BeeBee was in the lobby with her mother. She grinned and waved to me. The end hadn’t come . . . yet.
Mom and Maud and I followed people up the stairs to the auditorium. What goes up doesn’t always come down. The Wilma who was going up, the popular one, might not come down.
Seventh graders handed programs to everybody as we filed into the auditorium. I had to sit in front with the other eighth graders. We were in alphabetical order, and I was between Ovideo Stout and Erica Talbot.
When everybody had come in, we all had to stand to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” I just moved my lips. My mouth was too dry to sing.
When we finished, Mr. Winby gave a speech. I didn’t hear a word. I wanted to climb over everybody’s legs and run up the aisle, yelling, Stop! No graduation!
After Mr. Winby was done, Mr. Imber, the music teacher, played the piano. Even though the auditorium was air-conditioned, sweat beads formed on my forehead and my blouse was soaked—and I was shivering.
The next event on the program was giving certificates to the honors students. I was one of them, so I would have to go onstage. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand up.
I managed it, although I was puffing by the time I got to the stage, convinced I’d left a wet trail from my perspiration. There had been applause for the other kids, but when Ms. Virrone, the assistant principal, gave me my certificate, the clapping from the first four rows was deafening.
After the honors awards, Daphne got up to give her valedictory speech. She was the only hope I had left, and I didn’t have much hope. But I clapped hard when she climbed onstage, and the applause, which was weak at the beginning, got stronger.
Daphne began her speech by remembering how it had felt three years ago to be a sixth grader and how exciting it had been to have left elementary school behind. She went on to say that it was exciting yet again to move on to high school. She said we had to start thinking about what we were going to make ourselves into. We had to look out at the world and see where we would fit in it someday and how we would do—and she meant more than what we would be when we grew up.
Then she said, “We’re different from the sixth graders who arrived three years ago. I know I am. But even though I’ve learned a lot and am a better person for it, most of my years here were not happy. For most of them I was without friends. And then, a few weeks ago, a friend found me. I’m saying this—”
She was talking about me! I was surprised—overwhelmed—and I missed what she said next. Then I heard “. . . friends we make during our teen years can stay with us forever, if we’re lucky. And friendship is more than hanging out; sometimes friendship is picking your friend up when she’s down or has been stepped on; sometimes it’s bringing your friend into the same circle with your other friends; and sometimes it is just hanging out.
“But whatever it is, it’s because of our friends that we are never really going to graduate from Claverford. In our hearts—in the truest sense—even though we get our diplomas today, we will always be Claverfordians, remaining forever in eighth grade in the company of the people we care for the most.”
That was the end. I clapped as hard as I could, and the applause grew again. It might be the last time I’d be able to help her out.
But maybe her speech had worked. Maybe staying in the eighth grade in our hearts would be enough for the old lady.
Mr. Imber started playing the piano again. The eighth graders, including me, marched up the right-hand aisle, behind the last row of seats, and into the left-hand aisle. This was it.
“And now,” Mr. Winby said, “the moment some of you have been waiting for since you came here three years ago. Camilla Abrams, you’re first. Come on up.”
Camilla climbed the steps to the stage and walked behind Mr. Winby to stand on his left.
“Congratulations.” He handed her the rolled-up diploma tied with a ribbon. She took it.
And nothing happened, as far as I could tell. She shook Mr. Winby’s hand and left the stage.
Nothing special happened with the next kid either. Or the next.
The first of the kids I knew best to get her diploma was Nina (Draper). Maybe she’d look at me so I could figure out what was going on. She did. As she walked up the aisle, she looked for her friends, and she grinned at me. She grinned at me! She was still my friend. One down. Many more to go.
When Jared got his diploma, he waved it at me and grinned. I loved his grin. I loved that it was aimed at me. Still aimed at me.
Ardis got her diploma, and then BeeBee did, and then Suzanne. As she left the stage, Suzanne held it over her head, like an Olympic medal. And as she walked up the aisle, she smiled at all the most popular kids—including me!
Then it was my turn. Maybe the old lady was waiting for me to get my diploma. I made it to the stage. I was supposed to accept the diploma with my left hand and shake Mr. Winby’s hand with my right. I did it backward. When I held the diploma, I couldn’t tell if anything had happened. I felt like I was having a stroke, but that might have been from panic, not from something really happening.
I tripped on the first step down from the stage. I heard people gasp, but I caught myself and didn’t fall. When I joined the kids waiting halfway up the aisle, Ovideo asked me if I was all right, and Ardis smiled sympathetically at me.
So it wasn’t over yet. It was still going on. Maybe Daphne’s speech had worked, after all.
Parents and students milled around in the lobby after the ceremony. I couldn’t find Jared—but it was wonderful to know that I didn’t need to find him. Mom and Maud and I headed for the door with Ardis and her family.
“We should do something when we leave the building,” I told Ardis. “Something to commemorate our final exit.” My heart was thudding again. This could be it. It could have waited till now to end.
“That sounds like we’re dying.”
One of us might be.
“What if we step across the threshold facing each other,” I said. “So we can see each other take the step into the future.” So I could see Ardis’s expression change, if it happened.
“So I can say at our fiftieth reunion . . .”
We were almost at the door. We were at the door.
“Now,” I said.
We faced each other and stepped across.