sixth grade,” she told me, waving my concerns away when I asked.
Hannah is officially back together with Charlie, which doesn’t make me happy, but I know it’s my job as her best friend to support her no matter what. He’ll probably break her heart again. I’ll just have to be there for her when he does.
When we get to the field, we mingle with the parents for a bit, taking so many pictures it feels like prom all over again. But I don’t mind it now; this is something to remember. Right now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
I want to check the mirror before the ceremony starts, so I head into the school, through the multipurpose room and into the women’s bathrooms. The school is empty and quiet—quieter than I’ve ever heard it, and it strikes me that this might be the very last time I’ll ever be inside this building, seeing this shiny linoleum floor, the blue and white tiles on the walls.
I’ll never come back here, not if I can help it. But it still feels sad in a way.
I push open the swinging bathroom door and then stop, surprised. Danielle is sitting on the ledge of the sink, her face smudged with mascara. When she sees me, she hastily reaches a hand up to wipe away tears.
“Sorry,” I say, letting the bathroom door bump me on the butt. I hesitate for a second, trying to decide if I should leave her alone or step farther into the room.
“In or out, Collins?” she asks, her voice dry.
I take a few hesitant steps forward. “Are you okay?”
“Obviously not.”
I turn back around. “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, I’ll just leave you alone.” I open the door and begin to walk out.
“No,” she says, her voice small. “Wait.” It’s unsettling to hear her sound so vulnerable, like a little girl, like someone who doesn’t have full control of every situation. I close the door again.
“I’m gonna miss this place,” she says.
“I can’t wait to leave,” I say, but I know what she means. High school always seemed kinder to Danielle, everyone rooting for her, always on her side. But maybe high school was just as hard for her. Maybe she was just better at dealing with it.
“Did you know it was Ava?” she asks, fiddling with the tassel on the front of her graduation cap. “Writing the notes.” I shuffle over to her and climb up next to her on the sink, feeling water seep into the bottom of my robe. It surprises me that she’s still so upset about what Ava did—not because it’s silly to be, but because Danielle has always seemed so strong.
“I would have told you.”
“You wouldn’t have told me,” she says, her tone emotionless. I realize she’s right. I wouldn’t have wanted to get involved. Maybe I would have told Hannah instead, hoping that Hannah would do the right thing.
“Would you have believed me?” I ask.
“Probably not,” she answers. “You’ve never liked me much.”
“That’s not true,” I say, feeling defensive.
She looks at me pointedly. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve never liked you much either.”
Her words should hurt, but somehow instead of feeling insulted, I’m relieved. It’s nice to get it out in the open, to be able to stop pretending. “It’s nothing against you,” she says. “You just don’t like any of the same things that I like. I can feel you rolling your eyes at me every time I talk. You think just because I like doing my hair and makeup, and looking nice, and flirting with boys that I’m dumb.” She doesn’t sound angry or aggressive—just very matter-of-fact.
“I don’t think you’re dumb,” I say. “I think you’re . . . intimidating.” I pause before the word, nervous that she’ll laugh or throw it back in my face.
“It’s just so high school,” Danielle says. “Isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Pretending to like the people we hang out with. Hanging out with people we don’t like because we’re supposed to.”