Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“Legally, yes,” Arthur said. “But publicly, it is a different matter.”
I stood up and took the folder under my arm. The room was silent except for the faint sound of traffic from the street below.
“Thank you, Arthur,” I said.
“Be careful how you use that,” he said, looking at me over his glasses. “This town is small, and Charles Sterling has deep pockets.”
The afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the living room rug when Kayla arrived at four o’clock. She carried a thick manila folder of her own, her fingers constantly adjusting her silver-framed glasses as she sat on the edge of the sofa.
“I have the list of the senior class,” Kayla said, her voice fast and light. “We have ninety-four names. Every single one of them has agreed to help.”
“Kayla, look at this first,” I said, handing her the copy of the contract Arthur had given me.
She took the pages and began to read, her eyes moving rapidly across the print. As she reached the fourth section, her face grew tight, and she pushed her glasses up her nose with a quick, angry gesture.
