Chapter 24: The Toast

The Scholars Convocation was held on the quad, under a white tent, on the last Saturday of August.

There were two hundred folding chairs and a stage with a lectern.

Eight Presidential Scholars sat in a row at the front, in borrowed gowns.

I was the fourth from the left.

The gown was too long, and I had pinned the hem.

In my pocket was a small pouch with a new EpiPen, and a second one that the nurse had insisted on.

I counted the guests' chairs behind us.

Mine were in the second row, four seats, each with a small cream card on it.

My roommate sat in the first, in a green dress, waving.

The second chair had the director's name on it, but the director was on the stage, so a coat lay there instead.

The third chair held my brother.

Tyler had driven up at six in the morning in a suit that didn't fit.

He had gotten a haircut.

He had not checked his phone in twenty minutes, and he didn't seem to notice.

He gave me a thumbs-up, and then wiped his nose.

The fourth chair was empty.

I had left the card blank, and nobody had taken it, and nobody had been told to.

I looked at it only once.

The dean read our names alphabetically, and each of us crossed the stage.

"Cassidy Hartwell," the dean said. "Presidential Scholar, Northfield University."

The applause was warm.

It was not a roar. It didn't need to be.

I shook the dean's hand and took a folder with my name on it.

"That's my girl!" my roommate shouted from the front row.

A woman in the audience laughed out loud, warmly.

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