Chapter 63
My tassel dangles in my face. I’m two seconds away from ripping the damn thing off when my name is called.
I step forward, crossing the pop-up stage in the center of the football field.
I reach for my diploma with one hand, extending my other to shake hands with Principal Sanders.
His tired, uninvested eyes betray his huge false smile.
What a strange performance, graduation. The Professor McGonagall dress robes.
The ominously formal handshakes from adults, as if they’re welcoming you to the tribe, or warning you about it.
The ugly italicized font on the diploma you’ll never look at again until someday your kid stumbles on it up in the attic and realizes they spelled your name wrong.
The disgruntled younger siblings stuffed in the bleachers between moms who elbow them to pay attention and dads who record on their iPhones like it’s their life’s work.
The forced goodbyes, fake I’ll miss yous and empty Let’s keep in touches.
The lofty commencement speech by a twelfth grader you’re supposed to pretend has wisdom even though she’s saying things I’ve seen on doormats at HomeGoods.
I guess it’s no different than any other life milestone—an engagement, or a wedding, or a baby shower, or a funeral. All of life’s defining moments, reduced to performances.
Mid-handshake, Principal Sanders and I twist our bodies out to the audience so the official photographer can snap our photo.
I hear Mom shout from the nosebleeds that I fucking rock and that I’m her girl.
Then I see Mr. Korgy, sandwiched between other teachers, wearing his fancy purple cardigan and clapping big.
He smiles at me, and my face lights up. The camera flashes.