Page 124 of Riot Act
“Fuck you,” I snap.
“Fuck you right back.”
My heart’s in my throat as I climb the steps. I am not valedictorian. Gareth Foster of the chess club claimed that honor, surprise surprise, but when Jarvis Reid asked me to do a reading for our graduation ceremony, I was weirdly compelled to agree. Now, I’m not so sure it was a good idea.
I wait to one side of the stage as Principal Harcourt finishes her speech. She talks of community pride, and how far we’ve all come in the four short years we’ve been students at Wolf Hall. Ever the politician attempting to maintain a good impression, she doesn’t say a single word about the news crews that the police have had to cordon off at the bottom of the road that leads up the mountain. She doesn’t breathe a fucking word about the fact that our old English professor, who murdered one of our classmates, was sentenced to death in the state of Texas this morning, for murdering three other girls at separate schoolsthere.
This whole ceremony is a farce. But it does mark an end to a journey that none of us will forget, and for that I am wholly grateful.
After ten mind-numbing minutes, Harcourt finally relinquishes her spot at the podium and hands it over to little old me. The look on the sour bitch’s face as she passes me is classic:‘Do not fuck this up, Davis. Do not make a scene.’
It’s like she knows me or something.
I haven’t memorized the speech I’ve prepared, so I read it directly off the crumpled sheet of paper in front of me. I’m not shy in front of large crowds of people. I’ve walked runways all over the world. I’m used to people staring at me. I’m not accustomed to speaking, though, and I’ll admit to being nervous.
The microphone buzzes, blasting feedback out of the PA speakers mounted on either side of the stage when I clear my throat.
Great.
I clear it again, a little further from the mic this time. And then I begin. “Today marks the end of a nightmare that felt like it would never fucking end.”
“PAX!”Harcourt looks like she’s about to die right where she stands. Amongst the gathered crowd, I hear surprised, sharp inhalations mixed with barely suppressed laughter.
I ignore Principal Harcourt’s frantic flapping and plough on. “Our parents dumped us at the top of this mountain and expected us to thrive. Most of us have. We’ve completed the tasks that were required of us while we were here.” I look up for this next part, searching out the older faces in the crowd—the people dressed in full military regalia and stiff suits, all sitting ramrod straight like they fucking own the place. “I want you to know that we also did a metric ton of drugs and fucked our brains out while we were at it. We found a million ways to break the law and not get caught for it. And one of us also got murdered. Yeah, I’m sure we’ve all heard about the death sentence that was passed this morning in Texas. I think I can speak for my entire graduating class when I say that none of us will be sad to leave Wolf Hall in our rear-view mirrors.” I pause, plastering a smile across my face that can’t look sincere in any way, shape or form. “I hated pretty much every class here, and I couldn’t wait for the end of each day so I could get the hell out of here. I count myself lucky that I didn’t have to actually board here, or I probably would have set the place on fire.”
Principal Harcourt cups her hand around her mouth and calls out, “He’s joking! Haha, of course he’s joking!”
Which I quickly follow up with, “I’m totally not joking. Dumping your children in a boarding school in the middle of nowhere, at the top of a mountain, might seem like a great idea when you can’t be fucked to raise them, but it’s a sure-fire way of winding up with a bunch of sociopaths on your hands. So.” I shrug. “Bad fucking form, you guys. Do better.”
Jarvis is the one who asked me to give this speech. When I see her sitting amongst the faculty, off to the right, I expect a look of horror on her face. At least a little professional shame. She’s openly laughing, though. Fuckinglaughing.
“I was supposed to find something motivational and inspiring to read to you guys this morning, but honestly I couldn’t be bothered. I know how boring all this is to my friends as well, so I figured I’d keep it short and sweet. As of today, we’re free. We stand on the precipice of our future, waiting for our lives to begin, ready to face the challenges that await us. We are told by parents who don’t even know us and professors who don’t give a shit about us to strive for greatness. To push and push for betterment. To kill ourselves, and make sacrifices to accomplish lofty goals to makeyoufuckers proud. We’re told that the path of least resistance is the way of the weak, and we should do anything and everything in our power to avoid it at all costs. And I’m standing here today to say fuck all of that, guys. You’re free now. Do whatever makes your soul sing. Oh, and by the way…” I shove my ‘speech’ into my pocket, rubbing at the back of my neck. “The path of least resistance doesn’t always mean taking the easiest option. Sometimes…it means that your soul finds its way home, toward something it loves, after you’ve held it back for too fucking long. So…do with that what you will, I guess.”
No one claps.
No one utters a word.
That’s okay. I wasn’t expecting a standing ovation.
But the students of Wolf Hall smirk into the sleeves of their gowns, and I can see Wren and Dash busting their asses, passing a joint between each other off to the side of the stage, and that’s all that fucking matters.
It’s all that matters…until I catch the flash of red hair glinting in the sun at the back of the crowd, and I realize that she’s here. I see Presley Maria Witton Chase sitting in her graduation gown, next to her stunned-looking father, and everything is fucking perfect, because I know that she heard what I just said.
48
PRES
“The path of least resistance doesn’t always mean taking the easiest option. Sometimes it means your soul finding its way home, toward something it loves, after you’ve held it back for too fucking long.”
The words ring in my ears as we head down the mountain. Dad remains resolutely silent in the driver’s seat next to me. It’s not ideal that he caught Pax’s little fuck you to the academy faculty and our classmates’ parents, but…honestly, I’m too tired to care what Dad thinks of Pax. The past week has been horrible. Police report after police report. Endless questions from so many different sides. Mom, sobbing on the phone, riddled with guilt that she had no idea what I’d been going through. The silence in between all of that has needled at my ear drums, too loud, too obvious, making me want to scream. Dad’s been stumbling through life like a zombie, not saying anything, too shocked to react to the news that his son has been sexually assaulting his daughter for years. I was amazed this morning, when he announced that I had to get ready and attend graduation. He said it was a rite of passage I’d regret missing out on down the line, and it was about time we tried to get back on track.
It’s going to take Dad a long time to ‘get back on track’ after this. A lot longer than it’s taken me. I’ve been dealing with this madness for years, though. This is an open wound for him that won’t just close overnight. He thinks I can’t hear him rushing to the bathroom to throw up three or four times a day. But I can.
“The path of least resistance doesn’t always mean taking the easiest option. Sometimes it means your soul finding its way home, toward something it loves, after you’ve held it back for too fucking long.”
Pax didn’t use that phrase by accident. I know he didn’t. What he said into that microphone right before he stormed off the stage made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. They were meant for me.
“Are you in love with that mouthy reprobate, then?” Dad mutters, as he steers the car down the road.
