Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
Kayla slipped the envelope into her canvas backpack and pulled the zipper shut. “They cannot keep you out, Margaret. The whole senior class has already made their final decision.”
“What decision?” I asked.
“We decided that some things are more important than a perfect seating chart,” Kayla said, looking toward the high school chimney in the distance.
“Do not risk your recommendation letter, Kayla,” I said. “Vance is looking for an excuse.”
“He cannot cancel all of our diplomas,” she said, her voice rising with that quick, familiar heat. “He has to let us walk.”
She got into her car and started the engine, leaving the question of what the students had planned hanging in the heavy midday heat.
The diner on Route Four smelled of fried onions and old vinyl. Brian was already sitting in the corner booth, a mug of hot water and a single lemon slice on the laminate table before him. He did not look up until my shadow fell across the sugar caddy.
“You look tired, Margaret,” he said, his voice low and gruff.
“I slept well enough,” I said, sitting across from him.
