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“Penn Scully? One last chance to take your diploma. You’ll need it if you want to attend Notre Dame.” She sniffs, pushing her glasses up her nose. I stumble my way across the stage as people erupt in claps and whistles. My eyes are still on Daria. My eyes are always on Daria. Notre Dame, which I reluctantly agreed to after Jaime basically yelled at me that his daughter and I ain’t happening, might have to take the back seat again.
I’ll go wherever Daria goes. Even if it’s straight to hell.
I take my diploma, mumble my thank you, hug the principal, and dart off the stage toward them. Technically, I need to go back to my seat like the rest of the students to throw my hat in the air. But technically, I’ve also been alive this last semester although anyone who knows me also knows it not to be true.
I run across the narrow row between the seats, knowing all eyes are on me, even though I don’t have the greenest clue how she is going to respond when I stand in front of her.
She is still standing. Mel is in my way to her, and she doesn’t make a move to stand or anything. So I just stand there, watching Daria watching me, trying not to notice the way everyone around us is grinning. I’m out of breath even though my cardio is on point.
“You’re here.” Evidently, I am still intellectually subpar even in comparison to wildlife when she’s around.
She giggles into her palm, looking down at her feet. I can feel in the air that she has changed. I can feel in my gut that so have I. My eyes roam her face and body, trying to detect how else she is different. If she has a tan or a new tattoo or haircut or another fucking guy attached to her by the arm. But she just seems like good ole Daria.
“I’m here,” she says.
“Thank you.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. You know that, right?”
No, I don’t, and I’m trying to tell myself not to get my hopes up because they are slamming their little fists against the door of my brain’s basement, wanting to gush out. She’s just here to support me. Via’s ceremony is next week, and maybe she wants to be there for the All Saints event, too. But then why would I see her here, as a surprise, and not at home, where we’d just left a couple of hours ago?
She finally wants to talk. I have so much to say to her, I want to write it down in my phone so I don’t forget the big stuff. But we have this stupid restaurant thing to go to. Food is for pussies. There’s no way I can stomach anything right now that’s not Daria’s pussy juices. But I highly doubt her parents want to know that.
I turn to Melody and Jaime.
“Any chance we can have a rain check on that graduation dinner?”
“Not a chance in hell,” Jaime replies dryly, his eyes still on his phone screen as he composes an email, his long legs crossed. His cigar pants ride up, revealing funny, colorful socks.
“Fuck,” I say.
“Language,” Mel singsongs, flipping through a brochure she got at the gate but not really reading it.
I turn back to Daria and take her hand even though Mel is between us. Daria tilts her head to the stage, her eyes never leaving my face.
“You better get back over there so you can throw your hat.”
Last time we spoke to each other, she promised not to leave, but she did. I’m not taking any chances. She might as well file a restraining order because I’m not letting her out of my sight. I grin and tug her to me with Mel, Jaime, Via, and Bailey still around us. I squeeze her in a hug.
“Keep your embrace PG-13,” Jaime coughs into his fist, and we both laugh.
The last thing I tell her before she pulls away is the truest thing I’ve ever said in my life.
“I missed you.”
Dinner is surreal.
Everyone exists like nothing happened, which can’t be further from the truth. I high-key channel my inner Ted Bundy and stare at Daria the entire time and ponder the probability of Mel, Jaime, Bailey, and Via disappearing into thin air without notice. Shit’s happened before. Mainly in paranormal movies, but still.
I watch the way Daria cuts her steak into pieces as though she invented utensils. Admire the way she steals glances at me to see if I’m still looking (I’m always looking), and how she pats the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
I watch everything. I eat nothing. They discuss the weather and town gossip when I ask Daria where she’s been.
“Where do you live?” I’m aware of the crackling in my voice, but I left my pride at the door.
