Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
I walked down the steps with the leather folder clutched against my ribs, the crowd of parents and students parting for me in the warm afternoon air.
The high school parking lot was a sea of bright blue gowns, the graduates shouting to each other over the noise of car horns and slamming doors.
Kayla came jogging toward me through the crowd, her mortarboard tilted back on her head and her glasses sliding down her nose.
She did not say congratulations, but she reached into her deep gown pocket and pulled out a blue ballpoint pen with a chewed cap.
“I kept this safe for you,” Kayla said, pressing the plastic barrel into my hand.
I recognized the teeth marks near the clip immediately.
“Thank you, Kayla,” I said, my thumb tracing the worn plastic.
“We all had them, Margaret,” she said, her voice dropping to a quick whisper as she adjusted her glasses.
“Had what?” I asked.
“The blue pens,” she said, pointing toward three girls near the school bus lane.
“We wrote her name inside our collars,” she said.
“Every single senior had Olivia written in blue ink right against the back of their neck.”
