Just so we’re clear.

Even so.

They are reminders of pain and embarrassment, horror wrapped up like a gift. Janie’s glad that box exploded.

Up at the microphone, Stacey O’Grady begins speaking. She has a different air about her now. New, in the past few months. Reserved.

Solemn. A maturity, perhaps, or a sense of understanding that not all things turn out the way you’d wish them to.

Janie’s mother isn’t there.

Neither is Cabel’s, but no one expected her. Although Cabel’s older brother, Charlie, and Charlie’s wife, Megan, are somewhere in the crowd.

Expectations. It’s what they always talk about at these things. Making a difference in the future. Striving for excellence. Blah, blah, blah.

Janie wipes a drop of sweat from her forehead. Looks around as Stacey says from the podium, “The best years are yet to come,” and Janie watches the room explode in applause.

Janie doesn’t join them.

The ominous words ring in her ears.

The crowd of seniors stands and, one by one, over the course of an hour, their names are called. Janie steps carefully across the stage, prays that the little sleeping baby nearby doesn’t dream yet, and takes her diploma. Shakes hands with Abernethy. Moves her tassel over to the other side. Walks lightly down the stage stairs and back to her folding chair to wait.

When the stage is silent and Principal Abernethy gives one last word of congratulations, the hats fly and the voices around Janie rise to fill the auditorium. Janie takes her hat off her head and tucks it under her arm, waiting, waiting. Waiting to be done. So she can say good-bye to this place, once and for all.

When the madhouse clears, she’s still standing there. Only a few lingerers remain in the building that now feels like a rain forest after a downpour. She walks slowly down the aisle toward the exit steps, where she’ll meet Cabel and whoever else he’s schmoozing with. But for now, she is alone.

The custodian comes by with a broom, and he smiles at her. Janie nods and smiles in return, and he begins sweeping the wood-floored aisles that most often serve as a basketball court. And then the lights fade a bit.

Janie blinks and leans against the wall, just in case.

But it’s no one’s dream.

It’s just the end of some things.

And the beginning of others.