We Don't Talk Anymore

by Julie Johnson

My first reaction is worry that something terrible happened to him. I reach for my iPhone to call… before I remember I don’t have one. In the chaos of finals week, prom, and graduation, I haven’t gotten around to buying a replacement, yet.

  Shit.

  Graduation.

  That’s today.

  I yelp as my sluggish brain registers the position of the sun. It’s already high in the sky. I need to be at Exeter by noon, dressed in my cap and gown, prepared to give a speech in front of three hundred people.

  I jolt into motion, stripping the sheets off the bed with a yank, balling them into my arms, and carrying them off the Hinckley. I feel like a criminal disposing of evidence as I shove them into the trash can, pushing them all the way down to the bottom.

  Barefoot, I leave the boathouse behind and race up the path to the house. It takes all my self-control not to turn off onto the side route that leads to Gull Cottage.

  Maybe he went home to get ready…

  But why not wake me first?

  It makes no sense at all. The way he made love to me last night… it was a revelation. It swept me away on a tide I didn’t even know existed, carried me to places I’d only dreamed about. There’s no way he didn’t feel it, too.

  He might’ve made love to you, an annoying voice whispers from the darkest corner of my mind. But he never actually told you he loved you.

  Did he?

  I push the voice aside, trying to hold onto the parts of last night that aren’t in question. The look on his face when he pulled up in the Hinckley. The break in his voice when he called my name. The passion in his hands when he pulled me into his arms. The reverence in his eyes when he pushed inside me for the first time, so gently it made me cry.

  Archer Reyes loves me, I assure myself. I’m certain of it.

  And yet… as I step into Cormorant House’s ever-constricting emptiness… as I shower away all traces of the boy who took my virginity… as I stare at my own reflection in the mirror while swiping on mascara…. as I pull on my cap and gown and collect my speech cards from my desk…

  I don’t feel certain of anything at all.

  I make it to Exeter with minutes to spare, the Porsche screeching to a stop in the first free spot I find. My hair is still slightly damp as I pull on my dark green graduation cap. The tassel tickles my cheek with each step.

  I hustle toward the courtyard. Hundreds of white chairs are lined up along the grass, facing a narrow stage. A podium awaits at the center, with a green and black Exeter pennant hanging from the front.

  Avoiding the dense crowd of parents and faculty, I wind around the perimeter of the courtyard toward the side hall, where my fellow graduates are gathered in an animated cluster — boys in black, girls in green. I scan every face, looking for one in particular.

  He’s not here.

  Someone grabs my arm. Hope springs to life in my chest. I whirl around, expecting Archer, but it’s only Headmaster Lawrence.

  “There you are!” he says, relief saturating his words. “I was beginning to worry we’d have to start without our Valedictorian!”

  “Sorry. I overslept.”

  “Not a problem, not a problem at all.” He rubs his hands together. “I, for one, am so looking forward to your speech. I’m sure your parents are as well! I made sure they were seated in the front row.”

  “Joy.”

  “I knew you’d be pleased,” he says, missing my sarcasm completely. “Josephine, in case I don’t have another chance, I’d just like to tell you how wonderful it was to have a student like you at this academy. You were a credit to your peers and a delight to have in class. You will be missed around here. Brown is lucky to have you!”

  I’m somewhat touched by his unexpected sentiments. I never thought he cared much for me. “Thank you, Headmaster. I appreciate it.”

  “I should go — we’ll be getting started soon.” He nods at me. “Best of luck! See you up there.”

  All around me, my fellow seniors snap selfies in their caps and gowns, commemorating the day in photographs. Not one person asks to take a picture with me. No one even looks my direction.

  The closer the clock creeps to noon, the more unsettled I become about Archer’s glaring absence. I can barely remember my speech. Only last night, I had it memorized word for word.

  “Five minute warning!” a woman with a clipboard calls. “Please start to line up alphabetically by last name! Two lines. A-L on the right, M-Z on the left.”

  People begin to shuffle toward their places. I take a deep breath, leaning back against a column for support. Reaching into my billowy gown pocket, I pull out the index cards and study the lines scribbled there.

  Winston Churchill once said, ‘Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.’

  I flip to the next one.

  As we stand here on our graduation stage, ready to collect our diplomas and move into the next chapter of our lives, I cannot promise you instant success… but I can guarantee, without a shadow of a doubt, at least some failure.

  I flip again.

  We all fail. That is an inevitable part of the human condition. It is how we recover from those failures that truly defines us…

  “Josie!”

  The twins’ voices jolt me away from my cards. I look up just in time to be folded into a double hug. They squeeze me tight, talking over the top of one another.

  “What happened last night?”

  “I can’t believe you ditched prom!”

  “And with Reyes!”

  “Did you two do it?”

  “Um, hello? Did you see that kiss he gave her? They totally did it.”

  “You’re probably right. It was an epic kiss.”

  “Totally epic.”

  “Spill, Josie!”

  “We’re dying for details, here!”

  I pull back, trying to smile. “I promise I’ll tell you guys everything later. Right now, I just need to get through this speech without falling apart in front of my parents and everyone I’ve ever met.”

  “No fun.” Ophelia pouts. “I hate waiting.”

  Odette’s brows waggle. “You mean it? All the gory details?”

  “As many as you can handle.”

  “Deal.”

  “Wait, what are you doing over here all alone?” Ophelia grabs my hand. “Come stand with the rest of the alphabetical rejects, at the back.”

  “I can’t.” I wave my cards in the air. “Valedictorian has to sit up on the stage.”

  “Ugh, I forgot about that.” Odette groans. “God, I’m hungover. You missed a hell of an after-party. My date passed out on the front lawn. Didn’t even make it to the limo.”

  “Charlie was sad to see you go, Josie.” Ophelia grins at me. “Thankfully, we found it in our hearts to comfort him. Twice.”

  The twins high five.

  I laugh. “I’m glad his night wasn’t entirely ruined because of me. It wasn’t exactly nice of me to bail on him. In the moment, I wasn’t really thinking clearly…”

  “Mmm. Lust will do that to you.” Odette’s head tilts. “Speaking of… where is the man of the hour? I thought you two would be stuck together like glue after last night.”

  I chew my bottom lip. “I’m actually not sure. I haven’t seen him since…”

  “This morning?”

  I shake my head. “Last night, actually. We fell asleep together, but when I woke up… he was gone.”

  The twins trade a glance.

  “What?” I ask nervously. “What was that look about?”

  Ophelia reaches out and squeezes my arm. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “Totally.” Odette strokes the other arm. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “You guys are bad liars.”

  They trade another look.

  “Tell me,” I plead.

  “It’s… well…” Odette is avoiding my eyes. “It could be a bad sign that he left without a word. It could mean that, in his eyes, last night
was nothing but a hookup. Just sex, no strings.”

  “No,” I say instantly. “That’s not possible.”

  Ophelia nods. “You’d know better than us, obviously. It’s only… when it comes to guys, we’ve had a lot of experience with being ghosted after giving them what they want.”

  “A lot,” Odette agrees. “Like… a lot. Teenage boys can be pigs. As soon as you let them under your panties, they treat you like conquered territory. You’re picking out the names of your future children, meanwhile they’re…”

  “On to the next girl,” Ophelia adds gently.

  “No,” I whisper. “This isn’t like that. Archer isn’t like that.”

  He loves me back.

  I know he does.

  “No matter how sweet he was to you last night… he’s still a guy. His brain is wired to want exactly one thing.” Ophelia grimaces. “Based on what you told us before… about how he’s been so crappy toward you lately…”

  “And how he screwed Sienna at that party…”

  “And how he’s never returned your feelings before…”

  “Stop.” My voice breaks. “Please. Just… stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

  Their eyes widen at my blatant pain.

  “Sorry, Josie.”

  “I hope we didn’t upset you…”

  “You didn’t. It’s fine.” I smile thinly, lying through my teeth. “I’ll see you after the ceremony, okay?”

  “Okay…”

  A teacher claps her hands three times, calling for attention.

  “Seniors! Two minute warning. If you aren’t already in your spot, this is your last chance. I need the Student Council President and the Class Valedictorian up here, at the front.” She glances at a clipboard. “That would be… Eva Ulrich and Josephine Valentine.”

  “Here!” Eva chirps brightly.

  “Excellent. And Josephine? Where are you?”

  Numb, I walk to the front of the crowd.

  “Here,” I say. “I’m here.”

  But my mind is somewhere else.

  Headmaster Lawrence clears his throat. He’s been droning on for fifteen minutes already, his opening marks rivaling Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.

  “And now… it is my distinct honor to introduce to you our Class Valedictorian, Miss Josephine Valentine.”

  Polite applause fills the courtyards as I walk to the podium. My parents are in the front row, preening like prized peacocks. This is just another feather in their caps.

  Our daughter, Class Valedictorian.

  With genes like ours, how could she not be?

  Blair didn’t have the time to celebrate my birthday or see me off to the prom or even drive me to my own graduation ceremony… but apparently she found a few free minutes to pop into the salon for fresh highlights and a mani-pedi. She looks like a Jackie O knockoff in her vintage Chanel suit.

  When I meet her eyes, she mouths something at me.

  Posture!

  My shoulders pull back. My spine goes stiff. I look around the crowd, searching for a friendly face. Flora and Miguel must be in the very back; I don’t see them anywhere. And there’s an empty seat in the R section, where Archer Reyes should be seated in his black graduation gown.

  My grip tightens on the index cards. I glance down at the words written there. They swim before my eyes like gibberish. Fragments of a speech I wrote not for myself, but for the benefit of the two people sitting in the front row, staring up at me with frigid smiles.

  Vincent gives a low, circular gesture, his eyes blasting a clear message at me.

  Get a move on.

  I set down the cards.

  “I had a speech written for you today,” I say into the microphone, flinching at the sound of my own voice booming across the courtyard. “It was a good speech. It had all the appropriate pauses, a few key jokes, and even a line to make you cry. I practiced it in the mirror precisely sixteen times, until I was able to recite it without stumbling over the pronunciation of the word hegemony even once.” I pause. “Shame, since you won’t be getting to hear it.”

  The audience titters, unsure whether or not I’m being serious. Blair and Vincent appear less than amused.

  “Because now that I’m up here on this stage, on the day of my graduation, looking out at all of you fine people in the crowd… I am not, in fact, overcome with an urge to wax poetic about the value of working hard in order to get ahead in the world, or the benefit of a solid education in furthering your future interests. I will not stand here quoting Winston Churchill and encouraging you to sieze the day.”

  The crowd is silent, rapt. For the first time in my life, my parents are staring at me with something close to undivided attention.

  I soak it in like a drug.

  “Who am I to spend my allocated five minutes preaching? I’m not any kind of authority. I’m just an eighteen-year-old overachiever with stronger test-taking skills than my peers. How that qualifies me to give a speech about anything is, frankly, laughable. Yet, I am expected to step into this charade, playing my part convincingly. And you — you, sitting there, acting like I’m not just as messed up as any kid in this graduating class, simply because I happen to have a marginally higher GPA — are just as culpable.”

  Behind me, Headmaster Lawrence clears his throat.

  Loudly.

  I ignore him.

  “Exeter Academy of Excellence taught me many things over the years, from anatomy to astrophysics… but the one lesson that isn’t taught in textbooks is the one I’ll remember best. We’re all just playing parts. Pretending to be something we’re not, hoping no one else looks close enough to notice.” My eyes drop to the front row. My parents are glaring at me, mortification plain as day on their faces. “Whether you’re a selfish philanthropist saving the world to cover your own narcissism…” I glance at Ryan Snyder, glowering in the second row. “Or an imposter bound for the Ivy-League…” My eyes move to Sienna Sullivan, seated beside him. “Or a mean girl lashing out to cover her own insecurities…” I look back out over the crowd. “Or even a clueless valedictorian asked to speak with some semblance of conviction…” I shrug, lips twisting wryly. “Life makes liars of us all.”

  The silence of the crowd is absolute.

  “I’m so tired of pretending. Aren’t you? I’m sick to death of acting like someone I’m not. So here’s the truth about your Class Valedictorian, Josephine Valentine.” I smile. “The essay that got me into Brown? It was complete and utter bullshit. A painstakingly plotted story, designed with the help of three tutors.”

  My mother claps a hand over her mouth.

  “The mansion I live in, the one in the magazine spreads and architectural blogs? It’s a sprawling, soulless box, empty of everything that makes a house a home.”

  The crowd stirs, whispers spreading like wildfire through grass. “The parents who raised me, teaching me to ride a bike and braid my hair? They’re a housekeeper and a handyman, not the people with whom I share strands of DNA.”

  Furious, my father starts up out of his seat. My mother grabs his arm before he can fully stand, her fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt. Holding him at bay.

  God forbid they make a scene.

  He sits stiffly. His eyes hold a dark promise that I will soon pay for my behavior.

  A radiant smile spreads across my face. With each lie I strip away, I feel buoyant. So light, I could float up straight up into the sky.

  “I can’t stand parties. I like being alone, at home with my sewing machine or out on my sailboat. I know that isn’t trendy or cool to admit, but it’s true.” I glance briefly at Odette and Ophelia. “I hate being called Valentine and Josie, but I let it happen because I was too desperate for friends to make waves.” I take a deep breath. “And this fall, I have no plans to pursue a degree in Public Health so that I can take over my parents’ foundation. I’ll be studying fashion design instead.”

  Two hundred sets of eyes watch as I take a deep breath. I notice, some people
in the crowd are nodding. Whispering behind their programs.

  “So. Why am I telling you all this unnecessary information?”

  There’s a low, collective chuckle.

  I direct my final words at my classmates. “We are eighteen. We are on the cusp of becoming real people. The choices we make now will define who we are for the rest of our lives. Make sure you choose wisely. Stop hiding behind a socially acceptable facade. Stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. Be a freak. Be a weirdo. Be offbeat. Don’t force your sailboat upwind, simply because that’s where others expect you to go. Adjust your course to somewhere that matters. And while you’re at it… enjoy the journey. It’s always far shorter than you expect, and usually better than the final destination.” I pause for a long beat. “Thank you.”

  The silence is deafening.

  I count out three long seconds before, finally, from the back row, people begin to clap. Before long, the entire courtyard is swept up into thunderous applause, cheering for me as I turn from the podium.

  With one notable exception.

  In the front row, Blair and Vincent Valentine are stone statues, their faces both contorted in shock, their hands clasped tightly in their laps.

  I take my seat beside Eva Ulrich. In six years, we’ve never really spoken outside of class necessities. She’s always been annoyed that I beat her out for the top GPA slot. But now, she’s looking at me with a sort of grudging respect shining in her eyes.

  “Good luck at Brown, Val—” She breaks off. “ I mean Josephine. I hear their fashion program is amazing.”

  “Good luck at Harvard, Eva. And… thanks.”

  Headmaster Lawrence is back at the microphone. “Without further ado… I will now hand out the diplomas.”

  The first row of students rises.

  “Steve Abbott!”

  “Abigail Barlow!”

  “Arther Bennings!”

  With each name he calls, one of my classmates walks across the stage to shake his hand, collect their diploma, and switch their tassel to the other side of their cap. It takes a surprising amount of time. As he moves slowly through the list, the tension inside me grows so strong, I can barely sit still.

  “Amanda Quinn!”