The Graduation

The Graduation

By Christopher Pike

Final Friends - Book 3

Final Friends

01
- The Party

02
- The Dance

03
- The Graduation

The last day of school began early for Sara Cantrell. As ASB president, she had inherited the job of passing out the yearbooks. No one else had wanted to do it. The task called for a crack-of-dawn rising. The books had only arrived the night before and had to be unpacked and sorted into alphabetical order. The yearbook club had been late sending the book to the printers. There had been some concern—so the rumor went—about the quality of the athletic photographs.

The price of vanity. Did I not say it months ago?

Sara smiled with glee as she squatted on the floor of the recently reconstructed snack bar and tore open one of the boxes and pulled out a copy of the annual. The cover was dark blue, featureless except for a silver name tag on the top and a tiny gold rope emblem in the lower right corner, which Sara had to assume bore some relationship to Tabb High’s bronco-bull mascot. Quickly she turned to the sports section. A moment later she was laughing her head off.

“
Where are your glasses, Jessie?
” “
Bug off, Sara.
”

In the basketball section in particular, and to a lesser extent throughout the football and wrestling pages, every other picture looked as if it had been shot underwater. There was a blurred photograph of Nick Grutler going to the basket with what could have been a swollen pumpkin in his hand.

“I love it,” Sara said aloud, noting something else unusual about the basketball section. Michael Olson, who had been dropped from the team at the start of the season, was in more pictures than anyone else. And a couple of those were remarkably sharp. Jessica must have slipped on her glasses for a second here and there during the game against Holden High, Sara decided. No doubt there was going to be talk when the rest of the basketball players saw how he had been favored.

They’ll talk all day. and talk all night. Then nobody will see anybody again.

The graduation ceremony was to be held at three in the afternoon in the football stadium. The time had been moved up to accommodate nearby Sanders High’s ceremony. Sanders’s stadium was undergoing major renovations. Sara thought it was a bum rap that Sanders’s ceremony wasn’t first. She would have the sun directly in her eyes when she addressed the stands. She still hadn’t figured out exactly what she was going to say in her speech, although she had stayed up half the night worrying about it. She simply had too much on her mind. There was the all-night party aboard the cruise ship she still had to pay for, and then there was Russ Desmond. Last Christmas he had been sent to a juvenile hall in northern California for chopping down the varsity tree, which fell on the snack bar. He was being released—temporarily—to attend graduation and receive his diploma. She was supposed to pick him up in downtown L.A. at the bus station at one o’clock. She hadn’t seen him in over five months.

He’s probably forgotten what I look like.

Sara set aside the yearbook and. with a razor blade, began to cut open the boxes. Although the books had not been packed alphabetically, she was pleased to see they had been grouped according to class, simplifying her job somewhat. But there was still a lot to do. Tabb High had a student body of over two thousand, and more than half had ordered annuals. She wished she had Jessica to help her, the new clear-sighted Jessie who now wore her glasses wherever she went. But her best friend, bless her lazy hide, was getting her full measure of beauty sleep this morning.

The first knock at the window came two hours later, an hour earlier than Sara had anticipated—she had less than half the annuals unpacked. Two junior girls wanted their books
now
. Sara had no sooner found them than two more students arrived. It must have been because it was the last day—no one came to school this early usually. From that time on she was running. She quickly gave up checking receipts and IDs. If anyone felt he needed to steal a yearbook to be happy, she wasn’t going to stand in the way.

Fortunately, before the big rush started around eight-thirty, three sophomores on the student council came to her rescue. Now she was able to take people’s names and call them out to her helpers, who would hand her the right book a moment later.

Michael Olson and Clair Hilrey appeared at eight forty-five.

Sara had seen neither of them since January. Both had chosen to leave school at the semester. Apparently both had had enough units; and that was all that mattered, although Michael’s GPA must have been about twice Clair’s. The word going around was that Clair was making big bucks modeling and Michael was working for the government on some top-secret space laser. But, Sara knew, you couldn’t believe everything you heard, although Clair
had
been on the cover of the May issue of
Seventeen
. Looked pretty damn good, too, and hadn’t Jessica scowled when she had seen
that
magazine.

Clair had on baggy white shorts and a thin red blouse, perfect for the weather—the temperature was already close to eighty. She’d always had a tan, even in December, but now she was chestnut brown. It went without saying she was gorgeous.

Michael looked different. It was possible he hadn’t cut his hair once since he’d left school. Black as night, and now curly, it hung way past his collar, practically onto his shoulders. He had lost weight, especially in his face. He appeared more handsome than she remembered, less a boy, more serious.

“Hi, Mike,” Sara said. “Hi, Clair. Been a long time. How are you both doing?”

“We’re just as happy as can be.” Clair giggled, squeezing Michael’s arm. Michael smiled faintly and nodded.

“It’s good to see you, Sara,” he said. “Busy?”

She glanced past them at the line. “Yeah, but I can take a minute off.” She called behind her: “Michael Olson and Clair Hilrey. They’re both seniors. And, Lori, take the window for a second.” She had their books a few seconds later and carried them with her as she slipped out the side door of the snack bar. The carpenters were still working on the building’s south wall; it was covered with plastic instead of stucco. The varsity tree had been awfully heavy.

Clair immediately opened her yearbook to the homecoming-court pictures. Michael peered at the page over her shoulder. Clair made a face.

“That photographer—what an amateur,” she complained.

“You look fine to me,” Michael said.

“I’m supposed to look sexy, not fine,” Clair said. She studied the page a little more, then added reluctantly, “But that is a nice picture of Jessica.”

“Very nice,” Michael agreed.

“Have you seen Jessie, Mike?” Sara asked. Clair quickly glanced over her shoulder at Michael.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, suddenly closing the book. “I’ve got to find Bubba. Nice to see, Sara.”

“Catch you at graduation,” Sara said.

“I’ll be along in a minute,” Michael told Clair. When she was gone, he said, “No, I just got here. How’s she been?”

“Great,” Sara said, which was something of an exaggeration. After Maria Gonzales’s crippling accident the night of the homecoming dance, Jessica had gone into as deep a depression as she had when Alice died. She hadn’t even returned to school after Christmas vacation to finish the semester. If Sara hadn’t brought her work to her, Jessica might have flunked out. Her spirits had improved somewhat when she finally returned at the start of the new semester. Yet Sara continued to worry about her. Jessica wasn’t interested in going to the movies, going shopping—hardly anything anymore. Sara had had to use every bit of her considerable persuasive skills to talk her into going to the senior prom in May with Bill Skater. Afterward, Jessica told her she’d had a wonderful time, but Sara didn’t quite believe her. Jessica hadn’t gone out with Bill since.

Not returning to school until the beginning of February, Jessica had missed Michael Olson’s last days at Tabb. Sara remembered how Jessica’s face fell when she had heard Michael was gone. To this day, however, Jessica denied they were close or that she cared one way or the other about him.

“She’s doing real good,” Sara continued. “She should be here any minute. Why don’t you wait for her?”

He looked doubtful. “I have a lot to do today.”

“But you’re coming to the ceremony this afternoon, aren’t you? I heard you’re valedictorian?”

He smiled faintly at the mention of the word. “Yeah, it looks like I am. I have to give a speech.”

“You’re not the only one. Well, that’s great. I’ll get to introduce you. But I wish you could stay now. She should be here any sec. I know she’d love to see you.”

He glanced down at the closed yearbook in his hands. “I really can’t wait. But say hello to her for me.”

“I will.” She was trying to get rid of the habit of talking people into stuff. Russ had told her—before they had locked him up—that it was one of her least desirable personality traits. On the other hand, she didn’t believe Michael couldn’t wait a few minutes, any more than she believed Jessica when she had said it was no big deal that Michael had left school early. “She’s as pretty as ever,” she added.

Michael smiled politely. “I don’t doubt it.” He turned to leave. “I’ll be back this afternoon for the ceremony.”

“Hey, hold on. Let me sign your yearbook.”

“Sure.” He handed it over. “Where’s yours?”

“I’ve been so busy with everybody else’s, I haven’t had a chance to look for my own. You can sign it later on the boat. You’re coming to the all-night party, aren’t you?”

He hesitated, spoke under his breath. “If need be.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t buy a ticket.”

She pulled a ticket from her back pocket and gave it to him. “It’s on the house. The party won’t be complete without our class genius.” She clicked out her ballpoint pen and turned to one of the blank pages at the back of his yearbook. “I promise not to write anything disgusting,” she said.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he remarked, stuffing the ticket into his back pocket and scanning the half-filled courtyard. Sara thought for a moment and then wrote.

Mike,

Of all the people in the school, you’re the only one I wish I knew better. All the rest, I wish I could forget. Just kidding! What I really mean is, I’ll never forget you. You’re so smart! Figure out how to be happy and then tell the rest of us miserable slobs. We’re counting on you.

Luv, Sara

She returned his yearbook, saying, “Read it later tonight, preferably when you’re drunk.”

He nodded. “Thanks for the free ticket.”

Sara hugged him briefly. “I’m so glad you’re here. I think we’re going to have a wild time today.”

“I think so, too.”

Michael left and Sara returned to distributing the yearbooks at the snack-bar window. Bubba put in a typical annoying appearance ten minutes later. He didn’t have to say or do anything. Just the sight of him irritated Sara. It had been Bubba who had talked her into renting the cruise ship for the all-night party, even when he had known it was way beyond their means. She was beginning to believe he was purposely prolonging her personal crisis with the school funds to keep her dependent on him. After the homecoming dance, he had continued to pay her creditors just enough to keep them from suing, but not enough to make them go away. Lately he had been hinting at a scheme that would clear up all her money worries. Of course he hadn’t said what it was.

“Come for your book?” she asked wearily. The predicted temperature for the day was a muggy ninety-five and Bubba had on an immaculate pair of light blue slacks, a navy-blue sports jacket and a red-and white-striped tie. His choice of hat that day was a wide-brimmed straw sombrero. He looked positively ridiculous and was loving every minute of it.

“No, I’ve come for you to sign it,” he replied, lifting up his yearbook from beneath the counter. The silver name tag on the top read—in unusually big letters—BUBBA.

“Where did you get that?” she demanded. “I didn’t give you that.”

“I was sent an advance copy.” He produced a feathered quill pen. “While you’re signing mine, may I have the pleasure of brightening yours with a few words of love?”

“No. Go away, I’m busy.”

Bubba glanced at the line behind him, smiled. “No time for Bubba on this, our last day of school? No time to share a precious moment to express our unspoken feeling for each other? Surely you must realize that an occasion such as this—”

“Stop it! I’ll sign your stupid book. Lori, fetch my annual, and then do me a favor and take the window again. Thanks.”

She met Bubba outside in the same spot she had spoken to Michael and Clair. Before handing over her annual, she said, “I talked the captain of the ship into taking a postdated check like you told me to. Now I want to know if the check will clear?”

“It should.”

“What? Two days ago you told me it definitely would!”

“I do not believe I used the word ‘definite.’ The only things definite in this world are death, taxes, and my good humor.”

“But my name’s on that check!”

“Better your name than mine.”

“Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to you?”

Bubba chuckled. “I’ve done nothing you haven’t asked me to. You wanted a party the class wouldn’t forget, and I told you how to give them one. I’m only here to serve, Sara.”

She started to yell at him again, but couldn’t think of anything to say. To her immense horror, she realized it was because what he said was partially true. He’d had no trouble putting her out on another financial limb. Ail he’d had to do was dangle before her nose another way to impress the school with what a fantastic president Sara Cantrell was.

“How are you serving me this week?” she asked. “Where’s the school money?”

“I’d prefer not to say at this moment.”

“Why not?”

“I’d rather not make you more nervous than you already are.”

“What kind of answer is that? Where’s the money?” Sara asked again.

“Do you like basketball?”

“Yeah, it’s all right.”

“The seventh game of the NBA finals is tonight. The Lakers versus the Celtics. A classic matchup. I grew up with the Lakers. They’re my team. I know them better than their own coach.”