But I knew him too well.
His shoulders were stiff.
His jaw was clenched.
He heard everything.
I wanted to take him home.
I wanted to stand between him and every phone pointed in his direction.
Instead, I sat in the third row because he had asked me to.
“Whatever happens,” he had said before joining his class, “stay where I can see you.”
So I stayed.
Name after name was called.
The whispering intensified whenever Aaron appeared in someone’s camera.
Then the principal finally announced him.
My heart seemed to stop.
Aaron walked across the stage.
The laughter followed him.
He accepted his diploma.
Then he turned.
But instead of moving toward his classmates or the photographers near the side of the stage, Aaron walked down the steps.
And started up the center aisle.
Toward me.
The room became louder.
Someone laughed again.
A girl nearby whispered,
“Is he seriously doing this?”
