Chapter 3
Graduation was perfect.
I walked across that stage in my emerald green dress, beaded neckline catching the light. I gave the valedictorian speech. I talked about resilience. About how sometimes, the things that break us are the things that remake us. I didn't mention Mia. I didn't mention Carla. I didn't have to.
Dad was in the front row. He cried. He took a hundred photos. He hugged me so tight I could barely breathe.
Mia was there too. She graduated — barely. She'd slacked off all year. She walked across the stage in her brand-new dress. But nobody cheered for her. Her friends — the ones who'd laughed at my dress behind my back — they'd all seen the video. Mia had posted a rant about me, about Dad, about the bag. It had gone viral. And nobody was on her side.
After the ceremony, Mia found me. She was standing by the parking lot, alone. Her dress was wrinkled. Her makeup was smudged.
"Aaliyah," she said. Her voice was small. "Can we talk?"
I looked at her. Part of me wanted to walk away. Part of me wanted to scream. But I stopped.
"What do you want, Mia?"
"I'm — I'm sorry." She said it like the words tasted bad. "About the dress. About the lace. I was — I was jealous. You had everything. Dad loved you more. You were smarter. You got the scholarship. And I — I just wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry."
I studied her. She was crying. Real tears. But I'd seen Mia cry before — usually to get something.
"Sorry doesn't bring back the lace," I said.
"I know. I know. I just — Mom and I are living at Aunt Renee's. She's awful. Mom is screaming all the time. She's talking about divorce, about taking half of everything. She says she's going to ruin Dad. And I — I don't want to be part of it. I don't want to be her anymore."
I didn't know what to say. This girl — who'd cut up my dress, who'd thrown away my mother's lace, who'd smirked while I cried — was asking me for what? Forgiveness? Friendship?
"Mia," I said. "I can't forgive you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But — you don't have to be your mother. You can be better. That's up to you."
She nodded. She wiped her face. She turned and walked away.
I watched her go. And I felt — nothing. No anger. No pity. Just — nothing. And that was good.
Dad came up beside me. "You okay?"
May you like
I leaned into him. "I'm great, Dad. I just graduated."
He laughed. He hugged me. We walked to the car. And I didn't look back.
