Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
I opened my car door and stepped out onto the asphalt.
“Principal Vance,” I called out.
He stopped near his sedan, his key fob in his hand. He did not look surprised to see me, but his shoulders stiffened as I approached him.
“Mrs. Campbell,” Vance said, his voice carrying that same patronizing politeness he had used in his office. “It is late. The office closed at five.”
“I have a copy of the Sterling contract,” I said, stopping a few feet from him.
He did not flinch. He slowly lowered his briefcase to the hood of his car and adjusted his tie.
“That is a public document, Mrs. Campbell,” Vance said. “We have nothing to hide. The Sterling family made a very generous contribution that will benefit the children of this community for decades.”
“They made a contribution that bought your silence,” I said.
“We agreed to standard terms to ensure a positive atmosphere,” Vance said, his voice cold. “A graduation is a celebration of the living. It is a commencement. It is not a funeral.”
“You sold her spot on that stage for a library wing, Vance,” I said.
