Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
Arthur guided me toward the very back row, where the light from the high, wire-screened windows was dim and the exit sign glowed red. I sat down, my knees suddenly weak, and placed my purse on my lap, my fingers still tightly laced together around the soft tea cup. On the seat next to me, someone had left an official graduation program, its white cover printed with the school crest in gold ink.
I picked up the booklet, my thumb tracing the column of names under the letter M, my breath holding in my chest. Miller, Marcus. Mitchell, Sarah. Morris, David.
The page was completely blank between Mitchell and Morris, the white paper staring back at me like an accusation.
“He did it,” I whispered, showing the gap to Arthur. “He really left her out.”
Arthur did not look surprised, but his jaw tightened as he polished his spectacles with his silk cloth. “The school board president is already here, Margaret, and he is not going to like how this looks.”
“Where is Vance?” I asked.
“He is backstage, trying to make sure the donor’s family gets their front-row seats,” Arthur said.
