Page 84 of Dropping the Ball

“Walk me through it,” he says. “Tell me what happens when you get a no. How does the meeting go?”

“Most of the time, I can’t even get a meeting. I’m trying to set up calls and appointments with people I know by name or reputation, and Threadwork doesn’t mean anything to them. I can’t even get in the room to explain the mission. Sometimes ‘Armstrong’ means something. Our last name is the only reason I’ve gotten the few donations we have.”

“So you need connections. I kind of thought your family was one of the most connected in Austin.”

“My parents are. And it’s mainly their generation controlling the wallets and making philanthropy decisions.”

“So . . . why not have your parents do the asking?”

“Because it’s nottheirjob. It’s mine.”

“But they would help?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“I don’t get it,” he says. It’s a confession, not an accusation. “It seems simple. What am I missing? There has to be a very good reason you’re not asking them.”

Perceptive. Always perceptive.

“All right, Micah.” I straighten my legs and sit back against the elevator wall. “Let me tell you the rest of the story of graduation.”

Senior Year, Ten Days Before Graduation

Kaitlyn

I stare at Mrs.Gaspard, not understanding. “I’m salutatorian?”

“It’s a remarkable achievement anywhere, Kaitlyn, but especially at Hillview. These are the only two named class ranks. You outperformed everyone.”

“Except Micah Croft.” It was that calculus test. How could everything have come down to one test? “Four years of work and none of it matters because I failed a test the day after breaking my nose?”

“You didn’t fail it, Kaitlyn. You got a C on a test in a college-level calculus class. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“How can you even be sure about the ranks?” I ask. “Things could change after finals next week.”

Mrs. Gaspard gives a small sigh and rests her arms on the desk, meeting my eyes with sympathetic ones. If she’s expecting tears, she’ll be disappointed. My nose has only had four days to heal. The swelling is coming down, but crying would be so painful with the pressure and the mucus . . .

“You would have to get at least a ninety-seven on the final and Micah would need to get below a sixty-three for that to happen.”

“I can get an A!”

“I know. But do you think Micah would get anything less?” Her voice is gentle but firm.

I slump against my chair. Of course he won’t. But we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if he had listened to me last week about calling my mom. She still would have dragged me to the doctor when she saw my nose, but I could have kept it from her untilafterthat test.

“I’m telling you now because I wanted to give you time to adjust to the idea,” Mrs. Gaspard says. “I know your expectations for yourself. I know you don’t see salutatorian as the brilliant achievement that it is. But I . . .” She sighs again. “I hoped I’d find a way to help you see it anyway.”

Am I supposed to reassure her now?No, Mrs. Gaspard, you did a great job. It’s not your fault that everything I’ve worked for crumbled around me exactly when I would have no time left to fix it.It isn’t her fault. I don’t blame her. But I’m not in the mood to cheer her up. I have a different, much bigger conversation ahead of me.

I stand and hitch my school bag over my shoulder. It has a draft of the graduation speech I won’t be needing tucked inside it. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Mrs. Gaspard stands too. “Kaitlyn, is there anything—”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Gaspard. I need to go.”

Her forehead furrows, but she nods.

Micah is sitting in the reception area when I walk out, earbuds in, staring at his outstretched legs. I know who he’s waiting for and what she’s about to tell him.

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