Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“Please,” I said, opening the folder to reveal the report cards printed on thick cream paper.
“I wanted you to see these,” I said.
“She had a four point zero GPA,” I said.
“She was the treasurer of the Spanish club and volunteered at the library,” I said, holding the paper out toward them so they could see the red ink of her teachers’ signatures.
On the back of the last report card, there was a small smudge of blue ink where her favorite pen had leaked during her final exams.
Mr. Henderson took a step to the side, his leather briefcase swinging between us like a shield.
“We appreciate your dedication, Mrs. Miller,” he said, keeping his eyes on the double doors at the far end of the hall.
“It is a very difficult time for your family, and we understand why you are hurt,” he said, his voice lowering as if to avoid being overheard by the other board members.
“She worked so hard for this,” I said, holding out the report card.
“It is just her grades,” I said.
“You can see how much she cared about this school,” I said.
