Free The Graduation by Christopher Pike

the times in class—how restless I would be for the teacher to get on with the lesson. I’ve grasped the concept, I used to think, why haven’t the rest of the kids’? What I didn’t realize then is that learning something doesn’t just mean figuring it out. It’s also the pleasure you get from the knowledge. I didn’t appreciate that the teacher would sometimes dwell on a particular subject because he or she loved it. I got mostly A’s but now I wish I’d had more fun doing it. I hope this is one lesson I won’t forget.”
    Michael paused and looked over the audience. When he spoke next, it was in a lower voice, and Jessica found herself leaning forward, afraid she might miss something.
    She knew he was going to bring up Alice.
    “But there is something else high school taught me,” he said. “Something I did not know until I was no longer here on a daily basis. Like everybody, I suppose, I knew certain people at school that I didn’t really like. They bugged me for one reason or another, and I used to think I’d be glad when I didn’t have to see them anymore. Then again, I had friends I loved to be around, people that made it easy for me to get up in the morning and drive here. But the strange thing I’ve discovered since I’ve been gone is that I miss both groups of people. And I like to think I’ve been missed by both groups. I like to think we’re all good friends. Maybe I’ve learned the importance of friendship. Mr. Bark was right—today is a happy day, but it’s also sad. We’ll all promise to keep in touch, but realistically, many of us will never see one another again. Today is supposed to be the day we grow up, yet in a way, it’s a shame any of us have to. Your high-school friends—I think they’re your best friends.”
    Your final friends.
    Jessica didn’t know why she thought that. There was life after high school. There would be other boys besides Michael. There was only one problem. She didn’t want any other boy.
    Michael coughed once and looked down. “In closing I would like to pay tribute to the memory of a very special friend who had her life taken suddenly from her. If possible, I would like her remembered with a minute of silence. Her name was Alice McCoy. She would have graduated in a couple of years.”
    Michael lowered his head. Most of those present did the same. Jessica closed her eyes and felt a tear slide over her warm cheek. Just one tear. The minute lasted an eternity. Sara’s voice made her sit up with a start.
    “And now Jessica Hart will close the ceremony with a song.”
    Jessica stood and glanced at Polly, who in turn stared up at her.
    “Was he right about us not having any more friends?” Polly asked sadly. Jessica squeezed her shoulder.
    “We’ll always be friends, Polly.”
    Jessica found the piano and sat down. The silence persisted, but a faint breeze had begun to cross the stadium. She felt it in her hair and on her damp cheek. She had no music before her; she had to choose a Beatles song. That was OK. They had composed the perfect one for the occasion, especially since Michael had forgotten to thank his wonderful mother for having given birth to him.
    Jessica began to sing.
    “‘When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be. And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be, whisper words of wisdom, let it be…’”
    She went through the song alone, and when she came to the final chorus, no one in the stands or on the field joined her. That was OK, too. She may not have sung it as beautifully as Paul McCartney, but she sang it as if it were important to her, which it was. When she finished, the silence returned, deeper than before and just for a moment. Then the applause poured down upon her from all sides and she smiled. It was the first time she had felt good all day.
    The diplomas were