Page 3 of True Blue

Changing into some jean shorts and a less baggy tee, I grab my laptop and type out a quick response to Layla.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: WRITE BACK ASAP

Hey Lay,

Glad you made it back home in one piece! I remember the camping trips when Uncle Jack would pack every square inch of the car around us so that he didn’t have to rent the U-Haul trailer Aunt Tati always tried to sell him on. I’m imagining getting your and Gwen’s stuff back from college being a similar experience.

I’m done with finals, but Mom is roping me into some summer job thing at Habitat for Humanity with Christopher. Probably some optics thing that she’s trying to leverage for a fundraiser or something. I might not be able to write a lot if I’m working there and at the Humane Society. Mom probably forgot I volunteer there in the summer, so we’ll see how packed my schedule gets.

I’m dying to see you too! Your juggling video made me miss you more. Keep sending me updates on the school countdown. I’ll let you know about the roommate thing when I get my packet.

What classes are you taking this year? I got to change the prepicked one's last week, but I’m still in mostly gen-eds. HIST-156: Medieval History is the only one that counts toward my major. Dr. Howards is teaching it. Did you ever have him? Any insights you can share?

I’ll write back when I can. Send me pics of Gwen and Axe in your next email.

Miss and love you,

J

I send off the email and close my laptop. My heart squeezes for a sec and I bite my cheek, putting on the game face I’ve perfected to hide in front of Mom.

Walking down to the front door, I find her standing next to it and talking on the phone. “She just came down. We’re leaving now.” She nods toward the shoes lined up on the mat, my sneakers mysteriously back in the perfect row beside her. I slip them on, grabbing my shoulder bag while she continues her conversation.

Tuning her out, I follow as she walks out into the sweltering heat, repeating my countdown.Sixty-eight days, sixty-eight days, sixty-eight days.

2

“Congratulations graduates. Your next adventure awaits!”

My smile tries to crack my face in two as the stillness of the sea of robe clad graduates explodes into a flurry of motion. The cacophony of cheers and whistles pierce my ears as Principal Desmond steps away from the podium and walks off stage. I stand, throwing my cap into the air, and watch it disappear amongst the hundreds of other emerald green airborne squares. Placing my fingers in my mouth, I whistle, and the sound melts into the other cheers and whistles going off around me as the applause from the bleachers surrounding the football field creates a dull thrum in the background.

Camera flashes go off and for a second, my smile dims. Most of the flashes probably emanate from proud parents wanting to capture the excitement of the day. But I also know some belong to telephoto lenses, zoomed in, trying to get a shot of Heather and Michael Marshall’s son for the tabloids. Shaking off the ever-present itch of being watched, my chest heaves, and my smile returns to try to crack my face in two. I glance around and just let the excited energy of the atmosphere invade my body,mingling with my own ecstasy. All around me, people hug and squeal and try to move through the crowd to find their loved ones.

Focusing on the bleachers, I attempt to find familiar faces as the caps rain back down upon us. Most of the crowd is either looking down as they shuffle out of their seats toward the field, or they’re stopping to wave at the people around me, having found their person in the green sea. Giving up, I search the crowd level with me and easily find my target, having seen her face nearly every day since I was five.

Mira stands near the stage, dark brown waves blowing around her face as she tries to push it back over her shoulders without the graduation cap to hold it in place. Her honey brown eyes search the throng of green clad seniors, not spotting me as her head swivels around. Having sat in the front row throughout our graduation thanks to her alphabetically superior surname, Adams, she has the luxury of standing in front of the stage to survey the crowd, all directly in front of her. Meanwhile, I was stuck in the middle with the other M’s waiting forever for them to call Marshall.

I weave through people, smiling and nodding to those that recognize me and those that don’t. Mira stares up at the bleachers, probably hoping for a glimpse of her own parents in the melding crowds that are now mostly on even ground. It makes it nearly impossible to find anyone just by sight.

A clear path forms from me to her when I get about three feet away. I zoom through it, grabbing Mira by the waist, and spinning us around.

She squeals and starts swatting my shoulders. “Bent! Put me down!”

I grant her wish and beam. “We did it. High school is officially over.”

She smiles up at me and shakes her head, eyes returning to the crowd around us. “And yet you’re still acting like a child.”

“I don’t think a child would have been able to pick you up.”

She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me, reaching up to poke the dimple in my left cheek.

I laugh, swatting her hand away. “Who’s being childish now, Mir?”

She slaps my chest before gasping and waving at someone over my shoulder. “Autumn! Over here!” I turn and open a space for our grim-faced friend to quickly slide in next to me. Her dark blue eyes flash, jaw set, and arms folded tightly over her chest.

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