by Laura Hopper
“You wanted to talk to me on the plane?” I ask in disbelief. I can’t imagine Luke ever having to psych himself up to speak to any girl, particularly me.
“Oh my god, yes,” he says. “You were tan and your hair was pulled back and you looked so damn cute. And then you sang ‘Wherever I Go’ with no self-consciousness at all. And since then, everything has been about you. After we first kissed in my Jeep, as I drove home, I could swear this strip of leather smelled of you. Since I have had this, I have had you. I want you to wear it, because I want you to always have a piece of me.”
“I love this,” I say, running my finger along the worn leather.
“When you look at it, you’ll remember me,” he says.
“I don’t need a bracelet to remember you,” I assure him.
“Just wear it. Don’t take it off.”
“I won’t. Ever. I promise.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Graduation ceremonies are about to begin. The graduating class is gathered on the football field, their caps and gowns shimmering in the spring sunlight. The orchestra’s melody plays through the speakers as the graduates take their seats on the risers. Proud parents, grandparents, siblings, and friends plant themselves in white folding chairs.
Up above the field is a grassy hill. During football season, the hill catches the overflow of fans when the stands are jammed during Friday-afternoon games. The view is crappy, but you can hear the band and vaguely make out the numbers on the scoreboard.
Today, I sit on the hill with Danielle, Sloan, and Brett—my three best friends. We’ve seen one another through a lot this year. We’ve had bumps along the way, but here we are, watching commencement from a distance. Twelve months from now it will be us. And twelve months from tomorrow, we’ll be going our separate ways. No one can predict all that will happen between now and then; however, I can say for certain that we will still be friends. I know we’ll have fun, I know we’ll have fights. There will definitely be sex, or everything but. And we can count on some surprises.
Down below where we sit, the valedictorian reads her speech into the microphone. We can’t really make out the specific words, but the tone is clear. They’ve made it. The four hundred kids sitting down there in the sun have accomplished something significant. The speaker’s voice conveys gratification, strength, and triumph. If the audience listens closely enough, they can probably also hear her self-satisfaction and superiority at being publically declared the smartest person on that football field. I wonder if she’s had sex. Maybe she gets down and dirty with a guy from her AP Latin class. Maybe that cap, gown, and gold rope will be in a heap on the floor of that guy’s car this afternoon.
Our principal begins reading the names of the class and each graduate rises to collect his or her diploma. The four of us lean back on our elbows, only vaguely aware of the individuals being mentioned. Then I hear it. Crystal clear. A shot ringing out through the silence.
“Luke Spencer Hallstrom.”
I bolt upright. It’s real. He’s graduating. He’s leaving. The gravity of it hits me hard, like a blow to the chest. Danielle, sensing my visceral reaction, wraps her arm around me and gives a little squeeze. Sloan, on my other side, leans her head on my shoulder.
The last of the names is called and, together, the graduating class, still standing, throw their mortarboards in the air and let out an exuberant whoop. The joy is palpable. The audience of loved ones claps and, no doubt, dabs at a tear or two. I can see Luke finding his way to his mom and dad. His brother and sister are there, too, and they all stand together for a family photo. I watch Luke warmly embracing his parents, his smile wide. He turns his head this way. Is he looking for me?
“I guess I should go down there,” I say, standing up and dusting the grass from my skirt.
Brett nods.
“We’ll wait here,” Sloan says.
“Good luck,” Danielle says.
And I begin the long walk down the hill to say hello. And goodbye.
Acknowledgments
To Hannah Mann, thank you for holding my hand. You brought this book to life.
To Steven Malk, thank you for not laughing at me. You took a shot, and I am forever grateful.
To Elizabeth Bewley, thank you for jumping in. Your enthusiasm never wavered.
To Wendy Lefkon, thank you for being my friend. Your support knows no bounds.
About the Author
Author photograph © Suzanne Landis
LAURA HOPPER has worked in the film industry and is currently a book editor. I Never is her first novel. She lives in Los Angeles, California, with her family.
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