Prince Charming

by S. Celi

  “I don’t care.” Then I bit back a smile. “Does Blake’s eye still look bad, too?”

  “It does. The bruise is pretty big.” She bit back a smile. “And his nose doesn’t look so great, either.”

  “Good.” I didn’t even try to hide my delight. I gave him what he deserved. Well, he really deserved more than that, but maybe my punch had sent a message. “Maybe he’ll remember for next time.”

  “I don’t like to hear about you guys fighting like that.” She sighed. “It’s really hard for me, you know, to always know what to do.”

  “They’re assholes. Jerks.”

  “They don’t always treat you very well. You’re right about that.”

  I sighed, exasperated. “Mom, they hacked into my phone, looked through my personal photos, found one of me with Laine, and shared it with everyone!”

  “I know. David and I discussed it with them.”

  “You did?” I sat up in bed, adjusting myself against the fluffy pillows. I didn’t take my eyes off of her. I needed her to answer this question.

  “We did. They know it was unacceptable.” She scooted closer to me. “We’ve made that very clear. Both of them had their allowance cut.”

  “They did?” I said, unable to hide my surprise. “Good.”

  “You sound shocked, honey.”

  “Just didn’t expect that. That was bullshit what they did,” I muttered. “Total bullshit.” I didn’t need to add that it might have singlehandedly ruined my love life.

  “You know I hate it when you cuss, Geoff.” She sounded more half-hearted than upset.

  “Well, that’s the best word for this,” I said. Then the bagel caught my eye. She had fixed it just the way I liked, toasted with honey nut cream cheese. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

  She got up, grabbed the plate and the glass from the desk, and handed them to me. I gulped down some of the juice and took an eager bite into the bagel. She watched me, a half amused expression on her face.

  “You know, I’m really proud that you’re going to be salutatorian,” she said, once I’d eaten about half of the bagel. “That’s pretty awesome. More than awesome. What an accomplishment. And you’re going to UVA. That’s even better.”

  “I still haven’t figured out what I want to major in,” I told her, after I swallowed. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, but I can’t decide.”

  “You don’t have to decide right now.” A wistful smile came over her face. “Have you thought about your speech for tomorrow?”

  “No,” I admitted. “That’s what I want to do today, while I stay home.”

  She cocked her head. “So I can’t convince you to go back to Heritage one more time? Just once more?”

  I shook my head.

  “I guess I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to go either.” She stood up from the bed and walked to the doorframe. Then she turned around. “You know, Geoff, I really do love you. And I’m sorry if you haven’t felt that way in a while.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  About fifteen minutes after she left, still in my boxer shorts and T-shirt, I turned on the computer. I had one more thing to do before I could leave high school behind and never think about my life there again. I had to get through my graduation speech.

  And graduation.

  SATURDAY, MAY 18

  NO MATTER WHERE you were in America, high school graduation ceremonies were all pretty much the same: plenty of tears, lots of photos, and kids hugging and hanging onto each other, while they proclaimed they would always stay in touch.

  David grunted as he slid the BMW into a parking spot in the church parking lot across the street from school. At his request, I’d ridden with him and Mom to the ceremony, and the twins caught a ride with their mom, Caroline. “I want to talk to you a minute, Geoff.”

  “Okay,” I replied as David motioned for Mom to hop out of the car. Once she shut the door, he braced his hands on the wheel. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s just fine,” he said, looking at me through the rear-view mirror. “I just haven’t found the time to say something to you that I wanted to say.” He paused. “I’m very proud of the person you are becoming, Geoff.”

  I swallowed, and sank further into the leather seat. “You are?”

  “Yes.” He took his hands off the wheel and turned to me a little. “You’ve done a lot of growing this year. Of course, your grades are outstanding. But it’s the other stuff.”

  “I thought you hated me. Didn’t want me around.”

  He sighed. “I didn’t know how to handle another teenage boy.” He gestured with one hand to the twins and their mother, who by then had met up with Mom in the parking lot. They all stood about ten feet away from the car, waiting for us to get out. “And you know I have my hands full with those two.”

  I laughed.

  “Nice shiner on Blake, by the way,” David said.

  “I was mad.”

  “You’ve been mad for a long time, haven’t you?” His voice had turned warmer. “I know you miss your dad. And that you sometimes feel out of place at school.”

  Wow. He’d been noticing a lot about me. More than I had expected.

  “I’m glad I get to leave Robert Hill soon,” I admitted, my eyes following the sea of students in graduation gowns, and parents with cameras. “Get to start my life. My real life.”

  “It’s already started.” David pulled the keys out of the car and opened the driver side door. “And you have a big speech to make.” With one foot on the pavement, he looked back at me. “Just make your mother proud. And me.”

  “I will,” I said as I opened my car door, too.

  As we walked toward school, the twins acted like they might have been celebrities. They kept stopping to take photos with anyone they could find, even classmates of ours I knew they didn’t like. It was funny to watch them, since they both had signature poses they did over and over again for each photo. They would have thought of something like that. It was just their kind of obnoxious style. I felt a twinge of jealousy, though, because one thing was obvious: the rest of my classmates would miss the twins.

  I couldn’t say the same for myself.

  “Well,” Mom said when we all arrived at Heritage’s front entrance, “I guess we’ll let you all get ready from here.” She nodded in the direction of a clump of students headed to the side entrance of the school auditorium.

  “I love you, Mom.” I gave her a hug, and she held onto me tighter than normal.

  “I love you too, Geoff,” she whispered in my ear. “And make this speech count.”

  “Mr. Miller,” Mr. Langston said behind me. When I whirled around, I saw that, for once, his shirt didn’t have any food stains on it, and looked ironed. Impressive. “I just want you to know—we missed you in the AP test Thursday.” He turned his attention to my mom. “I proctored the exam.”

  “I know I missed it,” I said, but I wasn’t apologizing. Not at all. “I just had some things to take care of—some stuff I needed to sort out.”

  “Well, I’m disappointed you won’t be getting the college credit. Such a shame to study so hard and do so much work for nothing.”

  “I don’t think it was for nothing,” Mom spoke up. “I think Geoff has just learned a couple of things in the last few months. For one, there is more to life than a test.”

  “But surely, you think—”

  “Geoff made the right decision for himself. There’ll be other tests. Plenty of them, since he’s going to study pre-law at Virginia.”

  I bit back a grin. Maybe she did understand me a little bit, after all.

  Mr. Langston didn’t look convinced, though. He still had a withered, disapproving look on his face. “You also missed the graduation ceremony prep from yesterday, Geoff.”

  “I know,” I replied. “But I think I can figure out how it goes.”

  “I just think it’s a shame that you—”

  “Seniors,” Mr. Henderson called. “It’s time to make y
our way to the side hallway for the procession of the class.”

  Mr. Langston stepped aside. “Don’t let me keep you, Mr. Miller.”

  As was tradition, all the seniors lined up in a row according to class rank, as we got ready to enter the stage. I tried to find Laine, but I couldn’t pick her out of the line of red caps. Annoyed, I made my way to the line and grabbed a spot behind Nichole. She already had her cap on, and clutched her speech in her hand.

  “So, are you ready?” she asked in her nasally voice.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I patted my pants underneath my robe. “Got my speech right here.”

  “I know we’ve been in competition these last few years,” Nichole said, “but I just want you to know, I wouldn’t want the salutatorian to be anyone else, but you.”

  “Thanks,” I said as Mr. Henderson clapped his hands. This was Nichole’s awkward way of giving me a compliment. “Good luck with your speech, Nichole.”

  Mr. Henderson clapped his hands together once more, shouted at us to be quiet, and the underclassmen in the high school band began to play the song for our processional into the school auditorium.

  We all took spots on the stage, and then one of the juniors sang the national anthem in a warbling, breathy voice. Nichole and I sat in front, away from the rest of our classmates, next to Mayor Harris and the podium. Mr. Harris said a boring prayer, and then someone I didn’t recognize who played with the Cincinnati Bengals gave a speech about following dreams, and achieving goals. A couple of times I had to stifle a chuckle when I glanced at Nichole, who seemed to grow more nervous with every second that passed.

  Everyone knew she hated public speaking. This girl did everything right, but public speaking made her terrified. For me, on the other hand, public speaking was a total turn on, and I loved it. That’s how I knew I was going to make a decent lawyer. When I wanted to, I could make quite a show. And, as was tradition, the salutatorian speech came first during the ceremony.

  Even so, when Mayor Harris introduced me, a jolt went through my body. I’d given plenty of speeches in the past, but this one really counted. This one was the moment. There would be no turning back after this speech.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your class salutatorian, Geoff Miller, to the stage.”

  My classmates broke out into polite applause, which the audience of about four hundred echoed. I couldn’t really see them, though, as I walked up to the podium. The glare of the lights blinded me as I unfolded my speech.

  I cleared my throat. The microphone buzzed. “Good afternoon parents, teachers, and distinguished guests.”

  The applause from the crowd died down as I made sure to follow the rules of public speaking. Look up and address your audience. Relax the shoulders. Speak slowly. Vary tone of voice.

  So why had my hands gone clammy, all of a sudden?

  “We’ve spent twelve years trying to make it to this moment, and now we are finally here. This is the moment where we all stand on the edge of a new reality, a new freedom. But what does that mean?

  “Socrates said . . .” I trailed off, and looked at the pages. The word blurred and twisted, so I shut my eyes and shook my head. When I opened them, it still wasn’t better. The five pages of my speech contained all kinds of highbrow literary quotes, and advice about life that could have been off of the Dr. Phil show. It had all sounded so good the night before when I’d read it aloud ten times, and performed it in front of the mirror. Now, it just sounded like something an asshole with no concept of what he really wanted to say would use as a crutch.

  Oh, no, this wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t work at all.

  I didn’t hesitate. I picked the speech up from the podium, crumpled it up in a ball, and tossed if offstage. It was time to man up, for the four thousandth time in my life.

  “Let me just be honest right now,” I told the audience. “That speech sucked. It wasn’t right. I thought it was, but it wasn’t. It didn’t even come close to what I want to say.”

  I swallowed. “Most of you know my name is Geoff Miller, and I’ve spent the last few years overachieving at Heritage while I competed for grades, and tried to be the best. Only today, I’m second best.” I raised my hand to Nichole, whose eyes had widened. “I hated you for it for a long time, Nichole, and I’m sorry about that. You won. You deserved to win. You’re smart and driven, confident and pretty. You make a great valedictorian, and I mean it when I say congratulations.”

  The crowd broke out in faint unsure applause. I should have waited for them to finish before I started up again, but I didn’t.

  Onward.

  “I’ve been miserable for most of high school. Jealous. Envious. I wanted what others had, and since I couldn’t get it, I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. Robert Hill wasn’t for me, and I decided that long ago.”

  I turned to my classmates. “What I wasn’t seeing, though, was that along the way, I had met some really good guys—some real friends. Josh, Nathan, and Mark, I’m sorry if I didn’t appreciate you. You guys have stood by me and been there for me this whole time, but I’ve never stopped and said how much it means to me. But maybe I didn’t realize it until this weekend. Most people wait their whole lives to have good friends who challenge them, and make them better every day. For twelve years, you’ve done that to me. So thank you.”

  I cocked my head as I turned back to the crowd. I considered where I wanted to go next with my words. Then, suddenly, I knew.

  “I almost missed something else during my last year here at Heritage, something even more important than friendship.” My face flushed, but I continued anyway. “I almost missed out on love.

  “I’m not talking about romantic love—not really. I almost missed out on a girl, who showed me what it meant to love others, and to care. Laine Phillips. These last six months have been so much better because she’s been in my life.” I looked back at my classmates on the stage, and finally locked eyes with her, where she sat, at the far end of the second row. “A lot of people in life have told Laine she’s perfect. In fact, some people make fun of her for being that way, like a perfect princess.

  “I know she’s not perfect. No one is. But I also know this—Laine is a good person. She loves other people. She cares about other people.” I swallowed again, my mouth running drier with each second that passed. “She cared about Evan Carpenter. She might have even loved him, in the real way that is something special and unique between two people.

  “Now, I’m not here to speak badly about a person, and certainly not about a dead person, but, ladies and gentlemen, I need for you to know this: Evan Carpenter didn’t treat Laine very well—at least, not the way he should have, at the end of his life. And that’s the bare truth.

  “Somehow, this kind and funny girl let me get to know her these last few months, and I’ll tell anyone it was pretty amazing. She made me—well, she made me a better person. She helped me see what I’ve been missing this whole time, while I’ve hated my life at Heritage, and judging everyone around me. I’ve been missing out on a chance to be around people for a moment in time that changes us all.

  “High school isn’t forever. It’s four awkward years, which, when you really think about it, isn’t that long of life at all. But the thing about these four years is that, if you let yourself, you get to see people become the adults they are going to be. You get to see your classmates and friends come into their own.

  “I almost didn’t, though. I shut myself away, angry, because I thought you guys all had judged me as someone I wasn’t. But maybe you all hadn’t. She didn’t.” I gulped. “Just two days ago, though, I lost Laine. I did something stupid, and it came back to haunt me. Some people manipulated an innocent picture and made it look like more than it really was, just so they could get at me.

  “Laine, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m also sorry those same people and I could never get along. That we missed our chance to be brothers.”

  With a nod at Blake and Bruce, I turned
back to the crowd.

  “These speeches are always supposed to be about the future. They’re supposed to inspire, command, and push us all into a world that awaits us. I know I’m supposed to stand up here and act like I have all the answers, as if being ranked second in the class makes me one of the kids who knows everything. But I don’t. Not really. I don’t know what the future is going to bring, and I don’t know how things will turn out for any of us. This last year alone, I changed my major four times, and I haven’t even started classes at UVA. Right now I want to be a lawyer, but next week I might want to be a stockbroker. Or a teacher. Or I might want to quit school all together, and travel the world with a backpack and sandals. I don’t know.”

  I paused and took a sip of water from the bottle underneath the podium. “And that’s okay. It’s okay that I don’t know what the future is going to bring. I don’t think anyone in here really does. The fact is, all I really know is that I got an undeniably good education here at Heritage High School. Robert Hill’s schools are some of the best in the area for a reason. I know it. Everyone on this stage knows it. And for that, I’m thankful. School here was hard on a lot of levels for me, but I think college will be easier because of this place. I hope I leave here a better person, because I think that’s the most important thing in life: to grow from each experience. So. That’s my message. Thank you. That’s all I can really say. Thank you.”

  I waited for about five seconds to try and gauge the audience reaction, but there wasn’t much of one until I stepped away from the podium. Once I did, a tepid applause broke out from the audience, noise that grew louder with each clap. I grinned once I got to my seat, relieved. I’d done it. I’d spoken from the heart. And that’s what counted the most.

  “Nice speech, son,” Mayor Harris said, over Nichole’s shoulder.

  “I know. It really was.” Nichole looked from me, to the mayor, and back again. “How am I supposed to follow that up?”