Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
Arthur did not answer immediately. He looked out the window at the gravel lot where a delivery truck was backing up, its warning signal making a steady beep.
“If we file this, there is no going back to a quiet compromise with the board,” he said.
“The compromise was buried under the new library wing,” I said.
He nodded once, quite slowly, and pulled his leather briefcase onto his lap to retrieve his fountain pen.
At noon, the sun was high enough to melt the tar in the seams of the motel parking lot. Kayla was waiting by her old blue sedan, her fingers tapping against her steering wheel while she adjusted her glasses. I walked across the hot gravel, holding a thick white envelope in both hands.
“I need you to keep this safe for me until tomorrow,” I said, holding the envelope out to her.
She took it, her thumb feeling the shape of the heavy object inside. “Is this what I think it is?”
“It is Olivia’s favorite blue pen,” I said. “The one she used for her AP history essays. I want it in the room tomorrow, even if they do not let me inside.”
