The Brightest Star in a Constellation

59: Sunset Dreams and Evergreen

☆ Evan ☆

"Please stand for the national anthem," the school's principal announces from the microphone. She sets it down as the music begins to float through the auditorium and the graduating class rises in unison.

While it plays, I cast my eyes around the room. Adrian flashes me a thumbs up from his position near the front of the seating area, showing me his digital camera with a thin zoom lens attached to it.

To my left are Peter and Nicole, their chairs side-by-side. Lexa is one row in front of them.

A black gown is layered over my plain white shirt. It's stuffy inside the room, surrounded by parents and teachers. When the anthem ends, I let out of sigh of relief as I take my seat.

After a few more brief announcements from the principal, she calls a list of students to the stage.

My hands grow clammy. When Lexa's row is called, they head across the carpeted floor and climb the stairs. Shaking hands with the school staff, they accept their diploma and stop for a moment to allow the photographer to take a few pictures.

We practiced this process a few days ago, and yet, it feels new this time. There was no applause before; it was just silence.

After Lexa comes Peter and Nicole. It only makes sense for them to be together until the last feasible moment—when Peter steps forward first. He has a scholarship announced along with his average of above eighty-five—high honours. Nicole, for her part, has a ninety (and the highest grade in calculus) and is so excitable when she reaches centre-stage that she offers both hands to take the diploma.

"Row M, please," the principal says, and I swallow as I get to my feet.

I practically blink, and it's my turn to walk. I set my hand against the railing, keeping my eyes on the three stairs between my beat-up sneakers and the stage.

I can hear the principal speaking, but I don't process a word of it. I remember to pause for the handshake and stare in the direction of the crowd as a camera flashes in my peripheral vision.

Finding my way back to my chair, I carry my ivory folder under my arm. It contains a stamped paper with my high school diploma, a sealed copy of my transcript, and another paper tucked behind it.

North High hockey team, it reads. Most improved player.

I laugh so quietly that I almost forget to breathe.

☆ ☽ ☆

Seeing Peter Delacroix in a suit leaves me spellbound.

The sleeves are snug against his arms, accentuating his lithe frame. He's hiding comfortable black sneakers underneath the maroon fabric. It's the first time I've ever liked the colour red on anyone, even myself.

He joins me under the shadowed sky as we move towards his car. I stick the keys into the ignition. The engine hums in the solace of the silence.

"I didn't know your suit was red," I say, lingering.

The hint of a smile appears on his face as he smooths the fabric under his hands. "It was a last-minute decision. If it looks terrible—"