I crack up at the shy look on my mom’s face.
“Mom is just embarrassed she was checking out a bunch of hot young guys in the picture.”
Dad gives her a questioning stare.
“Hey, I said Andi’s work is very good. It’s very …” she coughs, “… detailed. It’s one of those types of images that sparks … emotion.”
I’m literally shaking with silent laughter. My mom is hilarious.
“What exactly were the boys doing in the picture?”
I wait for my mom to respond but she doesn’t. She takes another long pull of her water.
“She painted a view of them coming out of the water at the beach.” Their board shorts slung low on their hips, the ultimate V—my favorite letter, for sure—showing for our pleasure. Sunlight glistened on their wet bodies, defining every curve of their shoulders, every angle of their muscular abs. It was pure hotness. Not like anything she usually draws.
“Normally, her work is very sharp and edgy with exaggerated features,” I go on to explain. “But this one was meant to make you blush.”
“Well, it definitely worked on your mom. Christ, you’re a grown woman getting all pink in the cheeks looking at teenage boys.” Thank god he has a sense of humor because he’s still chuckling instead of getting angry.
“They sure as hell didn’t look like teenage boys,” she says, fanning herself.
“Ha,” I point at her. “You should have been there to see it live. I almost fainted. I think we should buy her painting and put it up in the living room.”
Dad’s face crumples. “I think not.”
“Maybe mom wants to hang it on the ceiling above your bed.”
She shoots me an evil look, but laughs anyway. “That’d be one hell of a way to fall asleep.”
“You two are too much. I’m outta here.” Dad leaves us to ourselves and our impure thoughts of Travis, Josh, Dom, and Alex.
Mom says, “You’re one lucky woman, Meg.”
“Oh, I know.”
At school the next day, the halls are back to normal. The steamy portrait of the guys replaced by pictures announcing the end of the year festivities. One being the Goodbye rally which takes place next period.
This rally is planned strictly by the underclassmen in ASB so they better make it good. About five years ago, the seniors stopped planning their own event since all the details need to be taken care of during Prom season, and because AP exams happen at about the same time, the juniors get a pardon too. I don’t even want to talk about the college level exams. Just thinking about the hours I spent studying and taking the damn things makes my head hurt.
“I say we ditch second period and get to the rally early,” Keesh says.
Steph crumples her brows. “Why would we do that?”
“So we can get a good seat. I wanna see all the action from up front and center. Floor seats! I don’t wanna be in the bleachers.”
“I’m down,” I tell her.
“Dude, I’ll go,” Andi says, orange feathers sticking out of the top of her ponytail.
“Fine. I’m in.”
Keesh and I look at each other in complete shock.
“Did I just hear Steph say she’s down to ditch a class?” Josh says, tossing an arm over her shoulder.
“Yeah, so let’s go before I change my mind.”
The six of us weave through the crowds during passing period and push through the doors into the gym. The whole place is decorated in red, the senior class color. Posters hang from the ceiling bidding farewell to our class, and congratulating us on our graduation.
My heart thumps loud in my chest and my eyes sting with emotion. This is it. This is our last rally.
“What are you guys doing here?” Mr. Mitchell asks.
“We’re gonna reserve our seats,” Travis says, stepping down onto the gym floor.
“Okay,” our teacher says. “Just go sit down and stay out of the way.” Perfect.
The rally begins with a performance from our drumline. Keesh and I rock back and forth to the beat. The crowd cheers and dances along. This year’s cheerleaders take the floor, with a dance number and some pretty impressive stunts. Amy is tossed in the air and caught several times before they’re finished and next year’s squad replaces them. That has to be bittersweet. Passing on the torch and their last time performing all in the matter of seconds.
Mr. Mitchell takes the mic, quieting the crowd. “Let’s hear it for the seniors! Congratulations! Before you begin a new chapter in your life, let’s take a little trip down memory lane.”
A giant screen lowers from the roof and stops right in front of us. A slide show begins with images from our ninth grade year. Sports, dances, rallies, and candid shots out in the quad.
My hand shoots to my mouth in shock when a picture flashes of me and Alex. It’s from the backwards dance when he was crowned king and asked me to dance with him. I’m in his arms and our eyes are locked on one another.
Andi leans in close to me. “Wow. You can see it even way back then. Dude, you guys have always been soul mates.”
I toss my arm over her shoulder and pull her close to me for a side hug.
“Thank you.” And she’s right. You can see it.
Because we’re in ASB, several pictures of us come up as the years pass in film. Pictures of Josh pitching, winning King. Keesh on the soccer field, looking fierce as her foot connects with the ball, and in another pose she’s looking elegant as our Homecoming Queen. I love an image of Andi covered in glitter and paint splashed all over her clothes as she works on our spirit night float. A gorgeous picture of Stephanie sitting between Dom’s legs during lunch on our grassy knoll is as sweet as can be. She’s smiling at someone out of the camera’s view and Dom watches her with his own smile.
“Yeah!” Josh screams and then whistles when a picture of him and Jon pops up.
“That’s awesome,” Keesh says, both she and Josh beaming with giddiness.
When the slide show finishes, the dance team rocks the gym with one last hip hop ensemble. These people should really tryout for So You Think You Can Dance or be in music videos. They look like professionals.
“Let’s give it up for the seniors, one last time!” Mr. Mitchell shouts. “Congratulations! Goodbye!”
And then, the rally ends in true Carver tradition.
The seniors rise and gather in the center of the gym floor.
“This is it,” I say to my friends. Steph and Keesh are on either side of me, holding my hands.
Josh is in the center of the group and he is the first to start the singing of our high school alma mater. Little by little, we join in on the song. By the end, I’m certain all eight hundred seniors are singing our final farewell to our school, our home, for the last four years.
When I get home from school, Mom is waiting for me in the office.
“You ready?” she says.
I know exactly what she’s talking about. Today’s the day. Once I hit send, my decision will be final. My college intentions will be set in stone, or at least financially with my initial deposit for tuition.
“I sure am,” I tell her. “How about you? Are you and dad okay with my choice?”
“Honey, we’re more than okay. We’re thrilled for you. This is a huge step in your life. We’re very proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. You got in to every school you applied to. What more could parents ask for?”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You ready?” she beams with pride.
“Definitely.”
And with a few strokes of the keyboard, and one click of the mouse, my letter of intent is signed and I’m committed to the school of my choice.
It’s a done deal.
I’m graduating from high school in less than two weeks.
And I’m going to college in the fall.
Holy shit.
Chapter 31
“Dude, look who I brought,” Andi says. I figured she’d bring him. “I thought it’d be fun to take Flat Ben when we each go up there.”
She’s funny. He’s going to think we’re a bunch of whack jobs carrying his picture everywhere we’ve gone this last month. And the poor guy is starting to look worn.
“I can’t believe you guys are gonna finally tell us what you’ve decided,” Josh says, shifting in his seat.
“What about you?” Keesh questions. “It’s not like you’ve taken out an ad in the newspaper announcing your plans.”
“I guess you don’t read the newspaper then,” he says, with a wink.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“Shh! They’re getting started.”
The Double Threat crew sits together, shoulder to shoulder, at our Senior Awards Night. Only about a third of our class is here tonight. To some, it’s just another boring event leading up to graduation, but to us, it’s the night where are secrets will be revealed.
The festivities start with the National Anthem, followed by a quick address by our principal. Blah, blah, blah. Let’s get this show on the road.
Several awards are given out for academic honors in various subjects. Brody snags two for physics and calculus. Keesha squeals when her name is called for social studies. And I almost pee my pants when I hear my name called for language arts.
Scholarships from local community organizations are then given to students. Stephanie wins a chunk of cash from a service group. She applied for that scholarship at the beginning of the school year and just barely found out she got it now.
“Jeezus! How much longer?” Keesh whines. “I can hardly hold it in anymore.” Her leg bounces up and down, and I know exactly how she feels. I can hardly sit still I’m so anxious.
Mrs. Fuller stands at the end of our row. “You guys ready? When I give you the signal, you can make your way to the stage.”
After about five rows of students announcing their future plans, Mrs. Fuller gives us the thumbs up.
When I’m about to pass her, she grasps my arm. “I can’t wait to hear. Good luck!”
“Thanks,” I tell her, as I follow Keesha toward the front of the auditorium.
Steph takes the steps up to the stage and then pauses at the top. She looks into the audience and I see her meet eyes with Dom. He smiles and blows her a kiss. She blushes.
My phone trembles in my hand as I wait for Steph to make her announcement.
The principal calls her name and it seems like an eternity before she stands at the mic. “In the fall, I will be attending Berkeley with a major in biology with a pre-med emphasis.”
My heart squeezes and I can barely breathe. Tears fall from my eyes. I’m so happy for her.
As Keesh takes her walk toward the center of the stage, I start dialing Alex’s number. “Standby,” I whisper into the phone.
Keesha stands tall and begins to speak, “Good evening, family and friends. I will be attending San Jose in the fall with a major in psychology with the hopes of being a high school counselor.”
No freaking way. I’m buzzing with nerves. With my phone held discreetly to my ear, I take my turn.
“I’m so happy for you,” Alex whispers in my ear.
“I’d like to express my gratitude to my teachers at Carver.” I pause, taking a deep breath. “In the fall, I will be attending San Jose with a major in English and an emphasis in creative writing.”
“I knew it!” Alex shouts into my ear. “Hell yes! Call me when you’re done. Love you!”
When I make it to the side of the stage, Keesh and Steph are jumping up and down. I hug them quickly and turn around to see Andi at the mic.
I barely catch her say, “California Art School.”
Travis is next. He looks nervous. The girls and I hold hands as he struts across the stage.
“Good evening. This July, I will be reporting to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego.”
My eyes widen, and I think my heart stops beating for a second as I gather my thoughts. My gaze shoots to Andi. She smiles. “Did you know?”
She nods, tears threatening to spill over the edge of her eyelids.
“We’ll talk later,” Travis says, when he joins us. “Let’s hear Josh.”
“Many of you know I’m a baseball player. After several discussions with my parents, I have decided to delay entering the draft and instead, I will be attending La Verne in the fall where I hope to develop my strength and my size. Thank you.”
When Josh makes his exit, the chatter among my friends begins.
A teacher scolds us and tells us to sit back down.
It’s absolute torture to sit quietly as the rest of our classmates share their futures.
When we’re finally excused, there is constant chit chat as we make our way outside.
Our parents try to congratulate us but we all have so much to say to one another. Maybe this big reveal tonight wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“Who wants to go to dinner so we can talk about everything?” Travis shouts over anyone.
“Why don’t you all just come over and I’ll order pizza?” My mom suggests.