Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“Your time has expired,” she said.
“But the petition,” I said, pointing to the green paper on the table.
“The board will take it under advisement,” Mrs. Gable said, already shuffling the next stack of manila folders in front of her.
I stood there for three seconds, waiting for someone to look at me, but every head remained bowed over their paperwork.
I turned and walked out of the room, leaving the green sheet on the table.
The hallway outside the meeting room was bright with fluorescent light, casting long, stark shadows across the beige linoleum floor.
I waited by the water fountain, holding Olivia’s high school folder against my chest.
The folder was blue, with her name written on the tab in her own neat, rounded handwriting, the edges slightly worn from being carried in her backpack.
At eight o’clock, the heavy oak doors of the boardroom swung open, and the members filed out in pairs, talking quietly among themselves about the upcoming budget votes.
I stepped into the path of Mr. Henderson and the younger woman who had been taking notes during the session.
