by Anne Dayton
“Friends, classmates, family,” Ana says, her voice strong and steady. Another round of cheering starts, and she waits for it to die down before she continues. “Thank you for the opportunity to be here today.” Ana begins to tell her story—about her heart defect at birth, her family’s flight to the United States for treatment, her miraculous survival. She shares about the guilt she feels for taking the heart of a baby who didn’t make it, and her fear that she won’t live well enough to justify both lives. Her voice is lyrical, and her words have the whole stadium riveted. As I listen, it occurs to me that I don’t have to be afraid for Ana. I don’t know how it took us so long to see it, but writing is what she was made for. She’s been given enormous talent, and I have no doubt that she will find her place in the world of letters.
I look around and am a little surprised to see my family sitting right behind Ana’s clan. Gammy flew in last night, and she’s sitting next to Michael. Mom leans against Dad’s shoulder, and next to them are Dreamy and Ed and Nick. Apparently Mom has forgiven Dreamy, or at least gotten over it for the day. And Christine’s family is right behind them. Her dad looks like he’s checking his phone while Emma is bouncing Ellis on her knee.
Somehow it seems right to see all our families sitting together like that. It’s not like they’re good friends; their only real point of contact is us. But whether we like it or not, they’re a part of this miraculous circle simply because they are the people we love most. As long as they’re a part of us, they’re a part of this.
I don’t realize Ana has stopped speaking until I hear the crowd breaking into applause. People are standing up and cheering.
Wonderful. I get to follow the first graduation speech in history that anyone actually listened to. I feel my shoulders tense up, and Ana drinks in the applause. I don’t think I can do this.
“This is not a mistake,” someone says in my ear. I turn. Ms. Moore is leaning forward in her chair, whispering. “This is your moment.”
I watch her, waiting for more, but she smiles and leans back in her chair.
I know the woman cannot read minds. It’s physically impossible. What is she talking about? It’s like she knows.
But then, she’s always known. Ms. Moore was the one who saw the truth about who we were from day one. She’s the one who recognized that each of us—Zoe, Christine, Ana, and me—was special. She saw that each of us was living out our second chance at life, and that we were all confused about why we were saved, what it meant, what was expected from us.
Through the years, we’ve wondered if Ms. Moore was one of us too—whether she ever had her own miracle. I don’t know for sure, but I do know that she’s helped us see how much we need each other. She’s helped us realize that together we can do things none of us could have done on our own. She’s taught us that even if we don’t understand why things happen, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason. And now, as I scan the crowd, I’m beginning to see something else I think she knew all along: that the Miracle Girls were brought together for a time so that we could go out into the world and touch the lives of others, just like she touched ours.
Ana lowers herself down into the chair beside me, and I can see she’s shaking. I put my arms around her and pull her into a hug, and our huge mortarboards bang against each other.
“You did great,” I say, trying to fight the tears that sting my eyes.
Ms. Lovchuck walks back to the microphone, and I can hear her telling the crowd about all the things I’ve been involved in through the years. I try to pull myself together.
“You’ll do great too,” she says and pulls me in tighter. I can feel my eyes filling with water. I run my sleeve under my nose and take a deep breath.
“Riley?” Ana says as I start to pull away. Her eyes are rimmed in red, and her cheeks are wet. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” she whispers.
Maybe it’s because it’s so unexpected, or so honest, but tears are streaming down my cheeks when Ms. Lovchuck calls my name.
I pull my speech out of my pocket and push myself to my feet. My classmates clap, and I have a few seconds to pull myself together as I stumble my way to the front of the stage.
“I am thrilled to be up here tonight, Marina Vista,” I say, recalling the first lines of my speech without looking at the paper. I take a deep breath and look out over the faces that have made up my life.
In the front row of bleachers, I see Fritz and his wife, Judy, waving at me, a whole crew from church gathered around them. There’s Dave, Ana’s first love, and Tyler, Christine’s great love. Cecily and Maddie are here, next to Asha, holding Ravi. Even Pastor Jandel has shown up tonight.
I turn back to my classmates and squint out over the crowd. I can make out the faces of Tommy Chu, Kayleen, a soccer player named Jake. People I never really got to know, but who were a part of my world anyway.
I keep scanning. Aha. Zo. She’s smiling at me, waving. I feel my shoulders relax. Zoe might have the purest heart of anyone I know and perhaps the strongest faith. She’s our peacemaker. I don’t know how I would have made it through high school without her.
And then . . . I look over toward the other side of the aisle. Christine. She’s laughing, swatting at a giant beach ball that’s bouncing around the class. It’s hard to believe she’s the same person as the angry, hurting freshman I once knew. If I ever doubted the power of forgiveness and reconciliation to change a life, I never will again.
At the back, behind the rows of students, stand the faithful teachers of Marina Vista. There’s Mr. Dumas, the wry art teacher; Ms. Sanchez, the Shakespeare-loving AP English fiend; Mrs. Narveson, the wackiest history teacher in, well, history. And there’s Mr. Mackey, the math teacher who assigned me to detention that first day. Even if I forget everything they ever taught, I will never forget their thirst for knowledge and their love of learning.
And then . . . I bite my lip, trying to locate Ben among the sea of faces. Where are the Ns? I scan the crowd, but I don’t see him until he suddenly stands up on his chair and starts waving his arms at me. My stomach flips. I laugh, and the sound echoes out across the stadium.
I look back down at my paper, but my eyes are watering again, and the letters are blurry. I try the next part from memory too. “I’d like to thank the faculty and staff of Marina Vista for the great honor of standing here before you, and I’d like to thank you, my classmates, as well.”
My voice echoes around the silent crowd. The back row is starting to do the wave. Oh goodness. This is not going well. I lift the paper up closer to my face and squint at the words. I can almost make the letters out, but the more I can read, the more embarrassed I am by what I’ve written.
“The past four years have been better, and stranger, than I could ever have imagined.”
Several people in the front row stare back at me with blank faces. Ashley is texting.
“And I wanted to share with you a bit of what I’ve learned in my time at Marina Vista.”
The beach ball flies closer to the front of the class, and someone in the stands yells, “Get on with it!”
I brush my hair back behind my ear and look down at my paper again, and then, before I know what I’m doing, I lower the paper.
And suddenly I know what my problem is. This speech is fine. It’s a little funny, a little insightful, a little searching. It’s nostalgic about the past and optimistic about the future. It’s exactly what they all expect from a graduation speech. And that’s precisely the problem.
I think back to what Ms. Lovchuck said that day in her office. Something about having the courage not to conform to other people’s expectations of what I should do. I remember what Ms. Moore said to me about this being my moment. I crumple my speech up and drop it on the stage. A few people cheer.
“I don’t really have any wisdom to share with you,” I say, and I can tell that my voice sounds louder and more assured than it did just a moment ago. “I made a lot of mistakes the past few years. I did things I’
m not proud of, and I hurt people I care about. I made poor choices. I disappointed the people who have sacrificed all my life to give me the best of everything.”
I gaze out at the crowd to see how they’re reacting to this change in plans. People seem to be paying more attention.
“I’m simply here trying to figure things out, just like all of you. But I guess there are a few things I’ve learned too.” I search for Zoe. She gives me a thumbs-up. I take a deep breath.
“When I started out at Marina Vista, I was kind of going through something. You all might remember that,” I say, and a bunch of people cheer. “I thought I was invincible, that I could tackle anything. But I was wrong, and I fell, hard. But the things I learned, the one thing that kept me going, was the people that were there by me as I tried to pull myself back together.”
I cringe. That didn’t make any sense. “I mean, I guess what I really want to say is that it’s the people in our lives that really matter, right? It’s not where we go to school, or whether we go to school”—someone whistles, and I laugh—“or what we someday end up being. It’s the people around us that matter. It’s you guys—friends, family, classmates—who matter. It’s—”
I break off as tears sting my eyes again.
I cast a quick glance at my family. They’re leaning forward, waiting, watching. I don’t want to let them down this time.
“I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like to walk out of here tonight and say good-bye to you all. We’ll probably never all be in the same place like this ever again.” I quickly glance over my shoulder at Ana. Tears are streaming down her face. I bite my lip and try to keep going, but I have to take a deep breath.
“But what I’m learning is, I think that’s okay. I mean, I could stand up here all night and keep talking to put off saying good-bye, but somehow, it all has to end.”
I glance at Christine. She’s watching me now, waiting.
“I—” I try to speak, but my breath catches. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to block out the faces staring back at me. My legs feel weak. I don’t know if I can do this. “I—”
That’s when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Ana says, murmuring quietly so the microphone doesn’t pick up her voice. “You’re doing great.” I close my eyes and nod and wait. I feel like I’m going to collapse, but with Ana’s help, maybe I can do this.
“I—” I open my eyes just in time to see two red blurs dash toward the steps. They’re not really going to storm the stage. They can’t.
But then I hear footsteps echoing across the platform, and suddenly Zoe is at my right hand, and Christine at my left, holding me up. Ms. Lovchuck moves to shoo them off, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Ms. Moore shake her head, and for some reason, Ms. Lovchuck obeys.
“We’re here for you,” Zoe says quietly. I nod and try to remember what I was trying to say.
“I guess what I mean is, I don’t really understand why God lets some things, like sickness and disease, happen to some people”—I won’t let myself look up at Michael—“and good things, like second chances, happen to others. But the one thing I do know is that God is good,” I say, sniffing. “I see God’s goodness in the miracle of friendship, and I feel it in the unshakeable affection I feel for my family. I know that God loves me, because they do. And I know that when we’re far apart, this is the love that never lets go.”
I blink back tears and look out over the bewildered faces of my classmates. No one moves for a moment. And then, slowly, someone behind me begins to clap.
It’s Ms. Moore. It has to be. I’m not sure I’m really done, or that I’ve said what I really wanted to say, but I know that what I’ve said is enough. It wasn’t expected or traditional or in any way logical, but it was me, speaking from the heart, doing it my own way.
A few other people begin to clap along with Ms. Moore, and then a few more, and suddenly, all of Marina Vista is on its feet. Maybe they kind of liked what I managed to say. Maybe they’re cheering because my crazy speech is over, or they’re excited that finally they’re about to receive the diplomas they’ve been working toward for so long.
All I know is that as I stand there on the stage with my best friends supporting me, it doesn’t seem to matter too much. I know the four of us will be friends forever. Even when we’re not in the same place, what holds us together is bigger than time or distance. God bound us together, and we’re not going to fall apart. But we’re never going to be like this again—all four of us, rooted together in this place, staring out at the possibilities before us. We’ll grow up, split off, move on. Soon this moment will be gone, and there will be so many things pulling us apart. In the end, only love will be able to keep us together.
Ms. Lovchuck gestures for us to move out of the way so she can hand out the diplomas. I start to pull away, but I feel Zoe start to shake and I know she understands what I’m thinking. Ana sniffs, and Christine sucks in a deep breath, and I smile, because even though I’m pretty sure we all feel ridiculous standing up here on stage holding up the entire graduation, I realize they’re dreading letting go as much as I am.
And in that moment, I feel nothing but peace, because I know that love is enough.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Anne Dayton is the pen name of Beth Adams. Beth graduated from Princeton and has her MA in Literature from New York University. She lives in New York City.
May Vanderbilt is the pen name of Alison Presley. Alison graduated from Baylor University and has an MA in Fiction from Johns Hopkins. She lives in San Francisco. You can find out more about Alison at her website: www.alisonpresley.com.
Together, they are the authors of Emily Ever After, Consider Lily, The Book of Jane, How Dolly Parton Saved My Life, and the four-book Miracle Girls series.
The Miracle Girls series includes: The Miracle Girls, Breaking up Is Hard to Do, A Little Help from My Friends, and Love Will Keep us Together.