Collide

by J. C. Hannigan

  After May, June came. I graduated as one of the tops of my class, although I was picked over to give the valedictorian speech. I knew the reason why, although they didn't officially give me one.

  "You look gorgeous, honey," Mom said, seeing me in my blue gown and graduation cap as I stood in front of my bedroom mirror.

  "Thanks," I said, giving her a small smile. She came into my room and sat down on my unmade bed, still looking at me with a smile on her face.

  "I am so proud of you, honey," she told me. "You've come a long way this year."

  "Really?" I asked, disbelief apparent in my voice and on my face.

  "Yes, really," Mom answered, serious. "You've been through a lot…you've made some mistakes, but you're in a better place because of it."

  I said nothing, shocked by her honesty.

  "Well, it's time to go," Mom said, standing up and heading out of my room. I followed her into the kitchen, where Larry was waiting. He was dressed in a suit, rolling on his heels as if he was nervous. We hadn't really had a whole lot of contact since Iain's sentencing. He probably thought I blamed him, but I didn't. I had at first, of course, but then I realized that Iain and I were really to blame. We'd both known it was illegal, even if I had naively thought that a Romeo and Juliet cause would save him.

  "You look great, Harlow," Larry said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

  "Thanks, Larry," I answered, trying to smile.

  "Well, let's go." Mom picked her purse up, motioning for us to get moving. I had to be there in less than fifteen minutes.

  The next hour was chaotic as the teachers organized us by last name. We waited in line, then made the progression outside to where the bleachers had been set up. Family of the graduating students filled the bleachers, and in front of the bleachers was enough chairs for all of us to sit. One by one, the teachers directed us down to our seats. It was surreal, hearing all of my classmates' names called. Jake did the rock-and-roll devils sign with his hand as he accepted his diploma from Mr. Osborne, earning several laughs and an eye roll from Mr. Osborne himself. Jenna sobbed while she took hers, and I barely made eye contact when my name was called up. A chorus of hushed whispers accompanied the announcement of my name. I couldn't help but feel paranoid and think that everyone was remembering the scandal.

  Finally, after the valedictorian drawled on and on for a solid forty-five minutes about the next chapter of our lives, the ceremony came to a close.

  * * * *

  That summer, Jenna's parents rented a two-bedroom apartment near the University of Ottawa, subleasing a room out to me for next to nothing. They would have allowed me to live there rent free if I hadn't insisted on paying them something each month.

  We moved into the apartment in July, so that we could find part-time jobs and adjust to life before university started. I landed a job at local coffee shop close to our new apartment. Everything was within walking or busing distance, so I sold my car, unable to really afford the insurance on it anyway, and treated myself to yet another tattoo: a colourful phoenix on my right calf, meant to pay tribute to me rising from the ashes, yet again.

  Epilogue

  I still thought about Iain often, but I never heard from him. Due to the nature of his charges, I'm sure his lawyer advised him not to contact me. I had almost expected him to do so after his sentence was up, but he never did. I didn't hear a whisper from him.

  At first, it hurt like hell. I realized he had a lot of time to think about us, and probably had grown to resent me. I missed him, but over time the ache in my chest faded. He would always be my first true love, the love that pulled me out of the darkness and brought me back to life…in a way. Jenna still insisted that it had been all me…and maybe it had been.

  Two years into university, one snowy day in December, I was with Jenna at the St. Laurent Centre on a rare day off, doing some obligatory Christmas shopping. She was laughing about a pair of crocodile print leather jeans at H&M, holding them out to me and trying to urge me to try them on, when she fell silent. An odd look passed over her face as she squinted toward the front of the store.

  I glanced behind me, seeing the familiar dirty blond hair and piercing Caribbean blue eyes of my twelfth grade English teacher. He was standing near the front of the store, near the mall exit, holding up a pair of jeans. Our eyes met, and I drew in my breath. He'd lost some weight, and his hair was a little more unruly and longer, but he still sent shivers of desire coursing through my body.