Asher ✓

37 | graduation

JUNE 1, 2014 / SYMONT HIGH SCHOOL

The temperature inside Symont High School's gymnasium was close to sweltering. 

Though it was past sunset, and beginning to cool down, Asher could feel his shirt sticking to him like a face mask. Sweat oozed from any place where skin touched skin. Fanning himself with his graduation cap — despite his principal's strict instruction to leave it on until the end of the ceremony — Asher scanned the sea of familiar faces for the two that were special to him.

He found Ryanel sitting three rows behind him, discreetly looking at the phone nestled into the folds of his robe. Further back, Kerrish was making jubilant conversation with the two girls sitting on either side of him. Both boys looked equally uncomfortable and hot — then again, so did every one of the senior class.

The three hundred young adults squeezed into the gym were people Asher had known for the past four years. When his voice first broke, his homeroom class had mocked him mercilessly. People had congratulated him after hearing about the success of the Venture Motocross Event. These three hundred people were his past lab partners, P.E. buddies, answer-givers and close friends. His social presence was never a strong one, and he might not have been missed much. But Asher was still going to leave his fingerprints on their souls, whether he knew it or not, as they would his.

School had finished three hours early, to give the committee time to decorate the gym for graduation at six. Given the gymnasium's ventilation issues, stained walls and limited space, Asher thought they'd done a phenomenal job. Gold bunting encircled the whole room, wrapped around the staircase railings, with matching balloon tacked onto the walls. Someone had pushed the basketball hoops back on their hinges, and flung a black cover over them. A temporary stage was erected under one such hoop, with black carpet on it and gold bunting looped daintily around the edge. Tall vases of lilies sat at each corner, and on each side of the steps that lead up to it. Asher knew they were fake, but in this humidity, even the plastic lilies seemed to be wilting.

  The students sat in alphabetical order, had been told earlier to behave regally should they be waiting, but were giggling and chattering as if it was the first day of school, instead of the last. Next to Asher sat Alfonso 'Elf' Dertrich, a happy-go-lucky, pixie-like boy who'd been in his English learners class freshman year. Holding a selfie stick above the crowd, he was trying to capture as many smiling faces as he could, by panning around the room and rapidly pushing the camera button.

"Smile!" Elf instructed Asher, tilting his phone towards him. Asher grinned in preparation, then—

"Why's it videoing?"

Elf burst into chuckles, yet managed to keep the selfie stick impressively steady. "I love doing that. People are so gullible."

"And you're probably one of those people who peak in high school," Asher quipped, affectionately. He tried to shield his face from Elf's phone, which was still videoing.

"Probably. And I'll gladly accept my fate of ramen noodles and five cats, reliving the glory days. What about you? You must still be going strong with the motocross stuff."

"I, um. I guess I'll do that until the industry gets tired of me, and go to university to study medicine."

"Medicine? I never took you for a doctor. Think you can stomach all the death?"