“Stop.” My voice breaks. “Please. Just… stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
Their eyes widen at my blatant pain.
“Sorry, Josie.”
“I hope we didn’t upset you…”
“You didn’t. It’s fine.” I smile thinly, lying through my teeth. “I’ll see you after the ceremony, okay?”
“Okay…”
A teacher claps her hands three times, calling for attention.
“Seniors! Two minute warning. If you aren’t already in your spot, this is your last chance. I need the Student Council President and the Class Valedictorian up here, at the front.” She glances at a clipboard. “That would be… Eva Ulrich and Josephine Valentine.”
“Here!” Eva chirps brightly.
“Excellent. And Josephine? Where are you?”
Numb, I walk to the front of the crowd.
“Here,” I say. “I’m here.”
But my mind is somewhere else.
* * *
Headmaster Lawrence clears his throat.He’s been droning on for fifteen minutes already, his opening marks rivaling Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.
“And now… it is my distinct honor to introduce to you our Class Valedictorian, Miss Josephine Valentine.”
Polite applause fills the courtyards as I walk to the podium. My parents are in the front row, preening like prized peacocks. This is just another feather in their caps.
Our daughter, Class Valedictorian.
With genes like ours, how could she not be?
Blair didn’t have the time to celebrate my birthday or see me off to the prom or even drive me to my own graduation ceremony… but apparently she found a few free minutes to pop into the salon for fresh highlights and a mani-pedi. She looks like a Jackie O knockoff in her vintage Chanel suit.
When I meet her eyes, she mouths something at me.
Posture!
My shoulders pull back. My spine goes stiff. I look around the crowd, searching for a friendly face. Flora and Miguel must be in the very back; I don’t see them anywhere. And there’s an empty seat in the R section, where Archer Reyes should be seated in his black graduation gown.
My grip tightens on the index cards. I glance down at the words written there. They swim before my eyes like gibberish. Fragments of a speech I wrote not for myself, but for the benefit of the two people sitting in the front row, staring up at me with frigid smiles.
Vincent gives a low, circular gesture, his eyes blasting a clear message at me.
Get a move on.
I set down the cards.
“I had a speech written for you today,” I say into the microphone, flinching at the sound of my own voice booming across the courtyard. “It was a good speech. It had all the appropriate pauses, a few key jokes, and even a line to make you cry. I practiced it in the mirror precisely sixteen times, until I was able to recite it without stumbling over the pronunciation of the wordhegemonyeven once.” I pause. “Shame, since you won’t be getting to hear it.”
The audience titters, unsure whether or not I’m being serious. Blair and Vincent appear less than amused.
“Because now that I’m up here on this stage, on the day of my graduation, looking out at all of you fine people in the crowd… I am not, in fact, overcome with an urge to wax poetic about the value of working hard in order to get ahead in the world, or the benefit of a solid education in furthering your future interests. I will not stand here quoting Winston Churchill and encouraging you to sieze the day.”