We barely made it on time. My dress slid on easily. Dad adjusted a stray piece of my hair and straightened it with careful fingers, then leaned back to look at me.
“I was learning to braid your hair for kindergarten,” he said softly. “Now look at you.”
“Dad, please don’t start again!”
“I am not starting anything, Claire.” But his eyes betrayed him completely. “All right,” he finally said. “Let’s go make them listen.”
At the time, I thought Dad meant my speech. I didn’t know he was naming the whole night.
“Now look at you.”
***
The graduation hall was already crowded when we arrived. Dad had come straight from church, so he was still in his pastor’s robe, dark with a cream stole draped over his shoulders. He looked exactly like himself, and I was proud to walk beside him.
The first voice came from the row near the back where some of my classmates were gathered.
“Oh, look, Miss Perfect finally made it!”
Someone else snorted. “Claire, please don’t make the speech BORING!”
Laughter rippled out in ugly little bursts. My face went hot so fast I could feel it in my ears. Dad glanced at me, then at them, then back at me. He didn’t say anything because he knew I was trying to hold it together.
“Claire, please don’t make the speech BORING!”
I swallowed and kept walking. “I’m okay, Dad,” I whispered.
He squeezed my hand once. “I know you are, champ.”
But I wasn’t. Not really.
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