Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“Yes,” Vance said, nodding with a small, encouraging smile. “Just you, Brian, myself, and the superintendent. No crowds, no noise, no overwhelming public spectacle. You can take all the photos you like in a quiet, dignified setting.”
He reached into his top drawer and pulled out a cream-colored card printed with elegant script. He slid it across the wood toward me.
“We even printed a special invitation for you,” he said. “It has the private date and time.”
I looked down at the heavy paper, my thumb catching on the raised gold lettering of my daughter’s name. It looked real, and it looked official, but it felt cold.
The high school hallway was crowded with seniors changing classes when I left the administrative suite at noon. Locker doors slammed with a rhythmic metallic clang, and the air smelled of floor wax and adolescent energy.
Kayla was standing by the water fountain, holding three thick binders against her chest. She looked up, her glasses sliding down her nose as she saw me approach.
“Did he give you the runaround again?” she asked, her voice sharp with ready defense.
