The lights in the arena bore down on me, making me glad I’d worn my mother’s light green dress under my cap and gown and not something more substantial. As I stood in the wing of the stage, off to the right, waiting for my turn to walk out, my knees gave way. The pressure, adrenaline, danger, and loss of my mother all hit me at once. Everything I’d worked for until now culminated in this moment. And she wasn’t here to see it.

I looked out into the crowd, searching for that face. Martin smiled, and the weight on my shoulders fell away. There he is. Then I saw Daddy’s face next to Martin’s, and the tears in his eyes. I wiped my own eyes and stepped forward, closer to my destiny. Two people stood between me and the stage. Then one.

Dr. Francis, the Dean of Academics, called my name, and I didn’t move. The girl behind me cleared her throat and then patted my back. I stumbled forward, afraid my knees would give, and somehow made it across the stage to Dr. Francis’s waiting hand. As practiced, with my left hand, I shook her’s, and with my right, I accepted my diploma. We nodded at each other, and I turned toward the audience, blinded by the lights, and smiled. Then I walked the three steps to Mr. Abel and accepted my Honors broach. Concentrating on the mechanics of each step helped me make it through the entire rehearsed ordeal without falling on my face.

As I descended the steps on the other end of the stage, a dark figure approached me. I couldn’t make out more than an outline with the lights blaring down on me, but I did see his hand reach into a front pocket. My eyes zeroed in on that hand as the rest of me ducked down almost completely under the stage.

Two large figures rushed the stage, tackling the man and throwing him to the ground. I heard two distinctive grunts — one from Martin and another from Cruz — and then a pained groan from… “Greg?” I asked from under the stairs.

“What the hell?” It was definitely Greg’s voice that carried up from beneath Martin and Cruz.

I crawled out and raised myself up, smoothing out my gown. Cruz was on top of Martin, and both were struggling to subdue Greg, who kicked and flopped like a fish on the floor. “Guys, get off!” I tapped Cruz hard on his back to break his concentration. “I know him! That’s my…friend.”

Martin huffed Cruz off his back like he weighed nothing and stood up. His head snapped in my direction at the hesitation before ‘friend.’ I could tell he didn’t buy it. It was sort of true, which I tried to convey with my eyes. We had been more than friends at the beginning of the year, but things had run their course, as they do with your senior year.

Martin stepped over to me, covering my body with his, a little closer than usual it felt, while Cruz helped Greg up off the ground. When Greg recovered, he rose to his full height, head to head with Martin. Both men squared off like silver back gorillas in the wild. I half expected them to start pounding their chests at each other. Instead, Cruz slid himself between them and apologized to Greg.

“Sorry, man. No hard feelings.”

Greg looked down his nose at Cruz and then right past him, locking eyes with Martin again. To me, he asked, “What’s all this?”

“My dad hired them.” I attempted to push past Martin, extending my arms for a conciliatory hug. Martin was having none of that.

“Ms. Genovese was just leaving.” He glared at Greg, then tapped Cruz on the back to signal our escape. It was at that moment that I realized the eyes of the entire stadium were upon us, me. I shrank behind Martin.

Greg held out his hand, his arm stiff against Martin’s chest. “Hold on. I just wanted to give Vanessa this.” He reached into his pocket, the one that had started this whole mess, and retrieved a gold envelope.

Martin grabbed Greg’s wrist and twisted it almost to breaking. “Slow down.”

“Dammit!” Greg screamed. “Vanessa, call off your dog!”

“Martin, stop!” I slapped Martin’s back. “You’re hurting him.”

“I’ll take that.” Martin snatched the envelope and stuffed it in his own pocket. Then he released Greg’s wrist and shooed him away with a flick of his own wrist. “Run along now.”

Greg didn’t run along. He stood firm, bowing up his chest at Martin and making a visible effort to not rub his wrist. “Vanessa, sweetie,” he added for Martin’s ear, “I’m very proud of you. Mother and Father would love for you to come back to the house for a little get together.”

Martin butted in, “No parties.”

“Why don’t we let Vanessa decide what she wants, big guy?” Greg raised his hand as if to pat Martin on the shoulder but thought better of it and lowered the already pained arm. Then, to me, “I’d love to see you there. You remember the address, I’m sure.”

“Alright, you two, that’s quite enough. Honestly!” I pushed past Martin and Greg both and put my arm around Cruz. He glanced sheepishly back at Martin and then escorted me out of the arena. I still felt every eye in the place boring a hole in me, so I was grateful to him for helping me make my escape.

As we reached the side exit, I fought every urge to turn back and check on Martin and Greg. Curiosity had me wondering which one would break their staring contest first. But pride held my head firmly forward, my eyes locked on Cruz’s dark, curly hair.