Page 5 of Stops Along the Way
Declan runs a hand through his dark hair. “…Go Dawgs?”
My face drops. “Stop.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he makes a dramatic showing of adding another tally to his overall-wins column. “Oh, man, Butler doesn’t know what’s coming.”
We’re going to the same college this fall? We don’t even go to the same high school right now. It’s not that big of a university. Seriously, what are the odds?
Freaking probability.
I push my palms down on the table to stand, quickly packing my game components back into the box and sending a text to my parents asking if one of them can come pick me up.
“Guess I’ll be stuck playing with you and your ridiculous dice. Hopefully, their board game club has a bigger pool of people so we don’t have to play each other as often.”
Declan smiles. “Do you want a fresh page, or should I just continue our current stats, seeing as I’m already in the overall lead?”
I bite my lip. “I don’t care about your notebook,” I lie.
On my way out the door, Bryce calls out from behind the counter. “Hey, don’t forget we’ve got a couple upcoming playthroughs on the calendar to test all your guys’ contest entries before the expo. How’s your game coming along?”
“I’ve got everything all outlined,” I say. “But I’ll have to wait until after finals next week to put the actual cards and design together. How professional does it need to look to stand a chance?”
“Don’t worry, the judges really do favor concept over polish. There was some dude last year who spent thousands of dollars dressing up his terrible Settlers of Catan–knockoff concept, and then it didn’t place at all. Just be as creative as you can be and not, like, messy, and you’ll be good.”
I didn’t realize Declan had walked up beside me. “Did you ever show me what you’ve been working on?” he asks.
“No, but I’ll tell you one thing.” I give a pointed smile. “It doesn’t include dice.”
Chapter Two
My orange graduation cap slips down my head as I round the stage. I do a clumsy job readjusting it for the posed photographer before offering an enthusiastic smile to the crowd, where my family is sitting somewhere I can’t locate with their cameras presumably also trained in my direction.
I follow the line of students ahead of me, weaving our way through the aisles, to sit back down in my folding chair in the front. Peyton plops down in hers first. She’s wearing sneakers, jeans, and a light sweater vest beneath her gown, much comfier than this ridiculous dress I’m wearing, which is riding up in ways I can’t adjust right now.
“Loving the bold lip,” I say to Peyton. The bright orange suits her dark complexion and matches our gowns in a display of school spirit that she usually reviles.
She leans to whisper something in my ear.
I sit back so I can read her lips. “What was that?”
“My mom wasn’t so sure, but even she couldn’t discount how good this looks,” she repeats at normal volume. Most of our classmates around us have also started chatting. This is going to be a long ceremony. There are rows and rows and rows of students left to go. “How much longer do you think this is going to take?”
The two of us have been favored by alphabetical order throughout our educational career.
Peyton Beckett and Iris Biagi.
“Such is our burden to bear asthe bees,” I joke, pulling out the nickname we gave ourselves all the way back in kindergarten, perhaps invoking it for the last time. Now I’m really feeling sentimental. “Oh, look.” I point to the stage.
We both lean our heads together and smile as one of our classmates turns around and takes a selfie with the whole crowd.
“I hope we only have to do that once. Wait, actually…” Peyton pulls out her own phone from beneath her robe.
I panic for a second. “We’re not supposed to have our phones.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? Learn to go with the flow, B,” Peyton says as we lean in together for our own photo. I glance around and realize several other people have their phones out as well. “What are they going to do? Take away our diplomas?”
“You didn’t know these are notoriously empty?” I flip open the school-engraved cardstock holder. “Until final grades and all that.”
Peyton shakes her head. “If they withhold your diploma, I’ll forge you a new one.”
