Princess Wrapped in Leather

Chapter 2

I watch as my father and our family walk through the crowd. There are about fifteen of them all walking in rows behind my father, with him as the line leader. I laugh as I think about their formation, reminding me of walking the halls in elementary school.

"Something funny? Biker trash?" I hear Tina say from behind me.

I turn and see her standing with a group of her friends. I just walk past her and into my spot in line to wait for the graduation to start.

She is not worth my time, been a pain in the ass my whole school life.

I watch as she and her friends laugh with each other before turning and looking at me.

"Just let it go. Don't engage; if you do, they will hold your diploma. You worked so hard for this." I tell myself, giving myself a pep talk to calm myself down.

The music starts—"Pomp and Circumstance," because of course it does—and we begin to move. One row at a time, filing into the auditorium like we've practiced. My hands are sweating under my gown, and I wipe them on the polyester fabric that's already making me too hot.

The auditorium is packed. Every seat filled, people standing along the walls. The air smells like perfume and hairspray and that specific scent of too many bodies in one space. I can hear the rustle of programs, the murmur of voices, cameras clicking.

We take our seats in the folding chairs set up in neat rows on the floor. I'm somewhere in the middle—alphabetically cursed to wait while they work through the A's and B's and C's. Principal Davidson takes the podium and starts talking about journeys and futures and the Class of 2024, but honestly, I'm not really listening. His voice becomes background noise, the same generic speech every principal probably gives at every graduation everywhere.

I scan the crowd instead, looking for my dad. It takes a minute, but then I spot them—impossible to miss, really. They're in the third row, center section. All fifteen of them, taking up nearly the entire row. My dad is right in the middle, and even from here I can see he's sitting up straight, eyes locked on the stage. Bobbie's next to him, and Knox is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

They look so out of place in their leather and denim among all the polo shirts and sundresses, but they don't seem to care. They're here. They showed up.

My chest tightens in a good way.

The principal finishes talking, and then there's the valedictorian speech—some girl named Ashley who I've maybe spoken to twice.

She talks about memories and friendship and reaching for the stars. I watch a dad in the front row wipe his eyes with a handkerchief.

Then it starts. The actual calling of names.

"Sarah Abbott."

Applause. A girl in the front row stands, walks across the stage, shakes hands, takes her diploma cover, smiles for the photographer.

It's mechanical, rehearsed.

"Michael Adams."

More applause. Another walk. Another handshake.

My heart starts beating faster. I know I've got a while—my last name puts me solidly in the middle—but suddenly it feels real. This is actually happening. I'm actually graduating. A year early. At seventeen. Despite everything.

"Jennifer Alvarez."

I watch Jennifer trip slightly on the stairs up to the stage. She recovers quickly, laughing it off, but I can see the red creeping up her

neck. I make a mental note: don't trip on the stairs.

The names keep coming. B's now. Then C's. Each one brings me closer.

"David Chen."

I glance back at my dad. He's watching the stage, but then, like he can feel me looking, his eyes shift to me. He gives me a small

nod. Just that. But it's enough. I turn back around, breathing a little easier.

"Marcus Cooper."

My hands won't stop fidgeting. I smooth down my gown again, adjust my cap even though it doesn't need adjusting. The girl next to me—Emma something—is crying quietly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

"Rachel Daniels."

D's already. Time is moving too fast and too slow at the same time. I can hear Tina whispering behind me, probably something nasty,

but I tune it out. Not today. She doesn't get to take this from me.

"Brandon Ellis."

"Kayla Foster."

"Joshua Garcia."

The names blur together. I watch each person walk across that stage, and I try to imagine what it'll feel like when it's my turn. Will

my legs work? Will I remember to smile? Will I cry?

"Amanda Harrison."

"Tyler Henderson."

We're getting close now. My section is starting to shift, people sitting up straighter, preparing. My heart is hammering so hard I'm

sure the person next to me can hear it.

"Nicole Hughes."

"Christopher Jackson."

I can hear my family now—they're cheering for everyone, not just waiting for me. Every name that gets called, there's a whoop or a whistle from their section. Some people in the audience turn to look at them, but they don't care. That's just who they are.

"Megan Johnson."

"Daniel Kim."

My mouth is dry. I try to swallow but can't. This is it. I'm next, or almost next. The girl in front of me stands up, smoothing her gown.

"Lauren Martinez."

Lauren walks up the stairs—doesn't trip—crosses the stage, shakes hands. The photographer's flash goes off. She's smiling so wide.

There's a pause. Principal Davidson looks down at his list. Picks up the next card.

This is it.

My name is next.

I stand up, my legs shaking slightly, and I wait.

He leans into the microphone, and I hear it—

"Samantha McKinny."