Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“Olivia had ninety-two percent,” I said. “She was already looking at dorm rooms.”
Arthur turned the book toward me. “The language is clear, Margaret. It says the board shall issue the document upon formal request of the family.”
“Shall,” I repeated, the word sounding solid in my mouth. “That means they have to do it.”
“It means we have a foothold,” Arthur said. “But the filing fee to submit the official petition to the county superintendent is one hundred and fifty dollars.”
I opened my purse and pulled out my checkbook, my hand surprisingly steady as I wrote the figures. “We pay it.”
He took the check and slid it into a blue folder. “I will have the paperwork ready by noon.”
At two o’clock, Kayla sat on our living room sofa, holding a long, plastic pen with a small plastic daisy taped to the end. It was Olivia’s favorite blue pen, the one she used for her biology lab drawings because the ink never smeared.
“We have a legal right to that diploma, Kayla,” I said, showing her the photocopy Arthur had given me.
