Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
He looked down at the white booklet on my lap, his fingers tightening on mine as he saw the missing name. “I saw it. We are going to finish this anyway.”
“I missed her voice this morning, Brian,” I said.
“I did too,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on the empty stage. “Every single minute of it.”
The procession began at exactly ten o’clock, the first notes of the brassy, slightly off-key high school band cutting through the chatter. The double doors at the back of the gym swung open, and the graduating seniors walked in pairs down the center aisle, their dark blue gowns billowing behind them like small sails.
I watched them pass, searching each face for Kayla, my heart beating in a slow, heavy rhythm against my ribs. She was near the middle of the line, her glasses sliding down her nose as she adjusted them with a quick, nervous tap of her finger. When she reached our row, she did not look at the stage or the teachers waiting there. She looked directly at me, gave a single, firm nod, and then kept her eyes forward.
