Autumn Leaves and Teenage Dreams

38. April Showers Bring May Flowers

The rest of the school year is a blur. As April fades away, I am thrown into a world of studying for AP tests and finals, as well as end of the year activities and traditions. There is not a moment of rest in between, and thankfully, I find that helps the most. I focus on finishing the year strong, rather than any of my romantic problems.

Aurora doesn't ask to study for the Calculus final together, nor does she text me, or greet me at my locker. I briefly see she has a piece published in the student-run creative journal when it comes out at the end of the year, but I barely glance at it, not wanting to be reminded of her. Rarely do I see her looking at me, and I think, maybe we both have moved on. 

That is, until, the last day of Calculus class, before our exam. Though I have barely spoken to or looked at Aurora in weeks, she makes her way over to my desk anyway. I'm not sure what she wants. Maybe to ask how AP tests went or to ask a question about the final. But something tells me that's not it. Because here is the only place she can single me down. I can always find ways to avoid her outside of class, but not here.

"Um, are you going to graduation?" Aurora asks me.

Graduation is a few days after finals. Personally, I had not planned to, considering tickets are limited and there's no one who I really desire to see graduate. Until I met Aurora, I did not form strong bonds with any of the girls the year above me.

"I wasn't planning on it," I admit.

"I have extra tickets that I'm trying to give away," Aurora admits, dropping one of the sleek paper tickets on my desk. "Will you consider going?"

"I don't know," I say, looking down at the ticket rather than up at her. Her fingers are still pressing down on the ticket, so close I could reach out and touch them. Her fingernails are painted a light blue, like the sky on a summer day.

"I want you there," she says. My heart leaps at the comment, but I can't let myself get excited. This doesn't mean anything because when it comes down to it, she still won't commit to a relationship. I can't let myself get my hopes up.

"I'll have to look at my schedule. Besides, you shouldn't waste a ticket on me. Isn't it limited how many you get?"

Aurora releases her hand from the ticket. She intends for it to stay on my desk, it seems.

"I have extra," she says once more before walking away. I stare at the ticket a few moments, considering returning it or merely just throwing it out, but I shove it in my binder and start to pay attention as Mrs. Hall walks in to review our final study guide with us.

»»---------------------►

"Are any of you going to graduation?" I ask my friends.

All three nod.

"All of you?!"

One by one, they name off which seniors they want to see graduate and how they've already gotten tickets. I blink in surprise and realize that if they're all going, I guess I don't have much of an excuse not to.

"Are you going?" Abigail asks.

"I don't know. I have a ticket, but..."

"Come with us!" Hazel exclaims. "It'll be nice to see the seniors before they go. Plus, we'll get to see what it'll be like for us next year."

Next year. That's right. I'm graduating in one year. The thought is still surreal.

"Wait, who'd you get a ticket from?" Juliet asks.

"Um, someone was just handing them out in class. I didn't want to take one, but they insisted. I was thinking of handing off a ticket to someone else, but if you guys are all going..."

"Yeah, come with!" Hazel exclaims.

Abigail is smiling at me. I can only manage a weak smile back, because I still have not told her what has happened between me and Aurora. She doesn't mention it much, but anytime she does, I tell her we're both busy and haven't had time to see each other. Yes, she is correct in assuming Aurora gave me a ticket, but she's wrong to assume it was something that was joyous for me. If anything, I hate it more, because now I feel I'm still bound to her, or at least until through next week.

The week that follows consists of multiple finals, all of which I believe I do well on, but also ones which suck the life and soul out of me as I spend day and night studying. When finals finally ends, I go out to get smoothies with my friends, and we talk up plans for graduation the following evening.

I still have gone back and forth on my decision to go, but I don't want to flake on my friends, so I agree, and the night is planned.

I find out the next night that graduation is, in all honesty, very boring. We manage to snag nosebleed seats since all the parents and grandparents have gotten front rows of the auditorium. The speeches are generic, and I can practically see the seniors twitching in their seats, ready to leave this school behind. And when they call names? I think I sleep for those forty-five minutes.

That is, until they call Aurora's name. I sit upright and blink. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why I care so much when they call her name, but my attention is focused. She walks with confidence across the stage, true confidence, it seems, now that she has no secrets to hide. Her dark red hair contrasts with her white graduation gown and hat, and though I'm too far away to see her facial expression when she grabs her diploma, I can tell she's smiling.

Graduation doesn't last much longer after that, and so everyone moves out onto to the lawn to take pictures. My friends scatter quickly, promising to meet back up in a half hour to go out to dinner downtown, but I linger. I could go find Aurora and take a picture with her, wish her the best of luck in college, and say a proper good-bye. But my legs won't move. Not a muscle. I still don't have the courage to face her.

My heart hurts then, so much so I text Abigail to let her know I'm just going to head home and that I'm not feeling well. I cry a lot that night, feeling guilty for not saying good-bye, and crying over the reality that I'll probably never see Aurora again. She chose her college in the midst of our fight, but I can only assume she's leaving the state. I'm not sure why I care so much. We haven't been close in two months now.

I'm mad at myself as I cry into my pillow, because as much as I convince myself that I'm over her, I know deep down that I'm not. Otherwise, I wouldn't be so upset knowing that I'll never see her at school again, waiting at my locker to greet me. Our walks home from school are no more, and those afternoons in the library and studying? Gone. I suddenly feel terrible for not savoring those moments more. It almost makes me want to pick up my phone and text her, but I don't let myself. Because while those memories were nice, I keep forgetting the real pain it was to pretend in public that we barely knew each other.

The worst part is when my mother knocks on my door with an envelope in hand a few days after graduation. Summer has begun for me, and all I've done thus far is start on some summer assignments and apply for part-time jobs.

"This came for you," she says, holding the envelope.

"Okay," I say, grabbing it from her. My eyes fall to the sender, and I recognize Aurora's address. I hold onto the envelope, not sure if I want to open it or not, but my fingers are slowly tearing the envelope away.

Inside is a postcard-shaped piece of paper. I pull it up slightly, realizing it's an invitation to her graduation party. I drop the letter in the trash.

I won't let myself go. I don't even bother reading all the details. Because I know if I go, it'll be harder to get over her. Because even if something did miraculously happen, what difference would it make? Aurora is leaving, and I'm staying here another year.

Instead, I need to focus on getting through this summer, which I have a feeling already will be long.