After a weekend spent thinking about the email and studying, the dreaded last Monday of school arrived, and with it three days of finals. Finals passed quickly, with a lot of groaning in dismay and scribbled guesses; but, nevertheless, they passed, and then it was Friday, the last Friday that me and my class would ever spend in high school.
Westfield liked to save the last Friday of every school year as a day to sign yearbooks, empty lockers, and cry over the friends you wouldn't see all summer. In the case of us seniors, this goodbye was a nearly permanent one. I personally doubted that I would ever see my classmates again, at least not for a very long time. To be quite honest, I wouldn't miss anyone very much; that is, anyone other than Ian and Marcy.
Marcy was headed to Stanford for her Biology degree, and seeing that I was going to be in Europe for the next three months and god-knows-where after that, I doubted that I would be seeing her often. We would keep in touch, of course, but we obviously would both be busy and in different parts of the world doing different things.
Αnd then there was Ian.
He had told me the news over FaceTime, the Saturday after the night at Stacey's.
"So you know that internship? Well, turns out it's in Seattle," he had said, and I nearly dropped the glittery eyeshadow palette I had been working with. Ian was more of a homebody, and as far as I knew, he had never left our home state of California.
"Are you going to go?"
"Well of course. I'm not going to turn down this opportunity just because it's far away."
His words reminded me of part of my thought process when deciding whether or not to take Roger and Ms. Tyrans's job offer.
"I'm glad you're going, Ian. It'll be awesome," I had told him.
But I didn't really believe myself. It might be awesome for him, but it certainly wouldn't be awesome for me. I knew he was going to have to go somewhere out of state for his internship, but I had been hoping it would be in Europe, so at least he was only a few hours away. Ian and I have been inseparable since the time we first met each other back in the third grade; going even one day without seeing him seemed unnatural to me.
I shook the thoughts of leaving Ian and Marcy out of my head as my last minutes of high school flew by. I hugged everyone, teared up a bit, repeatedly assured some friends that I would be at Mike's graduation party later tonight. I didn't even bother saying teary goodbyes to Marcy and Ian yet; I would be seeing them later, and on Saturday we had plans to meet up one last time before we all left home.
As I finished signing some more yearbooks, the bell rang. The final bell of the final school day of my final year in high school. Realization hit me like a truck. High school was over, done with; I'd never have to step foot in this building again, never sit through six classes a day again, never hear the bells going off every hour ever again. And once again, Marcy was right, because the more I thought about it, the more I thought I might miss it. Maybe not the boring classes, but the little things, like chatting with friends and colorful classrooms.
I had a solid five seconds for deep thinking before the papers started flying.
Typical Westfield tradition: everyone throwing their papers and binders all over the hallway, to signify that the year was over and to represent the 'screw you high school' attitude of every teenager present. Papers flew though the air, covering the ground in a thick layer of notes, handouts, old projects, failed tests, and the like.
YOU ARE READING
How to Keep a Secret
Romance"I know your type," he said, piercing me with his unwavering gaze, as if daring me to contradict him. "My type?" "You don't know where you're going, or what you want to do with your life. And yet you have such potential," he said, suddenly leaning f...
