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Cameron
Ithought my life had peaked when my dad was able to stand with me on the field for senior day. But that was nothing in comparison to this moment.
“I don’t quite understand why this particular award is such a big deal,” my dad says. My mom laughs because even though Mr. Philips arrived after her Welles days, she’s heard the stories. The man has built up his Black Tuesday Award into something of local legend or lore.
“It’s important to your son, so that’s what makes it a big deal,” my mom says, pursing her lips into a tight I-told-you-so raspberry. My dad chuckles and rolls his eyes but reaches out a hand for hers. They hold on to each other with a brief show of affection.
Moments like this are happening more often between them. I try not to insert myself into their private business, though I guess I have some right, being their son. They have a lot of baggage and hurdles to clear. My grandparents never liked my dad for their own obvious reasons. He was, and is, the opposite of everything they believe. He’s rock-n-roll to their ultra-conservative way of life. And when my mom came to them in tears when she found out she was pregnant, they did what every other couple in their circle in the same circumstances did—they tried to send my mom away.
That’s how indiscretions are handled in their society. They’re hidden. My dad’s side of the family tree, however, likes to hang the laundry out for everyone’s inspection. And if people have problems with something, they take it to the alley or drink it out over a beer. My dad wanted to make fast money to take my mom away from it all—and by extension, from my grandparents. When he got caught, they chalked it up to a blessing, and they indoctrinated my mom to feel shame for ever loving him.
But she did love. She still does. Though she still hasn’t said it for any of us to hear. I wonder if she has to him, though. Verbally, I mean. She says it in the way she looks at him every single time they’re together.
My dad got a job at a high-end foreign car repair shop. One of the areas he studied most in prison was mechanics, reading every book he could get his hands on and watching YouTube videos during his rec hours. His dream was always to open his own garage, and I think he might realize it one day.
My grandparents won’t be helping, though. That cold war is still going strong between them and my mother. She let them have it that day in my grandfather’s office and hasn’t spoken a word to them since. It’s only weird on days like today when we’re all in the same place.
Of course, nothing is weird for me today. Because I’m the winner of the Black Tuesday Award, and I am going to relish every freaking moment.
“Sorry I’m late,” Brooklyn says, slipping me the bag I asked her to grab from her car. We did some last-minute shopping for the graduation ceremony, and it’s a surprise only she and I know about. I think she’d prefer to not be in this loop, but everyone warned her that dating me comes with hazards.
“I’m going to go change,” I say, kissing her cheek so I don’t mess up her soft pink lips. I’ve learned how to navigate that woman’s makeup before photos. It’s an art.
I pass her father in the auditorium lobby on my way to the restroom. I try my best to sneak by without getting caught but he hooks my arm before I can get away. I turn and act surprised to see him, shaking his hand. His shake is still firm—still the shake of a father who is also a senator and has the backing of the federal government to throw me in jail if I break his daughter’s heart.He’s literally said this to me. Multiple times.
“Congratulations, Cameron. I’m really proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” I respond.
Thing is, I believe him. When I pitched him the angle of me being the kind of kid he wants to help out, it wasn’t total bullshit. It was selfish, yeah, but honest. And he saw that. I wouldn’t say we’re close, and maybe we’ll never be, again with me dating his daughter and him having the backing of the government to make me disappear. But I truly feel his support professionally. He wrote a recommendation for me to Georgetown, and I think it’s half the reason I got in. I say half because I’m not sure how thrilled he is that I’ll be living with his daughter in Arlington since she’s going to Marymount.
“I have my camera ready,” he says, pulling the corner of his cell phone from his suit pocket.
“Very well,” I answer with a wink.
Even the most prestigious of Welles alumni are stoked to watch me accept my award. Maybe it’s the years of torture for the assignment, or the way Mr. Philips taunts some of the smartest students who don’t end up earning the honor. There have been years when nobody was a recipient, and I think those are the years Mr. Philips is happiest. He’s smug that way. An expert in his tiny little world. Only I’m an expert, too. So much so that I decided to double major in economics and justice studies, and only slightly to spite him.
I slip into my surprise outfit in the bathroom and leave my pants in the stall before rushing out to take my place in line. I slip in just as the music begins and we all filter down the aisles to the front few rows. I’m between Theo and Brooklyn, and a row away from Morgan, Brooklyn, and Lily. I’ve spread the word to start the rumor mill, so I know I’ll get the cheers when I need them.
If it weren’t Brooklyn being called to the stage, I don’t know that I would pay attention. But it is her, and she’s worked so hard to be our valedictorian. She’s practiced this speech a thousand times, but her hands still tremble as she holds the note cards I don’t think she needs.
Throughout her speech, I travel back to this year, to the years before it. Her theme is the journey we’ve all been on, and while maybe it sounds hokey on the surface, it’s really got a lot of depth. Our school was changed forever last year when Brooklyn, Lily, Morgan, and Anika drove off the bridge into the river. Losing Anika was something that affected every single person who knew her. I didn’t realize just how much it changed me until later. I’m not sure Brooklyn and I would have found one another the way we have were it not for Anika looking over us. I’m not very spiritual, but Brooklyn swears Anika nudged her my way, knowing she would need someone to care for her. Nottakecare of her. Nobody needs to do that. But we all need love. Brooklyn did, and so did I. And we love each other fiercely.
As her fellow students look on with genuine awe as she speaks, I wonder how many of them are trying to measure up to her. She’s graduating with eight college credits already under her belt. She has a standing job offer with the Boston Mayor’s Office and an invitation to work with six of the largest public policy research groups in the country after college. She hasn’t told anyone but me yet, but she’s actually been thinking of going into social work. I can’t think of a better heart to give to those who need it.
Brooklyn leaves the stage, and the moment she’s next to me again our hands fuse.
“Good job,” I whisper in her ear. She merely squeezes my hand harder, the nerves of public speaking still coursing through her body.
My grandfather reads the same words he does every year, the Welles mission statement, and the promise for a lifetime of brother and sisterhood. I suppose that is a promise I’ve found here. It’s no thanks to my grandparents, though. They managed to retain their contract to stay on with the school even though Brooklyn’s father disassociated himself with them directly. There’s always someone in the wings willing to kiss ass to be kissed back, I guess.
My leg starts to bounce when Mr. Philips stands from his seat on the stage. His eyes meet mine instantly, his frown taking over most of his face while the shit-eating grin spreads like an infection on mine.
“This is it,” I say, readying myself to take to the stage. I unzip my gown enough to make it easy to slip out of while Mr. Philips recants the story of how this one student whom he never in a million years thought could win his award pulled off the impossible. He wasn’t shy about what a pain in the ass I have been for him, and it’s clear everyone at Welles—and apparently their parents—is fully aware of our history.
“Wish me luck,” I whisper to my side. Both Brooklyn and Theo wish it for me as I stand, and Mr. Philips calls my name. I pass Brooklyn, glancing down to catch her bright red cheeks just before she covers her face and hides her laugh with her hands.
I’m doing this.
