Blame The Weeds (gxg)

17

The back wall of the cafeteria was one large pane of glass, letting the sunset into the enormous room, brightening even the darkest of shadows living in my little corner. I couldn't hide. Plastic cups clinked and cameras snapped under the red and white streamers on the ceiling. I could brush my fingers over the decorations by raising a hand.

I'd shed my graduation gown long ago so mom's dress could live and breathe. Many of us had our caps on—a special feeling came with wearing them. We'd accomplished something, however mundane. It was the milestone Luke had missed.

My father stood at the cookie stand, his steely eyes on Rue across the room as she talked to a boy with wandering eyes. Dad angrily chomped on another oatmeal cookie as Gabrielle nursed a cup of coffee in her elegant emerald dress, smiling at all the young people and their accomplishments. She was the leafy green plant Ficus benghalensis, offering everything in abundance—food, wisdom, leadership, and love. Sometimes it was too much.

I did another hopeful sweep of the room and came up empty. The only Cameron present was Giselle, who nursed a cup of water in the corner. She waited for him too.

The ceremony had been conventional. Principal Lockwood told us what was waiting in the great beyond. Our valedictorian, Jordan Kennedy, spoke about how many friends he'd made over the years, how much he'd miss us, and his hope for our futures. He ended with an ill-timed joke that made every student laugh and every parent gasp in horror. After that, we'd been called up to receive our diplomas one at a time. I shook hands with Nakoolak, who met me on the stage with a proud smile. He handed me my diploma while Lockwood rushed my name into the microphone. While someone yelped loudly, I'd only been accompanied by an appropriate amount of applause—certainly fewer whoops and hollers than Freya Cameron had received, if only from the faculty alone.

Mrs. Young, our resident biology expert, had spared no expense in introducing her favourite and most talented student. She brought Freya on stage to stand by her side while she gushed about her. Freya Cameron, a student whose work ethic rivals anything I've ever seen, a student who could make any parent proud, and a student whose achievements shine as bright as the woman she's become. I was sure Freya's hair would ignite from the stage lights by the end. Thunderous applause had shaken the school when Young sent her out into the world. But I hadn't watched the stage—I'd turned in my seat and stared back at Giselle in the far corner of the auditorium. Freya's mother had watched vacantly. Mr. Young was prouder than she was.

I flinched when a hand landed on my arm. The sharp movement exhausted me.

"I'm proud of you, honey." Gabrielle stood beside me with a plate of food. "Really, really proud."

I tried to smile. "Have you seen Freya?"

"No, but she might have a few awards to collect in the hall." Gabrielle offered me a plate of cookies and star-shaped fruit. "You look like you need some sugar, honey." She threw a look back at the food tables. "And whatever you eat, your father can't."

I took the Styrofoam plate with a thank you and left for the exit, slipping out of the celebration unnoticed. There were a few halls and turns to make before I found the awards booth, but I slowed down in a quiet gallery of lockers. There were hitching sobs coming from the woodshop room. I inched the door open—then flinched back. Miss Reddi was at the far wall on the phone, the cord wrapped around her fingers, a hand to her stomach.

"I have to go," Reddi choked into the receiver, sharp eyes set on me. She slammed the phone into the hook and faced me with wrath in every tense muscle. But second after second ticked away, and she said nothing. I stepped into the room, gently set the plate of sweets on the nearest desk, then backed out, closing the door in front of me. One of those needles dissolved inside my chest, but I was much more tired.