Free Bear, Otter, & the Kid 03 - The Art of Breathing by TJ Klune Page B

He already knew; though I don’t think he saw this coming.
    Bear, though?
    I think Bear might have just shit himself. Literally.
    Yikes. And gross.
    And over the rustling of the crowd, I finish: “Change starts with us. It starts now. And I challenge all of you to make a difference. Do it before it’s too late. Do it before it won’t matter anymore. Do it, so that one day, we can look back and say our generation was the one that cared for all others with open arms, that we discovered the key to no more hate was not a matter of politics or war, but a matter of acceptance. Thank you, and congratulations to you all.”
    I step down off the pedestal into shocked silence.
    And then, much to my surprise, the crowd roars in approval.
    I am stunned when they get to their feet.
    I am near tears when they stomp their feet and shout my name.
    I leave the stage.
    And, thirty minutes later, my name is called so I must return.
    “Tyson James Thompson.”
    The audience is loud again, but none more so than my family. All of them, every single one, are on their feet, screeching and howling and screaming. Creed pounds his chest and bellows my name. Otter has that crooked grin on display and is shouting something I can’t quite make out. Bear is tucked in at his side, still looking shell-shocked, but his lips are moving, even though I can’t hear him at all.
    Dom, though? Dom is smiling, his eyes suspiciously bright. I am handed my diploma, and I smile for the flash of the camera as I shake the superintendent’s hand. As the flash dies, I see Dom wipe the back of his hand across his eyes. I’m going to give him so much shit later for that, the big softie.
    Well, if I don’t get murdered first for outing myself to the graduating class of Seafare High. Probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. I probably should have thought it through a little better, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Make all of the haters out there see that a tiny little fifteen-year-old smartass could cause a sort of chaos. Interesting reaction, though. I was expecting to have rotten fruit thrown at me. People don’t seem to carry that with them anymore to public speeches. Hurray for me.
    We throw our caps into the air and the ceremony is over and the crowd starts to pour onto the field to find their loved ones, to hug them, to congratulate them, to tell them it’s almost time to move out because didn’t they know their parents were going to convert their bedroom into the new entertainment room?
    I’m jostled in the crowd. My back is patted. My hair is ruffled. Some people glare at me. Others avoid me completely. People I don’t even know shake my hand. I’m pretty sure that hottie junior wrestler named Jake grabs my ass and grins at me. He slips a piece of paper into my hand and winks as he walks away. His phone number. Good Lord. I’m a fucking rock star. Sort of. I hope no girl throws her panties at my face. That’d be weird. And disgusting.
    The crowd is too much. I can’t see where I’m going. I don’t—
    “Tyson!” My name is thundered. A deep voice. A voice I love. “Ty!”
    There’s a discarded folding chair, knocked over. I upright it and stand on it. The crowd mills around me. I’m as tall as them. Taller. And once I’m up, I can see him, towering above all the others, sweeping his gaze from side to side, his shoulders tense. He looks like he’s getting ready to knock everyone to the ground to find me.
    I call his name and he turns to me. Immediately he moves. Everyone gets out of his way. He doesn’t take his gaze from me, and when he’s only feet away, I jump. He catches me. I wrap my legs around his hips and he wraps his big arms around me, crushing me to him. One hand goes to the back of my head, and I lay my cheek on his shoulder, scraping my nose against his neck. I can feel his heart racing in his chest.
    “Are you mad at me?” I whisper in his ear.
    He shivers. “No. Not for this. Not ever. You… are you