Better Than Yesterday

1. Skylar: Out, Out Damned Spotlight Convocation was supposed to start at noon, and because the chapel didn't have air-conditioning and the gym was, well, a gym, the ceremony was set up on the grass out in Hamilton Quad with a makeshift stage and lots of white folding chairs. But I wasn't sitting in the folding chairs with the rest of my classmates and their pastel-clad parents. I was on the stage, unfortunately trying to keep everyone in the front row from getting a free peep show (okay, thong), and wishing I'd worn a longer skirt. I was the senior honoree, which was supposedly a Very Big Deal, because it meant I was ranked first in the incoming senior class and was getting tapped as the most likely candidate for valedictorian. Senior honoree was always a boy, and my presence on that stage, never mind the length of my skirt, was an unknown variable that many students were eagerly trying to solve. Actually, the first-ranked boy in my class was Charley Morton, and I would have rather let him sit on the stage and take the award. I didn't want it. It was probably going to be a certificate. Hilliard Preparatory School couldn't have come up with something useful, like a gift card to Barnes & Noble? Or a Prada bag? I glanced at the girl who was sitting on my left, this junior I'd never spoken to in my life, and said, "What do you think's the holdup? This ceremony is taking longer than a download of Janice Weiner's blog." Random fact: Janice Weiner (presumably drunk at the time, though I shudder to guess her intentions if she had been sober) had posted half a dozen "lingerie model" pics of herself on her blog over spring break of our junior year. Someone saw them in her blog and sent the link as a mass email to everyone with an @Hilliard.edu e-mail account. Such a scandal. The girl I'd spoken to didn't say anything, so I sat there staring at my watch for the next three minutes until the first curl of music drifted through the quad. Some assholes, the same reckless upperclassmen who thought it was terrifically witty to hoot in assembly during the year, clapped and yelled in approval. The marching band, in their stiff white uniforms, traveled slowly forward as they blared the school song sans words. As the band played, the door to Lerner Hall opened and the faculty who were staying on for summer session poured out in their ceremonial robes, caps and hoods, which were probably still dirty from commencement two weeks ago. Mr. Bloom's robe definitely had a stain on the right shoulder. I wanted to give him a bar of soap and a squirt bottle of Febreze, then explain the difference. Everyone's parents shifted in their seats so they could see the colors on each teacher's hood and determine whether or not they approved of the degree, school, and major. Most of the students watched the faculty procession for a different reason: to see which teachers weren't doing summer session, and to see which teachers were new. As if the information wasn't on the school Web site or in the crinkled programs on their laps. As Headmaster Bell welcomed the "esteemed guests, distinguished faculty, and current Hilliard students" to the first day of summer session, I totally couldn't focus. It was so hot out, and everyone was staring at the stage, which meant that Contention 1:They were staring in my general direction, so Subpoint A:Chances were some of them were staring at me, Subpoint B:They could see up my skirt, and Subpoint C:They knew I was senior honoree. Well, why shouldn't they know? I mean, I'd freaked when I found out about it, because I hadn't been tryiSchneider, Robyn is the author of 'Better Than Yesterday ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780385903622 and ISBN 0385903626.