On the day of my high school graduation, I woke up with a headache that took me half an hour just to crawl out of bed. I’d suffered through my last school year looking forward to the beginning of a new summer, and I was already falling behind.
As expected, my mother made a huge fuss out of cooking a gourmet breakfast that I barely had time to eat, and my dad suggested that I go change into something less “revealing” as he shoveled down pancakes. Carrie and Rachel had spent the entire weekend planning my graduation outfit - a striped tank top, with a jean skirt and wedge heels - and with one simple command, my dad had given me the perfect excuse. I threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt gratefully.
It only took us a minute and a half to arrive at New Haven High School, in light of the fact that New Haven, Oklahoma only barely reaches the legal population requirements. The high school, along with a gas station and an IHOP, is located conveniently at the center of town. And the trip was shortened even further due to our brand-new Honda; my parents had paid a lot of money for my college prep courses, and I guess they figured as long as they were wasting a ton of cash, they should buy a new car, too. The glossy black frame had attracted the attention of half the neighborhood, which was probably the reaction they’d been hoping for. In the neighbor vs. neighbor limelight, every bit counted.
“What happened to your outfit?” Carrie demanded, as I slipped into place between her and Rachel. Principal Wexler was busy with a long and very nasally speech, which most of the student body was able to talk over. Carrie didn’t look impressed with my excuse.
“I think you look pretty,” Rachel told me, and I raised my eyebrows. Sure, that was easy for her to say - she could afford to be generous. She had hair like Taylor Swift, and her stomach was flatter than a surfboard. Carrie was gorgeous, too, but in a different way. Rachel had that innocent, girl-next-door appearance, while Carrie resembled a younger Gwen Stefani. Her dark hair was cropped short, and she always talked about getting colored highlights. We’d managed to talk her out of pink, but she was strongly considering a dark purple or light blue.
“It seems like just yesterday we were the dorky freshmen,” Rachel sighed, once Mr. Wexler started calling out names at last. That I could agree with.
By the time we'd gotten our diplomas, I was beginning to sweat underneath the navy blue gown, and the static from the secondhand microphone system was making my headache worse. But everyone else looked happy; I watched them smile, hug, and write down phone numbers on each other’s hands as they made plans for the night.
“Why don’t we crash at Vince’s place later?” Carrie asked, after our moms had used up their rolls of film and had moved on to make small talk with the other parents.
I shrugged my shoulders while Rachel bit her lip. Vince’s parties were well-known for getting out of hand, more often than not ending with an appearance by the Stillwater Police Department. It was fun to talk about, but it was just too risky.
“My mom might let me have a sleepover,” Rachel suggested shyly. “And, um, we could order pizza. Unless you guys want something else?”
“Pizza’s fine,” Carrie sighed. “I guess it’s a special occasion.” She pinched the flesh about her hip, making a face. “As long as I go jogging tomorrow.”
We were used to these kind of comments - it was no use trying to tell her otherwise.
“What about you, Stella?” Rachel asked, as we waded through the crowd. I only caught brief glimpses of people’s faces before they disappeared again, like a Where’s Waldo puzzle.
“Jason!” someone shrieked, and I felt an elbow rammed against my ribcage; I only caught a flash of red hair before they sprinted over to a red pickup truck.
“To the sleepover?” I asked, rubbing my side. I didn’t bother with courtesy, anymore - I stepped on people’s feet and bumped with my hips like everyone else. Carrie mirrored my gestures with excess force, while Rachel managed to sidestep the collisions and whisper apologies as she passed.
“It’ll be just like old times,” Rachel told me, once we’d found an open spot by the baseball diamond. “I’m sure I’d be allowed to invite a couple other people.” She hesitated. “No guys, though.”
I remembered sleepover parties from my own junior high, while girls stayed up late into the night spreading rumors and prank calling their crushes. At least once, someone ended up crying before the following morning, and every now and again someone would call home to get picked up - most of the time, I was one of them. Remembering this, I shrugged.
“Um, probably not. I don’t feel too good.” This wasn’t a complete lie, either. My head was still spinning from the bright lights and loud chatter.
Carrie was sympathetic. “Are you sure? I have some aspirin I could bring with me. You’ll feel better in no time.”
“Fine,” Carrie sighed. “Call us tonight, at least. You might change your mind.”
“Okay,” I managed, and I gave them each a quick hug before I lost myself in the crowd. I recognized Adam Abeley elbowing himself in my direction, but before he could make much progress I spotted my parents near the parking lot and bolted forward.
“Stella,” my mother cried, her cheeks flushed pink. She sandwiched me into another lung-throbbing hug, while my father stood awkwardly behind her with his hands in his pockets.
“We’re so proud of you,” she said into my shoulder. The sound of her crooning voice and the smell of her fruity perfume made me feel like a ten year old again. And, at that moment, things felt okay. Not perfect; the unease of so much change and decision-making hovered, almost menacingly, a short distance away. But just then, it all seemed tolerable. I’d already survived the graduation ceremony; the rest was nothing I couldn’t handle.
***
“Stella, what do you think?” my mom asked, holding up yet another shower carrier. I didn’t answer, keeping my head ducked out of sight to avoid awkward run-ins with old classmates. There were only a few grocery stores in Stillwater, as well as a complex well-known for its food poisoning restaurants, and a run-down mall whose parking lot was excellent for smoking joints, owing to the fact that most of the above-thirty crowd bought their wardrobes at the local Wal-Mart. This was where I was now, comparing shower carriers with my mother, our shopping cart already loaded. Why?
College. It was the C-word that I, along with several others, had come to avoid whenever possible.
“It looks nicer than the one I saw online,” Mom pressed.
I took a deep breath to avoid rolling my eyes or sighing in exasperation. Meaningless as it was, this was a tight procedure to her, and I didn’t want to interrupt her perfect little world.
“You’re right,” I said instead. “I like it.”
She smiled, and added it to our cart without even looking at the price tag. As we continued down the aisle I took another glance at our inventory: one fold-out chair, two cinnamon-scented candles, a nightstand table, white lace curtains, a new alarm clock, a bath robe, and two sets of dishware. This was not to mention our previous trip to Office-Max, or the furniture trip to Ikea, which was located at a notable thirty-six miles away, or the online shopping in which she had paid for a designer pencil case and an industrial-sized college book bag.
“Oh!” she gasped as we came to a halt in front of the register. “Towels! How could I forget…?” She trailed off, bringing the cart in a wide U-turn across from the electronics. “I just can’t keep track of it all. There’s so much you’ll need.”
“I know,” I echoed, but she continued without any prodding.
“We’re so proud of you, Stella. I always knew you’d take on the world one day, but I just didn’t expect it so soon. Where has the time gone?” She sighed, then reached over to take my hand and squeeze it tightly. I still couldn’t get past the touchy-touchy traditions that followed high school graduations: hugging, shoulder patting, and now, hand-holding. My first instinct was to shrug off her grip, but instead I let my hand dangle limply in hers, because I knew it made her happy.
Even on the car ride home, I allowed her chatter to pick up where she’d left off. We debated over different ideas for my new college dorm, discussed Mr. Winchester’s flighty ex-wife, and considered signing up for a summer yoga class together. I tried my best to keep the topics light and busied myself with the air conditioner whenever the C-word cropped up.
“What did you buy?” my dad asked once we walked through the door with our first round of shopping bags. Mom had the night table tucked under one arm, huffing and puffing as she answered.
“Isn’t - this - precious?”
He took the box from her with ease, automatically turning it in his hands to find a price sticker. I watched his eyebrows furrow afterward; evidently, he didn’t find the cost very precious.
“Honey,” he began slowly, his temper carefully disguised, and I took this as my cue to head for the stairs. Just before I slipped around the corner, I glanced back at their familiar stance: Dad, arms folded and forehead creased, and Mom, expression pouting, looking abashed.
My bedroom, despite everything that happened outside of it, remained almost identical from the time it had been professionally designed at age twelve. High ceiling, dark paneled wood floors, peach-pink walls, white bed spread, matching white rug, and customized oak furniture. My vanity mirror was free of smudges, my book case was organized alphabetically, and the entire room smelled like strawberry air freshener. Most of this was my mom’s doing; she had a tendency to clean when she was stressful, and my graduation had moved her to new heights. The rest of the house was already spick and span, regardless, so she’d taken it upon herself to invade the rules of teen privacy and clean my bedroom. Not that I minded - it made sense for my room to match. My mom loved things that matched.
I curled up underneath the duvet cover and unplugged my cell phone from where I’d left it charging the night before. I felt like I needed to hear my friends’ voices again; when we were apart, even for a couple of hours, things always felt unbalanced somehow.
“Hey, Stella,” I heard Carrie answer just after the second ring. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” I sighed, leaning against my Sealy mattress. Out of all the shopping trips I’d been subjected to over the years, it was one of the few purchases I actually liked. I could fall asleep in seconds - even now, I felt my eyelids drooping.
“We’re at Rachel’s,” Carrie said. “There was some kind of boycott at Little Caesar’s, and she refuses to eat Chinese food, so we have to find another pizza place.”
“Sushi is gross!” I heard Rachel protest in the background. She said something else, but I couldn’t hear it over Carrie’s laughter.
“Is your headache gone?” Carrie asked. “’Cause if you’re bluffing, I’m going to be so pissed.”
“Please, Stella?” Rachel begged. “We miss you. And you need to tell Carrie that raw fish is definitely out of the question.”
“Carrie, raw fish is out of the question,” I repeated obediently. There was another peal of laughter, followed by a shriek that made my ears ring.
It was only when I held the phone away from my ear that I realized my parents’ voices had gone silent from downstairs. I imagined Dad digging through my mom’s purse to find the receipt for the table, with her sulking across the room. My parents always avoided disagreements if they could help it - usually resulting in a sort of Cold War that only lasted through the night.
“Did you hear anything from Vince?” I asked, once Carrie’s end of the line had quieted down, too.
“Vince?” Carrie asked. “Oh, man. His place got busted before it even started.”
I let my eyes fall shut. It wasn’t hard to imagine: the rest of the town gone haywire while I dozed off in my cozy bedroom. I felt very awake, all of a sudden. And then my phone beeped.
“Hang on, you guys,” I said. “I’ve got another call.”
Click.“Hello?” I asked. All I could hear was static, so I figured the other person had hung up.
“Carrie?”
“No. Guess again.” I recognized the voice, but it still gave me a kick in the stomach to think of his name: Adam. Adam Abeley.
“Oh,” I said. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he asked conversationally. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I thought I saw you at graduation…”
“It might have been me.” I was very aware of the stiff, cool tone that I used, as if I were talking to my old principal instead of my boyfriend - if I could still call him that.
“Hmm,” he said, already losing interest. “So, what are you up to?”
I cradled the phone against my shoulder. “Not much. I was just talking to - ”
“That’s cool,” he said. “Hey, are you at home?”
I was wary, now. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, nothing,” Adam said quickly. “But I haven’t, you know, seen you for a while.”
I took a deep breath. It had always been hard for me to say ‘no,’ not just to Adam, but to anybody in particular. And it didn’t help that I knew him so well; I could even picture his gangly figure, tall and thin, with that long sandy hair that always covered part of his eye. It was hard remind myself that I was Plan B when his voice was in my ear, the kind of gentlemanly charm that I’d always dreamed of.
“God, Adam,” I muttered into the phone. “What is it?”
“Well, we were going to hang out at Vince’s, but - ”
“I know,” I said, making it clear that he had better keep talking, fast.
“Okay, so he got off pretty hard in the end,” Adam admitted. “But my parents are out for the weekend, and I’m having a few people over tonight. I thought maybe you’d want to come.”
I barely had time to think about it. I could feel the ‘no’ balanced evenly on the tip of my tongue, and I felt relief that it would be so easy to finally put him down. But at the same time…I mean, it was my graduation night. Maybe high school was over, but I still had a few days left to celebrate, didn’t I? And besides, I had to set Adam straight. I couldn’t just disappear without saying goodbye - that would be rude. I had to meet him, face to face, and make this final.
“Maybe,” I decided slowly. “I mean, I don’t really know what I’m doing tonight. Let me call Carrie and Rachel first.”
“You can bring whoever you want,” Adam murmured, but I could still hear the note of surprise. “I’m glad you’re coming.”
“Thanks.” I was already on my feet, ready to tell Carrie the big news. She would be thrilled - I knew she’d like the idea of a little late-night scavenging, and Rachel would follow suite, as always.
I was just about to dial Carrie’s number, so Adam’s last words caught me by surprise. “I love you, Stella.”
“Like hell you do,” I muttered, and then I hung up.
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