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I’m not sure what I would say.
CHAPTERTWENTY
LENNON
My palms are damp with perspiration, both from the sunshine bearing down on me and my own nerves. I fiddle with the notecards I’m gripping, resisting the urge to bounce my knee.
You can do this.You can do this. You can do this,I chant to myself.
Surreptitiously, I wipe first one palm, and then the other, on the green silk skirt of the new dress Gramps insisted I buy when I told him I’d be the class valedictorian. I can see his beaming face perfectly from the spot onstage where I’m seated. He insisted we arrive ridiculously early so he could snag a seat in the first row behind the graduates. Gramps is confident I can deliver this speech and not make a fool of myself.
I wish I were as certain.
I switch the notecards to my right hand so I can wipe my left palm. The top notecard flutters to the ground next to my folding chair.
I freeze.
Crap.
I’m literally on display, seated in what’s meant to be a position of honor at the center of the stage, right next to the podium where Principal Owens is currently speaking.
After three days of endless edits, I know every word of my speech by heart. But relying on my memory while delivering a speech in front of almost every person I know is a daunting prospect.
I contemplate how to manage an awkward shimmying slouch or pretending to itch my foot so I can retrieve the notecard. Before I can act, Mr. Evans, who was chosen as the faculty speaker, leans down and grabs it for me.
“Thank you,” I whisper when he hands it over.
Gym is no longer my least favorite class. An easy change to make, since in about ten minutes I’ll be a high school graduate, forever free of Kentucky’s mandated class curriculum.
Principal Owens mentions my name, and I realize he’s introducing me. There’s applause—loud applause—not just polite clapping, and then I’m standing at the podium staring out at a sea of expectant faces.
“Principal Owens, faculty, friends, family, and my fellow graduates. This is a day I’ve looked forward to for a long time. But when I was writing this speech, I also came up with a lot of things I am going to miss about Landry High.”
I keep talking and talking, until suddenly I’m down to the last notecard. Something I dreaded and I’m surprised is suddenly about to end. Kind of like high school.
“There are two people I wish could be here today. But I want to acknowledge the person who’s the reasonIam. Gramps, you might be a terrible cook and a worse mechanic, but you’ve never allowed me to believe there’s anything I can’t do. You are the only person I’ve always been able to rely upon. You make me proud to be a Matthews. To be your granddaughter. I hope I’ve made you proud, too.” I swallow a couple of times to clear the lump that’s formed in my throat. “And to my fellow graduates: no matter where you’re headed next, I know you’ll soar. We survived three days in the Kentucky wilderness, so basically, we can survive anything.” There’s a ripple of laughter. “Congratulations, graduates!”
I flip my tassel, and it’s over.
I’m not expecting the swell of noise. There’s applause, cheering, and then a wave of navy as all the seniors—now graduates—toss their caps toward the cloudless sky.
Principal Owens comes over to the podium to hand me my diploma, and then makes some parting remarks. The school band plays “Pomp and Circumstance” again as the rest of my class files out along the aisle that’s been cleared to the open stretch of the football field just beyond where the ceremony is being held.
Families follow suit, abandoning their seats to congratulate their children, grandchildren, siblings, nieces, nephews, neighbors.
My steps are shaky as I descend the stage’s stairs, stunned it’s suddenly over.
Gramps is waiting for me off to one side. He beams when he spots me, and I see the faint trail of some salty residue on his weathered cheeks when I draw closer.
“I’m so proud of you, Lennie,” Gramps’s smile is wide enough it threatens to overtake his whole face. “You were wonderful up there. Really wonderful.”
“Thanks, Gramps,” I whisper as he pulls me into a hug.
“Your mama would be so proud of you, darling,” he continues. Salty tears burn my eyelids. Gramps rarely mentions Mom. Losing her still hurts us both. “Your pops, too,” he adds, which is an even more selfless gesture.
Gramps never got along with my father. The only reason he allowed him to come stay at Matthews Farm after Mom’s death was for me.
I say nothing, just squeeze him a little tighter.
