Chapter 8 - Graduation

Senior year arrived.

Victoria returned to school under strict conditions.

People expected drama.

There wasn’t much.

Her old social group had fractured.

Some friendships survived.

Others disappeared the moment popularity stopped being convenient.

She joined the student arts committee.

That surprised everyone.

Especially me.

Carter—one of the boys who had filmed the gala—approached me before graduation.

“I deleted the video from my account.”

“Okay.”

“I should have stopped recording.”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“I know.”

There were many conversations like that.

Small.

Uncomfortable.

Necessary.

Westbridge’s culture did not transform overnight.

There were still cruel students.

Cowardly moments.

Bad decisions.

But teachers intervened faster.

Students reported more.

And fewer people laughed automatically when someone powerful decided another person was a target.

At graduation, I was selected to give the student address.

I almost refused.

Then Priya said:

“If you make me listen to another speech about how high school was a magical journey, I’ll sue.”

So I accepted.

I did not mention Victoria.

Or the trash.

Or my father.

I said:

“We spend too much time asking teenagers who they want to become and not enough asking what kind of person they are becoming while nobody important is watching.”

The auditorium went quiet.

“Character is not being kind to someone when you know their father’s name.”

Dad lowered his head, smiling.

“It is deciding they deserved kindness before you knew the name.”

After graduation, Victoria found me.

“That line was about me.”

“It was about many people.”

“But also me.”

“Yes.”

“Fair.”

Then she handed me a small box.

Inside was a sewing kit.

High-quality.

Wooden case.

Silver scissors.

“I didn’t know what gift wouldn’t be weird.”

“This is still a little weird.”

“I know.”

I smiled.

“Thank you.”

She walked away.

Priya appeared.

“Did the queen just give Cinderella sewing equipment?”

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“Never say that again.”

“Impossible.”