MAKE OVER

CHAPTER ONE

I smooth the white polyester of my graduation gown and blink away the tears that have sprung to my eyes. Straightening the square cap on my head, I look at the people who have gathered to witness the culmination of the last thirteen years of my life. My mother—tears sliding down her round cheeks, a bittersweet smile across her lips; my father—his brilliant blue eyes shiny with emotion, pride written all over his face; my twin older brothers—their identical freckled faces bright with excitement.

And that's it.

No one else.

No friends, no classmates, no teachers...no valedictorian or salutatorian speeches or sentimental performances of cheesy coming-of-age songs that all of us would pretend we were too cool to cry over while hiding our falling tears.

I'm in my living room perched on the edge of the sofa, waiting for the rest of my classmates to step in front of their webcams and wave as our principal announces their names over the massive Zoom call that probably cost the school system an arm and a leg to host.

Thanks to COVID-19, this is graduation for the class of 2020.

"Jonathan Zabinski," Mrs. Carpenter's voice crackles through my MacBook's speakers, and the last senior in my class waves at the camera with a sad smile on his face.

"We know this isn't how you pictured this day, and we wish we could all be together right now, but unfortunately this is the hand we've been dealt. Just know we are so proud of you all, and even though we aren't physically together, your teachers and administrators are sending you all our love."

A sniffle from the other side of the room makes me jump, and I meet my mom's gaze. I smile at her and give her a reassuring wink, and she grins at me through her tears.

"Graduates, please move your tassel from right to left."

The tears I'd been holding back betray me, sliding down my cheeks in a deluge of mixed-up emotions as I grip the green tassel and shift it from one side of my head to the other.

"It is my distinct honor to present to everyone in attendance, near and far, the class of 2020." Mrs. Carpenter gestures to the top of her head and I know we are supposed to throw our cap.

But I just can't. Not without the rest of my classmates.

Not with knowing that I didn't fulfill the aspirations I had for my senior year.

It is over. Cut three months short by what feels like a plot to a post-apocalyptic young adult novel.

I hit the end button harder than I should, and like a bomb, my days as a high school senior explode into microscopic pieces. I will never recover what I lost, never know what this moment could have been if I were not safely tucked away in my home.

"Maddie?"

I shake my head and focus back on my dad, who squats in front of me. "Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

I shrug, taking off my cap and tossing it to the couch. "I guess so. This is just so depressing."

My mother stands and claps her hands, the frizzy red curls around her face bouncing. "Ice cream always heals the aching soul." Mom has never been good with tough situations, especially regarding her children.

The twins rush for the kitchen like a pair of kindergarteners instead of twenty-year-old men, attempting to muss the red strands on each other's heads.

Sliding down the zipper on the front of my gown, I stand and take a deep breath. Months of sitting at home have taken a toll on my already curvy figure, and the gown which was meant to flow around my waist is dangerously close to hugging it. Just another way I've failed myself this past year.

Dad drapes his massive tan arm around my shoulders. "I know this was not how you pictured your graduation, kiddo, but you still have college."

Four more years to wonder what it feels like to walk across a stage and receive a diploma. But it is not just missing out on the tradition that has me upset; I've let myself down with more than just a botched senior year. College may be full of new experiences, but I doubt it will erase the regret for not taking advantage of the short time I had left in high school.

"I know. I'll get over it," I murmur, laying my head on his shoulder as we walk into the kitchen where Mom is scooping mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Dad kisses the top of my head and ruffles my hair. "It's okay to be bummed; let yourself feel it."

I nod and take the bowl Mom holds out to me, and the first bite has me feeling a little better.

"Mads, don't take it so hard," Milo, the more laid back of my two brothers, says, taking a huge bite of his ice cream with his front teeth, making me flinch. "Trust me," he mumbles with his mouth full, "High school will be a distant memory as soon as you get to college. It won't even matter next year."

Max, my serious and to the point brother, rolls his eyes. "Dude, let her be sad. High school hasn't been as easy for her; she wasn't popular like you."

"Max," Mom hisses while Milo and Dad glare at him.

Max clams up quicker than the toilet paper flying off the shelves at Target. "Sorry Mads, I just meant that it's all right to be sad."

"Look at it this way, you graduated with honors. That's something to be proud of, no matter what kind of ceremony you had. You accomplished something big," Milo says.

My heart constricts, and I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. "Thanks, guys. I really appreciate all of you trying to make this day special. It means a lot to me to have a family like you."

They all "aww" in an over-the-top sing-song tone, wrapping me in the center of a family hug.

I squeal and bask in their affection; that was one thing I didn't need to conquer this past year—my family and I are blessed with a near-perfect relationship.

After my brothers leave, I trudge up the stairs, removing my gown and tossing it onto my desk chair the second I enter my bedroom. I pull my dark hair into a messy bun on the top of my head—the same bun I've worn for the past three months—and change into sleeping shorts and my school band t-shirt. With a slow spin, I look around my room, taking in the simple lines of white furniture and teal bedding. My gaze lands on a list pinned to the corkboard above my organized desk. With shaking plump fingers, I remove the piece of paper and read the words I wrote in bright purple ink:  Make Over Project. Below the heading are five initiatives I gave myself at the start of the school year—five things that when accomplished would make my last days at Hillwood High School the best of my life.

I didn't achieve one of them.

I stumble back to my bed and fall onto the mattress; my head pounding with thoughts of regret. The tears I had held back flow down my freckled cheeks, and I clench the list to my chest.

If only I'd known when I walked out the school's front door that Friday, that I would never get the chance to complete the list I had always put off until tomorrow.