Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
“I used to believe high school was a straight line. Work hard, get good grades, stay on track, keep your head down, and everything would unfold exactly the way you planned. That was my formula. And, predictably, life did not care.
“Because the truth is: these past four years weren’t straight lines. They were sharp turns, detours, late-night meltdowns, surprising victories, and moments where the people around us—sometimes the very last people we expected—held us up when we couldn’t hold ourselves together.”
The blazing June sun beats down on us in our polyester graduation gowns as we listen to our valedictorian deliver her speech.
I can’t help but wonder if I’m “one of the very last people” Analiese expected to hold her together.
Even if I’m not, the strangest twist of this year may be that she was that person for me.
She continues. “Some of us faced challenges no one saw. Some of us carried more than we ever said out loud. And some of us discovered that strength doesn’t always look like perfection.
Sometimes it looks like showing up to practice when you’re tired.
Or asking for help when you’d rather pretend you don’t need it.
Or learning how to trust people again, even when it feels risky. ”
A noise escapes my throat, and the kid next to me gives me a funny look. He doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to the speech at all. Am I the only one who feels Analiese is ripping their heart out? I swear she’s talking directly to me. I have to admit, she’s killing this speech.
This is it! The last day of my high school career.
It’s been a wild ride I never would have anticipated.
From the Braden debacle, to my parents separating, to Analiese and I becoming unlikely allies, to making new connections…
there have been so many twists and turns, and I’ve dropped so many balls along the way.
I stopped updating my vision board months ago and that’s ok—life is messy and things change.
And today holds one more change for me: Mr. Pi told me we’d meet face-to-face today.
It hardly feels real, especially as the school officially ended the Connection Services beta test two weeks ago and took the app off our school tablets.
In the time since then, I’ve wondered how much of our conversations really happened.
Did we really connect in any special way? Or was most of it in my head?
And anyway, his plan was terrible. That part I remember vividly.
There were no explicit instructions for how we are supposed to find each other today, just I’ll take care of it.
As if that's dependable! If detailed, iron-clad plans like the one I made with Braden fall apart, how can I trust vague comments made by an anonymous person?
It doesn’t matter. It will happen or it won’t, but I’m still graduating either way. And in the end, Connection Services played its part in shaping my life this year. I wouldn’t take that back for anything.
“I wouldn’t be standing here without those people. Without friends, mentors, teammates, and even the rivals who pushed me harder than anyone else. Competition can shape you, but so can connection. And sometimes the line between the two is thinner than you think.
“To our teachers: thank you for caring enough to demand our best. To our families: thank you for standing in the wings, cheering, even when we insisted we didn’t need it. And to my classmates: thank you for being the kind of people who surprise each other in the best ways.
“As we head into whatever comes next—college, work, gap years, long naps—I hope we all remember this: success isn’t a single destination. It’s the willingness to keep growing. To keep learning. To keep changing direction when life asks you to.
“We made it through these four years not because everything went right, but because we adapted when it didn’t.
“So congratulations, Class of 2025. I can’t wait to see what we become—straight lines optional.”
We stand and cheer, the sound so deafening it's overwhelming, but I don’t care.
Many of the students around me toss their caps straight into the sky, so I join in.
Old Avery would have been stressed about finding her cap afterward, but who needs their high school graduation cap after graduation?
Not me! I rip it from my head and toss it as high as I can, watching as the blue square spins high into the bright sunlight, then cascades down into the sea of polyester.
I scream something unintelligible but joyful at the top of my lungs. It’s over!
The emotions simmer down pleasantly as music blares to life from the speakers.
Students filter out of the rows of seats on the football field, while family and friends flood out of the stands.
My eyes are scanning the crowds when I’m swept off my feet and swung around in a circle, my graduation gown fanning out in the air.
“We did it!!!” Jenna yells in my ear. It’s at moments like this that I realize my volleyball-playing friend is much, much taller than me.
When my feet hit the ground again, I pull back to see her beaming face. “Honestly, I can barely believe it.”
My heart falls a little when I remember that she’s bound for UCLA on a volleyball scholarship, and I’m heading to Boston University in a couple of short months. She immediately clocks my emotions on my face.
“Avery James, we’re going to be fine. Unlike certain ex-boyfriends, I’m going to be blowing up your phone all the time.”
Yeah, she definitely will. She did this year even when I was avoiding her. Jenna and I have made it as best friends from kindergarten through high school, and a mere three thousand miles won’t stop us now.
“Congratulations, Avey-girl.”
My dad tugs me into a fierce hug as my family surrounds me. Hunter joins in, then my mom pulls me into another one when they let me go.
“We’re so proud of you,” my mom adds, then she gives Jenna a side hug too. “And you, Jenna.”
“Thanks, Mrs. J.”
Hunter restlessly kicks the grass and looks around at the crowded field. “This is over, right? Aren’t we going out to eat now?”
My dad laughs. “Well, we should let Avery talk to her friends and take a few pictures first, don’t you think?”
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Mom says as she whips out her phone. “Let’s get some of you two girls.” She gestures with her hand for Jenna and me to pose.
Jenna and I are still smiling for the camera when Mr. and Mrs. Taylor join our circle. It feels like so long since I’ve seen them—they're both dressed in suits like they left their office to make it to the graduation, which they probably did.
Mrs. Taylor’s beautiful, piercing blue eyes find ours. “They’ve gotten so big,” she says to my mom.
Mom turns to greet her, then all of the adults start chatting. Their chatter about work and kids growing up fades into background noise when I spot who else has joined the circle. It’s like everything around him goes blurry and my senses wake up at the same time.
My feet feel tickled by grass peeking up over the edges of my sandals. A gentle, cool breeze makes the long, curled tendrils of my hair dance around my shoulders. Hunter whining about being hungry again is garbled like he’s been dunked into a pool.
It’s Jake.
Standing a little back from his parents, eyes locked on me.
He’s dressed much more casually in shorts and a hoodie.
But there’s just something so overwhelmingly Jake about him that’s hard to put my finger on, and I mean that in the best possible way.
My eyes roam over him, trying to decide what that Jake-thing is, and I swear a subtle blush forms on his cheeks.
The rest of the world is still a blur while I watch him.
His sandy hair gleams with lighter blonde highlights in the late afternoon sunlight. Startlingly blue eyes glow from the contrast with his sun-kissed skin. One dimple winks at me as he approaches, not quite a grin, and in his hands he carries two large bouquets of beautiful sunflowers.
“You got us flowers, Jakey!” Jenna coos teasingly as she takes both bouquets from his hands and passes one to me. She smells the flowers then shoots me an exaggerated smile that confuses me. She’s being over the top, even for Jenna.
Jake shoots her an annoyed glance, then looks back at me. “Congratulations, Avery,” he says.
“And ‘congratulations Jenna,’” Jenna adds.
Jake ignores her, eyes still locked on mine. I glance down at the flowers, their fragrance floating up and tingling my senses.
“Oh! There’s Amanda! I’ll be back,” Jenna tosses over her shoulder as she sweeps past us, leaving us rooted to the spot.
He’s looking at me. Waiting.
My eyebrows rise as the moment stretches. He seems… nervous. Now that his hands are free, one is tapping a frantic rhythm against his leg. My gaze drops to his hoodie. I freeze.
A breath catches. My body lights up like a live wire. Everything my gut had been screaming all year—that I denied and pushed down and locked into a box I didn't want to examine too closely—is now right before my eyes in the undeniable light of day.
Jake’s hoodie isn’t plain. It’s printed. With numbers. Numbers that start with 3.1415.
Pi.
My eyes bounce from his sweatshirt to his face. Something in his gaze makes questions multiply exponentially in my mind. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, my dad cuts in.
“Hey, guys—we’re all heading to Luigi’s together,” he says. “Our reservation is soon, so we should head out.”
“Jake, can you go grab Jenna?” Mrs. Taylor adds.
Everyone starts turning toward the parking lot. I need answers!
“Avery, let’s go!” my mom calls over her shoulder. Hunter throws me an impatient look from her side.
My head snaps back toward Jake, but he's already walking down the field toward where Jenna is posing for pictures with her volleyball teammates. Halfway there, he glances back. Just once.
He taps the front of his hoodie, then mouths, Later. And then he keeps going.
He's just going to walk away?! A frustrated growl rumbles in my chest, but I follow my family anyway. A few people call out congratulations as I breeze through the crowd, and I do my best to appear normal. But inside I'm confused. And mad. And a million other things.