I kicked myself for the hundredth time for not noticing while I’d carried her to and from the car. There had been no fever then, no redness, nothing, but I’d known she was off, that she was overtired.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
I checked my watch. They would be walking across their little stage any minute now. “I am if you are.”
“Give a speech,” she ordered with the door between us.
“You know normally you wouldn’t be in hiding, right?”
“You’re not supposed to see me until you call my name.”
“That’s for a wedding,” I told her, trying not to laugh. “The bride and groom aren’t supposed to see each other until they meet at the altar. Not this.”
The door opened, and I caught it so she could walk through, bringing her IV pole with her. She stepped around the door, and my smile flew so wide I thought it might split my face.
She wore a solid-colored hospital gown over her normal one, courtesy of the nursing staff, and on her head was my god-awful graduation cap. Those suckers were awkward to make. Her tassel, streaming from the side, was thick on the fringe, but I’d been under a little pressure. Not my finest work, but it would do.
“Please be seated,” I ordered, moving to stand at the far side of the room at the foot of her bed.
Head held high, she walked over and took a seat at the table.
Motion from the door drew my eye, but when I saw it was just the two nurses who had helped me hunt for supplies, I threw them a quick smile and turned back to my one-girl audience.
“Speech,” she reminded me with a serious nod.
“Right.” I quickly grabbed the rolled-up paper that served as her makeshift diploma that I’d scribbled on. “Today is the start of your journey.” What the hell was I supposed to say next? People weren’t my strong suit, let alone kids.
She tilted her head, nearly losing the hat, and quickly righted it. “Go on.”
“Okay.” An idea popped into my head, and I ran with it. “I’ve heard it said that the greatest adventure is what lies ahead. Well, I read it, but we’re going to use it.”
Maisie stifled a giggle and then nodded in all seriousness. “Go on.”
“And the story I read was about a fierce princess who wanted to fight for her kingdom. When all the men were called to war, she was told that as the princess, she had to stay behind and care for her people. She argued with the king that she could care for her people by fighting for them, but he ordered her to stay behind—to stay safe.”
“He wanted her to stay in her tower,” she said, leaning forward.
“Hey, at graduations, the graduates don’t interact with the speakers,” I teased her.
She grinned but sat back in her chair and made the motion like she was zipping her lips.
“Now where was I? Ah, the princess. Right. So the princess, being as smart as she was, knew she was needed. So she dressed like a man and snuck into the army camp, riding out to battle with the men.”
Maisie’s eyes lit up, and her mouth dropped open slightly. “What happened?”
“What do you think? She ran into battle in full armor, swinging her giant sword, and she struck down the Naz…uh…dragon, slaying it in one mighty swipe and defending her kingdom. She was the leader her people needed, because she was brave enough to fight.”
Maisie nodded enthusiastically, and I almost forgot I was supposed to be giving a graduation speech…for a six-year-old.
“Right. So, as you embark on this journey of your education, you must remember to be brave like the princess.”
“And tell all the kings they’re wrong!” She jumped up.
Oh, this was not going the way I’d intended.
“Kind of. When you’re…you know, big enough to swing a sword.”
She seemed to ponder this for a second and then nodded with all seriousness.
“So,” I continued. “You have to fight for what you know to be right. Stand up for the people who need your protection. Never let anyone tell you that you’re anything less than a warrior because you’re a girl. Because in my experience, girls are the strongest warriors. Maybe that’s why all the boys try to keep them out of battle. They’re scared they’ll get shown up.”
“Makes sense,” Maisie agreed. “Is that it?”
“It is. Speech over.” I tried to recall any graduation I’d ever had and failed, because I’d never had one. I’d shipped