High Life | ✔️

Epilogue

MY FATHER WAS here. Somewhere far back, he was sitting beside my mother. I caught the unmistakeable glint in their eyes just now. They'd arranged the seniors by name, placing me somewhere at the back, too far from anyone I knew.

Richmond Park Academy held their graduation ceremony in the auditorium. And it was decorated so sinfully extravagant: balloons, banners, sashes and graduation gowns picked from a monochromatic palette. The student body was buzzing with excitement. I sighed as I bunched up the fabric of my graduation gown.

My thoughts drifted across the country, to Central High, they were holding their own graduation ceremony at this moment. In the town's football stadium. I couldn't help but picture how different things would have been had my parents not shipped me here.

I spun my head, trying to meet either parents' eyes. Mother was already staring at me, her expression unreadable. But when she caught my blue eyes, the very shade I'd inherited from her, her lips broke into a forced smile. I smiled back at the woman who raised me.

Jaxon's presence was ubiquitous, a name uttered on everyone's lips. Beside me, two girls busied themselves with a conversation centred around Richmond Park's Valedictorian (Jaxon, naturally).

I tried to keep my breathing even throughout the event.

I'd graduated with an eventual GPA of 3.7, a SAT score in the 97th percentile, and several admissions into colleges deemed "good enough" by my father. With graduation certificate in hand, I made my way to where my parents sat. The tears didn't surface, but I was crying, down the dark side of my eyes.

My father wrapped me in a warm embrace. I'd counted mentally, the ceremony had stretched two hours, I couldn't remember the last time my father had set aside two hours for me. When my father released me, it was to greet someone's parents, gotta keep up good appearances.

I was standing idly and watching both adults exchange pleasantries when Jaxon Ortega appeared. My, I don't know, unofficial boyfriend? Neither of us deigned to approach the topic. We'd come close, by exchanging college admissions, but we'd ditched the topic upon realizing we weren't going to be in the same part of the country.

His eyes were watery, here's someone who wasn't afraid to cry. I moved beside him, grabbed his hands, and told him I loved his Valedictorian speech even though I zoned out. He muttered a thank you even though he knew I zoned out.

I felt restless. I wanted to get out. My gown was suffocating. The smiles were overbearing. The air was thick with something that reminded me of parents imposing expectations on their childrens' shoulders.

My mother's eyes landed on us. "Who's this, Andrea?"

"Just Jaxon."

"Just Jaxon?" Jaxon echoed, slightly amused.

"I liked your speech very much," My mother had the courtesy to say. "Are you a friend of Andrea's?"

"I do hope so," Jaxon replied politely. Then he went, "Could I borrow Andrea for a second?"

The air outside the auditorium reeked less of expectations (met and unmet). Our eyes met, and we stood like that for a very long time. He had the prettiest eyes, the prettiest lips, the prettiest jawline, the prettiest soul, and I just knew this was going to be our last conversation.

"I haven't known you for as long I'd like, but I'm going to miss you," he pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing it upwards into a smile as an afterthought.

"Me too."

For a greater part of the school year, Jaxon's been more than a friend. He'd been a brother, a confidant, an-almost lover even. Students, with parents in tow were milling out of the auditorium now, to the dining hall for refreshments, or to the courtyard for photographs.