Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“Our primary concern must be the emotional well-being of the students on what should be a day of celebration,” he said, his voice remaining perfectly calm and even.
One of the board members, a man named Mr. Henderson who wore a gray suit and a blue tie, nodded slowly and made a brief note on his yellow legal pad.
“Olivia was part of that class,” I said, my voice rising just enough to carry to the back of the room.
“Her friends want her name there,” I said.
“They want to remember her,” I said.
“We must also consider the reality of the situation,” Vance said, his tone shifting to one of quiet, patronizing sympathy as he looked back at me.
“Grief can cloud our judgment, Margaret,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer register that felt like a pat on the head.
“It is entirely natural that you are overwhelmed by this tragedy, but we cannot allow personal loss to alter school policy,” he said.
Mrs. Gable tapped her wooden gavel once on a small block.
“Thank you, Mrs. Miller,” she said, her voice flat and final.
