Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“No,” Kayla said, her voice steady and clear.
From the third row of graduates, a tall boy stood up, his blue gown rustling. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright, lime-green wig, sliding it over his short hair with a quick, defiant motion. Beside him, a girl stood and pulled a round, red foam nose from her gown, pressing it onto her face.
One by one, the seniors began to stand, their movements synchronized and silent.
Within seconds, half the graduating class was on their feet, wearing colorful wigs and bright red clown noses under their graduation caps. The sight was completely absurd, a sea of bright primary colors rising out of the solemn blue gowns, filling the front of the gym with a strange, beautiful light.
“What are they doing?” Brian whispered, his voice trembling.
“It is the theater box,” I said, a dry sob catching in my throat as I recognized the props Olivia had kept in her closet.
