Excerpt
All those '90s teen movies that my mom adored, full of dreamy romances and ride-or-die friendships, were absolute frauds. In my four years of high school, there were no choreographed dances, no life-changing detention experiences, and no romantic confessions in the rain. The only magical thing about high school was that it was finally over. Yet as I stood behind the stage in my cap and gown, shifting from foot to foot and observing my peers, I couldn't shake the feeling that some type of magic had put the other girls in my class under a spell.
They huddled together, whispering among themselves in hushed, reverent tones about a guy spotted in the building, each calling dibs on whose life he'd ruin with a summer romance. Apparently, this guy was fine, fine. He'd easily be the star of a '90s teen rom-com.
They didn't bother speaking to me. That was nothing new. Still, their wide-eyed fascination sent a prickle of unease down my spine. Before I could question it further, our assistant principal rushed over in towering heels. She flailed for balance, straightening herself after an unsteady halt, and forced a strained smile.
"Deep breaths, everyone!" she said, brushing long, brown hair behind her ears to reveal a face glistening with a fine layer of perspiration. She waved us into formation. "Line up! Line up! No stampedes, please. Act like you learned something about decorum while you were here. This isn't a race. Heads up. Shoulders back. Smile!"
I found my place in line and shuffled forward, my curly purple fro waging a rebellion against my graduation cap. With a quick tug, I yanked the cap back into place as we moved toward the stage, finally taking my seat with a sigh of relief. I tried to find my parents in the crowd, scanning the auditorium packed with metal chairs lined up in neat but slightly uneven rows. The moment my eyes landed on the man in the front row, a shiver shot through me. He had to be the one the other girls had been whispering about.
The man in the front row of my graduation ceremony was looking at me with a glint in his eyes that was equal parts confidence and mischief. He sat dead center in the dimly lit auditorium, perched on the edge of his seat like he might leap onto the stage.
Though his curly black hair fell across his forehead, nearly obscuring his reddish-brown eyes, I could still feel the intensity of his gaze. I squirmed and looked away, focusing on my principal's words as she spoke about sunshine and rainbows, perseverance and bright futures, and blah, blah, blah. But when I snuck a glance back at the strange man, he was smiling at me.