DREW: Fresh graduate straight otta the shitty public school robe

ROSALIE: Congrats!

DREW: Thank you, thank you
When's your graduation?

ROSALIE: Next week
Frantically trying to maintain valedictorian status

DREW: Explains your severely scattered responses to my texts

ROSALIE: Yeah sorry
I haven't been using my phone much

DREW: Well don't be surprised if you see me in the crowd

ROSALIE: Please do NOT come to my graduation
I beg you

DREW: What? What was that? Come to your graduation? Thank you for the invitation

ROSALIE: DREW I'M SERIOUS

DREW: Haha see ya later 😜

ROSALIE: UGH 😡
How would you even get here?
That's a long drive
Drew come on
You weren't serious were you?

_____

Rosalie's chest ached. She didn't expect her breath to escape her as she approached her high school locker for the last time that semester. She stared up at the number printed in black on a metal plate: 354. The hallways were dimmed for the evening, and only a few of the light panels were on. One just so happened to fall over her and Ray as they listened to the distant sound of the spring track team finishing up their practice.

Rosalie smiled, throat tight as she said, "Remember when people thought Sami was straight?" She turned, ponytail swishing off of her shoulder. Ray was there, shoulder tipped against the locker beside Rosalie's.

"Yeah, I also remember when we thought you were straight, you conniving bitch," Ray said. Rosalie burst into startled laughter and feigned offense.

"Excuse you. Even I thought I was straight," she said, spinning the locker dial. She pulled the door open and set her practice duffle on the ground. As she packed away the last of her things, she said, "I was just thinking about the bet people had on me and Sami. Weird to think that was, what? eight months ago?"

"Yeah, feels like an entire book series ago."

"Not if you read fast."

"You're talking to this dumb bitch with the reading speed of a toddler," Ray said.

Rosalie crumpled to the side, stomach aching from laughing so hard. She pushed herself up, slumped onto the tiles as she rubbed a hand over the side of her face. She knew she'd see an abundance of Ray over June before Nationals, but it hit her then that they wouldn't be seeing much of each other beyond that. Nationals was their cutoff.

Rosalie's chest ached again, but this time, she felt it bubbling behind her eyes in hot, wet tears. She looked up at Ray and managed to hold them back, somehow, as she said, "It sucks that we won't be at the same university."

"You're telling me," she sighed. She crouched down next to Rosalie, long black hair bent where she had tied it up in a ponytail for practice. She shook her hair out and pulled it over one shoulder as she glanced at the lockers across the hall, and the banner over them reading, CONGRATULATIONS CLASS OF 2020. "My dumbass is going to your school, so you'll see a bit of me."

"Your dumb ass?"

"Lennie. I'm talking about Lennie."

"Ah."

Ray smiled, and Rosalie let out a short, broken laugh. She could make fun of Lennie all she wanted, but it wasn't the same if Ray wasn't there. It was weird, actually. "Well," Rosalie said with a shaky sigh, "I'll be keeping an eye on him for you."

"Yeah, send me creepy stalker pics. Like, ooh, paparazzi," she said in a valley girl lilt, hands lifted flamboyantly around her head.

"So I take it you two have already talked about long distance then," Rosalie said.

"Yeah, I mean, it'll keep me from hoeing around," she said. "Because we both know my attention span is gonna be scattered during classes. I don't need that distraction, you feel me?"

"I guess."

"You don't feel me."

Rosalie grimaced. "Not... really."

"Well that's because you've never been a hoe, Rosie-girl," she said. She shoved Rosalie in the arm and Rosalie rolled her eyes, shutting her locker and pushing to her feet. "Be a hoe! What's that saying? 'Be gay, do crimes'?"

"Now I'm kind of glad we aren't going to the same university," she said, slinging her duffle over her shoulder. "You'd be a bad influence."

Ray slung an arm around her shoulders and said, "The best influence. Promise me we won't ghost each other?"

"Promise."

"You gotta pinkie on that one."

Rosalie rolled her eyes but flung her hand up anyway, pinkie poised. Ray latched onto it and gave their hands a firm shake. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" Ray said, and Rosalie muttered that it wasn't as they maneuvered to the school steps for one last descent to the parking lot.

_____

"Ma, come on, my hair looks fine," Rosalie whined from the edge of the bathroom door, trying to escape the hold her mother had on her arm. "I gotta fit it all in a cap anyway!"

"We can still fit in the cap—just let me finish curling the back here," she insisted, waving Rosalie closer. Rosalie threw her head back and groaned, but relented to the pull of her mother's insistence. She pursed her lips and suffered through it, seething internally over the hour it took for her hair to assemble itself in some coherent way.

It'd be easier if I could just wear it up, she thought, but alas, the cap wouldn't fit then, would it?

After escaping, she made her way to her room where her shoes were. The clock was ticking, and if she wanted to make it in time to panic, but with the ease of knowing she was on time, they needed to leave right that second. So she slipped into her flats, grabbed her speech, her cap, and was off to the stairs as her mother raced after her, still securing her earrings.

Rosalie's royal blue Knight robe floated in a flurry behind her as she flew down the stairs and around the railing. She folded up her the pages of her speech and tucked them into the sleeve of her gown in the process of waiting for her mother to start up the car and get them on the damn road. Her foot tapped impatiently on the carpet, her mind racing over every mental screenshot she took of her speech.

Her mother reached a hand out and gave her wrist a squeeze. "You're gonna do great, honey," she reassured, but it did little to still her rapidly beating heart.

"Thanks, but I'll believe you once it's done," she said.

She checked her phone for the hundredth time that morning. No, she hadn't received any text messages she had anticipated from a certain someone that was not on her notifications list and hadn't been for several days. It worried her that Drew went dormant—they always seemed to spring up at the briefest inkling of a conversation with Rosalie. Now that she was trying to initiate the conversation (with over eight unanswered texts), Drew wasn't reciprocating.

I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing if they showed up, she thought. She rubbed a finger over her lips as she peered out through the passenger window. Joanna would have a fit, absolutely, and Brynn might have a fangirl heartattack.

The thought of Brynn had Rosalie smiling, though. With a school as large as Bradshaw, graduation was a massive event that required paid tickets in an arena. With several hundred students descending in Knight blue robes, the families tripled, quadrupled the numbers of bodies in the arena. Among the attendants, however, she'd be looking not only for her mom, but also the underclassmen on the soccer team. They had spent an entire, grueling, spectacular, triumphant year together as reigning Regional champions, and it was coming to a close.

When they arrived at the arena, her mother pulled the car around the front so Rosalie could hop out and hurry ahead. Before she could leave, though, her mother pulled her across the center console to kiss her forehead. Rosalie groaned, still smiling though, until she managed to escape. She waved through the open car door as her mother said, "I'll see you soon, okay? Keep your phone on you!"

"Okay, Ma, I will," Rosalie said, shutting the door. She turned with a roll of her eyes, still giddy with energy as she bounded to the arena steps and hurried up.

The arena was occupied by few guests and a plethora of students. Though, from the looks of it, Rosalie suspected this was only half of the entire grade. Rosalie parted through bunches of black graduation gowns (and likely appeared in a few photos being taken) on her way. She jogged up the steps, her eyes scanning the crowds of people for other robes like hers.

She stood at the top of the stairs near the arena entrance until the exact moment she heard her name being called from down the hallway. She looked down to the last of the arena doors where a cluster of blue-gowned students where waiting and, among them, she recognized Lennie's face.

She jogged down the hallway and slowed at the group, panting, and said, "Hey thanks, I was looking for you guys."

"Just in time, too," he said. "Have you seen Ray at all?"

Rosalie shook her head, gesturing vaguely back the way she came where the foyer was overrun with students. "I just got here. She texted me earlier, said she was gonna be a bit late."

"Not surprised," he sighed, eyes still studying the groups of students being herded to the hallway to line up in rows of two. Rosalie followed his gaze and realized quickly that he was still searching for Ray.

"As if Ray would miss graduation," Rosalie said, but looking for Ray seemed to be the only thing to pass the time. It was a better alternative to panicking about their speeches, anyway.

As the students began lining up, she caught sight of Alyssa's blonde curls alongside other students in the 'M' section. Rosalie waved when they caught eyes, and Alyssa gave her a half-hearted smile back. Rosalie sighed. She expected nothing less.

Rosalie ran her fingers over the corners of her speech papers until they were worn thin and frayed. If anyone would skip graduation, she expected it to be Joanna Spencer. The 'S' section looped around, though, and wedged between two tall seniors, Rosalie caught sight of Joanna's ginger hair. She leant over to see, and abruptly, Joanna did the same.

Rosalie startled with a laugh. Joanna flashed her a peace sign and, as she wandered around the bend in the line, she gave a little shimmy and a jive until she was out of sight.

"I'm surprised she even graduated," Lennie said.

"She would have done better than me if I didn't get all that extra credit in on time," Rosalie said with a sigh. "Joanna would have been a valedictorian if Kaiserslautern hadn't happened."

"Still surprised," he sighed.

Graduation at Bradshaw could be summarized by the following: a long period of standing followed by a long period of sitting. Rosalie and the other valedictorians stood until the last of the students entered the arena and were ushered to their seats. By that point, an hour had passed, and the arena filled up with parents, grandparents, friends, and students attending in solidarity with their graduating teammates. Rosalie expected to be overwhelmed, but holy shit, she couldn't fathom thousands of people until she was in a room with all of them watching her walk the carpet to the front of the arena.

It was frigid in the arena, and she could feel the ventilation system blowing cold air when she entered the space. The band was playing, and the trumpets echoed across the room as Rosalie walked side-by-side with Lennie Pittmen. It was a consequence of their last names being so close to each other.

Their seats were at the front of the rows, positioned directly in front of the stage where Principal O'Gallagher's podium was. Rosalie felt her nerves vibrating through her arms and to her chest where her heart skipped into an abnormal rhythm.

The band slowed to a close, and Principal O'Gallagher took the stage from where he was seated next to the student-selected faculty speaker. Rosalie smiled when she caught Miss Calhoun's eye. Miss Calhoun gave her a quick wink before looking back to O'Gallagher for the introductory speech.

As he approached, a wave of claps went through the arena. Rosalie looked around at the stands where peoples' faces speckled the arena. When the microphone clicked on, the hollow sound of O'Gallagher's breath resonated in Rosalie's chest before it was coupled with the deep, intonation of his voice.

"Good morning, to all of you," he started, eyes scanning the crowd. "I am honored to be here today among the bright, supple minds of our world's future."

"Supple?" someone behind Rosalie whispered, alarmed. Someone snickered and the girl next to Rosalie shushed them.

"—Graduation is only a small milestone—a stepping stone—to the greater future ahead of you all here today. While this moment is only a minuscule part of the lives you will lead, its influence can be felt for years to come. I hope you will all take your experiences here at Bradshaw to reflect and examine your future choices. To make the best choices.

"Like those before you, you have endured the grueling, academic establishment that has trained you to expect an eight-class daily schedule. You will be relieved to hear that eight hours of eight different classes will no longer be a part of your life. And like those before you, you will come to the realization that this new era of your lives will require a major shift in time management skills, and—"

"Is he seriously giving us a lecture right now?" the same person whispered, and Rosalie rolled her eyes at them.

When O'Gallagher's speech wrapped up, he opened up for Miss Calhoun to take the stand. The instant she stood up, the students roared, clapping their hands over their heads as O'Gallagher tried speaking over the applause, saying, "Congratulations class of 2020—"

Rosalie glanced at Lennie, who leant back in his seat with a more or less indifferent expression. Everything seemed indifferent on his stoic countenance, though, but she figured Lennie had only been in the freshmen year art class for the sake of getting those credits accounted for.

When Miss Calhoun's speech came to a close, the first of the valedictorians stood. There were seven of them in total—a number of valedictorians for a high school the size of Bradshaw—and all of them came to stand at the steps of the stage while each valedictorian before them approached the microphone and addressed the students.

Rosalie understood what her role was. At the end of the day, her piece as a part of the graduation ceremony meant little to nothing to her classmates. She was there as a symbol of Bradshaw's accomplishments—these students had the highest GPAs, proof of their stellar academic excellence—and to appease the families hoping to commemorate this stage in their childrens' lives. Rosalie wasn't there to make a huge statement. She was there to give weight to the ceremony, to emphasize the gravity of the event rather than build on it.

When it was her turn, Lennie gave her a soft nudge on the arm and whispered, "Good luck," as she approached the podium. She smiled back at him, relieved that she wasn't the only one up on that stage still.

So, with her papers in hand, she expected to look at her fellow peers as they yawned into the second hour of the event.

"Uh..." she started, awkwardly, a nervous smile on her lips. She put a finger to the scar on her jawline, rubbing at it as she heard her voice echo back to her across the arena. She cleared her throat. "Thank you all for your patience this morning—I realize everyones' patience is probably running a bit thin now, so I'll keep this short."

It was the first time she properly looked at the crowd and realized she probably shouldn't have. So many people, she thought, wearily. Many were faces she recognized, and they were all staring back at her as she started, slowly, "The way I understand it... is that many of you couldn't care less what I have to say. Many of you may not know who I am, and most of you I haven't spoken to in the four years we spent together. The feeling is mutual."

She felt her nervous smile softening at the edges when a general, small laugh went through the crowd. "We can't know everybody, but that's okay. We grew up in Montgomery together and I believe it was in our best interest to do so at a school as large and intimidating as Bradshaw. Over three. Thousand. Students. And every one of those lives is as complex and independent as our own, and the chances are we only know the names of twenty-five percent of that student body and are quickly—perhaps intentionally—forgetting all of them.

"And that's okay," she said, leaning into the podium. She looked up from her papers and smiled at the section she knew her mother was in. "Because even if you don't know the person sitting next to you, or remember their name, you still exist in the same space as hundreds and thousands of other people who care deeply about you. Not because they know you, personally or otherwise, but because everyone's personal experience is precious, unique, and incomprehensible.

"So today I want everyone in this arena to recognize the significance of every minute—every second—spent in the life of the person sitting next to you. This empathy was instilled into us at Bradshaw whether we were aware of it or not. You could call it a consequence of being subjected to literally thousands of greasy teenagers for eight hours a day."

She laughed, mostly because she heard her classmates laughing. She looked up at them, and at the stands. Just one more piece, she thought to herself, and then I'm done. This is it.

Until her eyes caught on the railing farther back in the arena, where a set of stairs went down to the first row overlooking the court where her classmates sat.

Her breath caught in her throat. She nearly choked on it as she flattened a hand over the papers in front of her. Her eyes were stuck on that section, far back, and wondered if she was merely seeing things.

"It is my honor to congratulate you all on your achievements today," she said, voice tight in her throat. She could feel the crinkle of her scar on her cheek as she said, "And know that we all care you. Every step of the way. Congratulations."

She nearly forgot her papers when leaving the podium. She grappled for them, folding them up as she hurried to the stairs, her eyes trailing over the heads of her peers. They settled on the girl with the white hair at the railing, past the 'S' section—behind where Joanna Spencer would be.

Rosalie's heart thudded with a weight that strained her ribcage. Her blood throbbed in her temple, on her cheek, as she followed the black carpet where it stretched down the rubbery court floor. Shaky and altogether overheated by the overwhelming surge of blood in her head, Rosalie forced herself to face forward and ignore the palpable gaze on the back of her head that said that she had an audience of one still watching her.

It's not her. It's not her, Rosalie told herself, closing her eyes and knowing she hoping she was being delusional.

Even from far away, Rosalie could recognize that