Formerly Shark Girl (32 page)

“See you in there!” I call to Mom and Michael,

who both wave, Mom kind of frantically.

“Grandma and all the rest of us

are seated on the
left,
” she says. “Look for us!”

I give her a thumbs-up.

Inside we’ll gather

and form our lines.

Then we’ll march back outside,

to the stage,

in front of family and friends.

Then? Then it’s speeches

and diplomas

and parties

and forever.

“Jane!” Justin runs from the crowd.

He is carrying the biggest trumpet-ish thing

I’ve ever seen.

“We got a seat in the very back,”

he says. “But I’m going to blow this

when you get up there,

so you’ll know exactly where we are.”

“Is that a
vuvuzela
?” I ask.

He nods proudly. “Uh-huh.

I bet you’re the only person here today

who gets one of these going off for you.”

“I bet you’re right.”

Justin squirms, but I hug him, anyway.

“Thank you.”

He joins his mother,

and hand in hand, they disappear

into the crowd, Justin barely limping.

“Coming?” Rachel lags back a little.

I run to catch up, and together

we trot after Trina, Angie, and Elizabeth.

I see the school

as if seeing it for the first time.

The rafters, the bricks, the windows,

the spot where Angie and I came to terms

last year,

the spot where Max picked me up after school

last week,

the pathways I have walked

and where I have changed

and grown

over the last four years.

This school has seen me through

so much change.

And not just school, of course.

The people in it.

And today . . .

today it’s over.

For real.

I guess I should be sad,

and I am . . .

but mostly?

Mostly, I’m tingling all over,

heady, giddy.

And when a loud horn squawks

in the distance, Rachel and I nudge each other

and then burst out laughing.

“Jane Margaret Arrowood.”

Moving toward the stage,

my legs get real stiff,

and it’s like all of a sudden,

I’ve forgotten how to walk.

But I regain my stride

when a small roar erupts

from somewhere off to my left,

Michael’s yell standing out above the mix,

and somewhere out there

that
vuvuzela
honks again and again.

“Congratulations,” Principal Marks says.

He shakes my hand and holds out my diploma.

I take the scroll in hand.

Turning, I pause for the barest of seconds.

I see them — my family:

Mom, Michael, Grandma

and Uncle Ben and Aunt Karen,

and I look at the sea of faces

that makes up my classmates.

I see Rachel and Trina,

still waiting their turn.

Waving to my family,

I think,
This moment

is a moment I’ll always remember,

this instant of knowing

that I’m now

a soon-to-be college student,

a young adult,

a woman

with my whole life ahead of me,

and my hands — both of them, in my mind —

holding on firmly

to those I love.

No matter what the storms,

I will hold on.

Am I taking up my oar?

Oh, yes.

And I’m ready to paddle.

I can’t wait to see

where I go next.

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