When the ceremony finally ends, it’s chaos. Caps flying. Parents shouting names. Cameras flashing.
I push through the crowd before she even makes it halfway down the steps.
“Gracie!”
She turns at the sound of my voice, and then she’s laughing, really laughing, the kind that lifts her whole body.
I catch her around the waist and spin her, right there in front of everyone.
“You did it,” I say against her hair.
“We did it,” she corrects softly.
We.
She links her hand with mine, and we walk across the brick sidewalk toward our moms waiting in the shade.
“You know what I was thinking about earlier today?” I tell her as she swings our joined hands.
“What?”
“About how when you were younger, it felt like there were two sides of you sometimes. Cheerleader and science nerd.”
She glances at me but doesn’t argue.
“You were like a coin,” I continue. “Flipping one side up for the crowd and the other for the classroom. Like you had to pick which version made people more comfortable.”
She’s quiet now, listening.
“But I always felt lucky,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I was the only one who got both. The girl who loved Friday night lights and the quadratic equation. Glitter and lab goggles. Pep rallies and problem sets.”
Gracie laughs softly at that.
“You’re right,” she says. “I guess now I pick both.”
She taps the gold cord at her neck, then points down at the tall, bright pink heels peeking out from beneath her gown.
Right before we get to our moms, I pull her to the side.
“I got you something.”
“You did?” Gracie claps and bounces on her toes.
She loves surprises.
I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out a small box. Her eyes widen immediately.
“Beck—”
“Relax,” I laugh. “Not a ring.”
Then I lean forward and whisper in her ear, “Not yet. But soon.”
Her eyes shine when I pull away.
“This,” I say, popping the lid open, “is a necklace.”
Inside is a delicate gold chain with a tiny four-leaf clover charm.
