with the student government leaders and salutatorians and whoever else is special enough to be sitting in the front.
I’m near the back. Not that there are that many of us in the graduating class since our school is pretty small, but I’mnotanything special, and alphabetically, West is always close to last. So that’s fine, too.
On my right is Claire Young, and on my left is Shane Wallace. The same Shane who touched my shoulder last night. He’s been sitting next to me pretty stiffly the whole afternoon, and I figure I should probably tell him there are no hard feelings.
But I don’t think I can talk to anyone right now anyway, so I keep my mouth shut.
They start calling us up to get our diplomas, and there’s plenty of ruckus, with lots of cheering and screaming—both from the audience and from the other students. I try to just sit there in my seat, clapping politely after each name is called. But as it gets closer to my turn, the anxiety starts to get bad again. Well, I mean, it’s always there anyway—any time that I’m not just at home alone or somewhere quiet with Alex—and it’s been building all day as it is.
The rows in front of us get called up one at a time, and as I watch each of the other students head up to the stage and shake the principal’s hand, my anxiety not-so-subtly reminds me that I’m going to have to do that, too.
I’m going to have to shake Mr. Williams’s hand.
And fuck if that doesn’t start to scare the shit out of me.
I’m trembling before I even realize it, and I pull my shoulders in a little tighter, trying to make myself even smaller than I already am. But the chairs next to me are too close, and I can’t get away from everyone around me.
Fuck, I hate this feeling.
I keep telling myself it’ll be fine. It’s just a handshake. But thenI watch closer, and I see it’snotjust a handshake. Mr. Williams is also setting his other hand on the opposite shoulder of each of the students, like a half hug, as they shake hands and then pause for a photograph.
And if I watch even closer, I can see he squeezes each student’s shoulder a little. I tear my eyes away, suddenly nauseous.
It’s then that I see Alex again. He’s back in his seat now in the front row, his bright-blue hair tucked neatly under his graduation cap, and he turns his head around to look at me just as the row ahead of me gets up and starts walking toward the stage. His eyes hold mine for several seconds, and I let myself stay there, with him. It’s a place that’s comfortable, and I can almost hear his voice whispering to me.“I’m here. Don’t worry. You can do this.”It’s as though he’s standing behind me, protecting me. He gives me a small smile, and I can feel that, too, even though we’re at least fifty feet apart.“I’m here. Don’t worry. You can do this.”
Of course, just as my heart has slowed back down to something closer to its normal rhythm, Claire elbows me in the side.
“Nico, go. It’s our turn,” she says, her voice frustrated.
Immediately, I lose Alex’s comforting gaze, and all that nauseating, buzzing anxiety returns full force. I stand up stiffly and somehow convince my feet to move to follow Shane down to the aisle and then up to the stage. My vision starts doing that thing where it blurs in and out, and when Claire accidentally bumps into me as we stop at the bottom of the steps, it’s almost too much.
It would be awesome tonotmake a fool of myself right now. Really, really awesome. But Claire’s quick apology doesn’t stop the flood of every fucking negative emotion ever from gripping me.
“Shane Wallace!” the announcer calls, and in front of me, Shane jogs up the few steps onto the stage. I can’t really see, thanks to my blurry vision, but I hear cheering and yelling from our classmates.
Another few long seconds pass, and I force my eyes back openas a woman I don’t recognize touches my arm. I flinch away hard and run right into the stair railing, the solid metal jabbing me in the ribs. The woman doesn’t even seem to notice.
“Nico? You’re next. Remember, shake hands and get your photo taken with Mr. Williams, then head across to the center of the stage to get your diploma from Ms. Cox.”
I don’t get to process anything before I hear my name announced over the loud speaker.
“Nico West!”
I know it’s only a second that I hesitate, but it feels like longer. My hand grips the railing, and I’m frozen, unable to move.
