MOM COMES TO MY GRADUATION.

She leaves her partner in Boston and takes his car, pulling up into the driveway with so much familiarity it makes me want to cry. Dad and her hug awkwardly—a side-on squeeze—before I drive us all to the Academy, decked out in blue and gold streamers, balloons and finery. I slide into my navy graduation robes, already warm from the sun-speckled backseat, and don the hat before guiding my parents to the sprawling lawn, pointing out the friends and family chairs, across a grassy aisle from the faculty and student seating.

Brittany isn't here. I ended up taking Sophie's side, Brittany very publicly fell from grace a week before the Prom, and no-one's seen her since. When I message her, how r u or what r u up to? she always tells me to ask Sophie. I prefer her aggression over her passive-aggression.

I see Sophie and her friends clustered under a tree with their family members. She glances my way and smiles. Are people allowed to change overnight? One moment I was certain of a bleak, confined future and the next I decided I wanted something more. Don't I need to spend at least some days agonizing and deliberating over the right thing to do?

I'm afraid that all my goodness has always been a fluke. This time needs to be different, but I'm unsure whether being unconsciously good or consciously good is the epitome I want.

I collect my high school diploma in front of all the students of Carsonville High School. Applause is supposed to be reserved for the end of each batch of ten, otherwise the proceedings will be too long. I do not receive smiles, except from Reece, Derek, Madison, Sophie, Mom and Dad. The rest hate my guts, and rightly so.

Dad looks good in a well-pressed blazer jacket and shiny Oxfords. Mom is shielding her eyes with a hand over her brow, the other fanning her face with a copy of the graduation ceremony programme. I was worried they wouldn't want me going to Washington, but they both took the news well.

Dad especially. I think as badly as we supported each other through the hard times, nothing will change the fact that for a long while, it was just him and me. There's something about shared experience, even if the experience is bad. He said I should look for happiness wherever I think it is, and that he'll always be waiting for me, if I ever need a roof over my head.

"Though I think I might sell this house," he murmured thoughtfully. "It's way too big for just me."

"Do it," I agreed. "More incentive to move in with your new girlfriend."

"What?" he balked, before running a hand underneath his chin. "When did you find out?"

I shrugged. "Since the beginning? Work meetings don't last all night." He gave me a look that said okay, shut up now.

I always thought I hated this town. The uneven, asymmetric grid of streets, Haywood Park and its ghosts, the bad memories in every single corner. That locker I trashed once. That lake that nearly killed me. That bar I hate. That road I ran along in the ice storm. That toilet I shoved a person into. That beach I threw up on. That bus I drove into the sundial.

But then the reality sank in—I'm leaving my hometown—and I realized I do love this place. I will come back, I will miss it, but only if I give myself the chance to miss it. It's exactly the same as the Dad situation: something about shared experience, even if the experience is bad. No other place has known me as well.

Two hours later, when every senior has walked the stage and all the friend groups have taken fifty photos of the same pose, I approach Sophie and her friends. She peels away to talk privately with me, but a girl with fiery hair and stormy eyes follows, her graduation robes billowing behind like a war banner. Delaney Morrison.

"When is your flight?" Sophie asks. "I'll come see you off." I tell her the date and time, and she opens up the calendar app on her phone.

Delaney's eyes narrow on me, shrewd as ever. "I still don't like you."

"An understandable position."

"I don't like you," she repeats. "but that's because you were an asshole these last four years. I didn't know about Suki or about what you two went through. We were close until she left, but obviously not as close as I thought." Sophie nudges Delaney's forearm when the latter's face clouds over. "What I'm trying to say is: if there's a less asshole-y side to Terrence, then I hope that person gets a chance to show himself and be judged on his own merit."

I smile with closed lips. "Thanks?"

Delaney shrugs, making the tassel of her graduation cap fall in front of her face, and pulls a fat envelope from her graduation robe. "Can you deliver this to her? With my love."

"I will," I say, nodding. I put Delaney's letter into my pocket and already start thinking of ways to pack it with my belongings so it won't crinkle.

I cast a gaze across the lawn. The graduation robes form a sea of black and navy, but I'm quick to spot my parents patiently waiting in the glare of the mid-afternoon sun, Mom lifting her heel out of a clump of glass.

My imminent move has forced them to combine forces. Mom applied her expertise to making sense of all the paperwork I need to do. She researched insurance and social security and the tenancy rights in Washington. Dad advised me on how to get vocational jobs with just a GED, what specs are most important in second-hand cars. They're talking now. Lips moving, heads tilting in good, distanced humor. I can see it now, a time where they would have been in love.

Not for the first time this week, I'm struck by the sensation that I've been staring at the wrong parts of my life for too long and skewing the picture, being colder than I had to, being bitter by conviction.

Excitement rolls through my gut. Sometimes I wonder if all this is worth the trouble, but there's an irrational voice that says I'm going to land in Washington and something will click into place and the rest of everything will follow along like links of a chain jerked into motion. I could never have imagined feeling so certain about my future a month ago.

I could like myself. I could like this life.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"Hi, Mr. Stanson."

Brittany's dad blinks twice before recognition blooms on his face. "Terrence, right?"

"Yes, sir. I'm here to see Brittany. I'm going on a trip soon, and I want to say goodbye to her in person before I go. Is that okay?"

"Hmm," he murmurs. He glanced back inside with obvious concern, then reveals, "She's been unwell for the last week. Of course, you can go up to check on her but she might not want company. Her room is upstairs, at the end of the hall."

I don't need instructions; Brittany throws a party every time her parents are out of town, but her parents have no idea who they're raising, so I just smile politely. "Thank you so much."

With rote memory, I navigate their stylish, color-coordinated house. Affluent part of town, backyard tiled pool. When I reach her doorway, conveniently marked with a paper plaque and some childhood photos, I knock three times. "Britt."

Silence for a beat. Then, a muffled voice shouts, "Go away."

"I am," I tell her. "Washington." Hopefully, shock value will convince her to let me in.

The door clicks open. She's drawn the curtains against the bright sunlight. She's wrapped in a light blanket, with matted strands of hair falling alongside her face. The skin under her eyes is dark and swollen and I bet if I opened the curtains, her skin would have an unhealthy pale tint.

"Wow."

"Don't," Brittany sniffles. "I know."

"I don't get you. Is this really about school?" I wonder. "Who cares if people hate you? I just mean, you're still you. Smart, pretty, going to college. Nothing about your life has been ruined, Britt. Get out and enjoy the summer the way you would usually."

"How can I? None of the others are speaking to me." The others in the Monarchy. Their relationship with Brittany is just as, if not more, complicated than mine. I think they can't see the parts of her that are interesting and helpful. One has to really, really, really look. "How can I enjoy summer alone?"

Brittany wanders back to her bed and collapses on it, rolling over until her back faces me. This is...nearly the fucking saddest thing I've ever seen.

"Maybe if..." Nothing comes to me. "I don't know."

Brittany wrote the book on burning bridges. She never had a real friend, because she manipulated and blackmailed anyone she could. Her boyfriends never lasted more than two months. I shouldn't even be here, considering she treated me like a servant, but I had to see her for myself.

"Why'd you treat us like that? Why'd you have to punish everyone?"

Maybe this is Stockholm syndrome, but a part of me still cares about Brittany. I still remember that she took the time to explain Suki's point of view to me in the days after she left. I opted out of supporting my pregnant girlfriend, and Brittany stepped up to bat. She jumped into a freezing cold lake for me. She folded me into her social circle and tried to get my mind off my heartbreak. Cassie is here because Brittany was there.

If she had just continued down that line and left out the emotional abuse, I would have been her friend for real. Easily.

"I don't know. I see other people happy and it makes me feel so empty. I think something's wrong with me," she rambles, still facing the wall. I don't intend to stay for long, so I just stand and watch her.

Nothing's wrong with her. She's just afraid to care, because caring requires vulnerability, and she's been hurt before. I know she's hurt so many people, but a pang of sympathy runs through me, because I've felt that way before. Even she doesn't deserve that incurable loneliness.

"I get the appeal of detaching from the world. Nothing can touch you, and you can just cruise, sleep and die, but—"

"Don't say but. End-of. That's the ideal."

"It's not the ideal. It's the best bad option. Evil genius that you are, surely you can figure out a new way to do this life thing." Brittany pushes herself to a sitting position and turns to face me, derision written all over her features. "Fine. Are you going to mope the whole summer?"

"Why not? No-one's going to miss me. Reece hashed everything out with his parents. Derek's already been fired, so I can't hold that over him. Madison's pouring all her time into reconnecting with Carter. Once you leave, that's it. I have no-one left here. I'll go to college with a blank social slate and have to write myself into existence all over again."

"Okay. Then I don't know what to tell you. I won't fix you if you don't want to fix yourself." Brittany sighs and moves to lie down again, but I stop her. "Hey. You have at least one social outing this summer."

"Hm?"

"You have to come with me to the airport. The gang has to get together for that, at least. I'll make sure none of them rips your head off."

"Is Sophie going to be there?"

I answer firmly, "Yes. She will. Is that a problem?" Brittany opens her mouth, a flame of anger flashing in her eyes.

I almost sigh in relief, seeing that reminder of the old Brittany, before I remind myself that I don't want the old Brittany back. She needs to find her best memories in front of her, not behind. Thankfully, she relents. "Fine."

I chuckle. "Cool. Take care of yourself."

I walk to leave her bedroom, assuming she'll curl up into a ball the second I leave. I've done all I can for her. More than I should have, even.

Her raspy voice catches my ear. "Terry." I turn around, eyes wide. Brittany corrects herself, "Terrence. Sorry. I know you always hated that nickname."

After a second's deliberation, I tell her, "It's okay. You can call me Terry."

Brittany nods. A silent understanding passes between us. I can forgive her, just as I work to forgive myself. But we can't be friends after this. In another world, we might have stayed in touch. So she can keep Terry, keep the part of me that lived and died in this town.

"Say hi to Suki for me," she whispers.

"I will," I nod. "Enjoy your summer, Britt."

With a soft click, I shut her door.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

For a guy who thought he had no true friends in high school, my farewell gathering at the airport is surprisingly heartfelt.

Dad's secret girlfriend is called Evelyn, co-consultant at his construction firm. They still aren't dating, but he said that with a blush, an unspoken nervous yet. He told me that she would really appreciate being with us on the day I left. She's going to meet us at the domestic terminal. I'm so happy for him.

"I don't know how to be a good father," I admit, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Or a good person."

"You think I do?" Dad laughs, reaching over to cuff my shoulder. "I think you turned out so well because I didn't raise you. You pretty much brought yourself up."

"I'm just a kid. I'm going to play adult dress-up instead of actually taking responsibility and providing stability and all that shit. I can't fuck this up, Dad. It's too important."

"Well, if it makes you feel better— hm. Actually, this might make you feel worse."

"What is it?"

"No-one stops feeling that way. We're all playing adult dress-up." When my frown deepens, Dad bursts into laughter. "Well, I warned you."

He and I check in my luggage and then find the smoothie place where we're going to meet my friends and Evelyn. Brittany shows up in heeled sandals, a tan two-piece and flawless makeup, looking very much the way she always did in high school. I seem to be the only one who can see the fragments of her eyes, the pieces of the things she thinks she lost.

Reece, Madison and Derek dutifully place themselves between Brittany and Sophie, the latter of whom makes concerted efforts to stay pleasant. I'm going to miss that, too. Sophie's consistency, her fire—which I have concluded won't die in college, nor ever. After exchanging words of good luck and goodbye, Sophie dutifully takes pictures for us. Portraits with Dad and Evelyn, landscapes with the five ex-Monarchs with our arms around each other, smiling as if we've only ever been typical teenagers.

Madison returns the favour, leaving only a single photo in my gallery of Sophie and me standing together in front of the domestic departures sign. After all we've gone through, I can't believe all that I have of Sophie is one photo. I wonder if there's a part of her that will miss me.

I stand at the mouth of the customs corridor, glancing back at the metal railing that separates the retinue from travelers. While everyone else waves, Brittany stubbornly refuses to return my smile, tipping her head upward at the digital departure board as if perusing the flight list, right until the wall slices between us.

I can imagine her lingering there even after everyone else drifts away, fixating on the board until my flight disappears from its pixelated list, until I'm with the clouds and setting sun.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

a/n:

love him or hate him, i think terrence has been forced to grow up way faster than his peers and being under such pressure, often isolated, is the way mistakes and bad decisions happen. i'm proud of him for being brave and being honest with himself. 

i hope the last few chapters do justice to his character.

aimee x