JUNE 1, 2014 / SYMONT HIGH SCHOOL

The temperature inside Symont High School's gymnasium was close to sweltering. 

Though it was past sunset, and beginning to cool down, Asher could feel his shirt sticking to him like a face mask. Sweat oozed from any place where skin touched skin. Fanning himself with his graduation cap — despite his principal's strict instruction to leave it on until the end of the ceremony — Asher scanned the sea of familiar faces for the two that were special to him.

He found Ryanel sitting three rows behind him, discreetly looking at the phone nestled into the folds of his robe. Further back, Kerrish was making jubilant conversation with the two girls sitting on either side of him. Both boys looked equally uncomfortable and hot — then again, so did every one of the senior class.

The three hundred young adults squeezed into the gym were people Asher had known for the past four years. When his voice first broke, his homeroom class had mocked him mercilessly. People had congratulated him after hearing about the success of the Venture Motocross Event. These three hundred people were his past lab partners, P.E. buddies, answer-givers and close friends. His social presence was never a strong one, and he might not have been missed much. But Asher was still going to leave his fingerprints on their souls, whether he knew it or not, as they would his.

School had finished three hours early, to give the committee time to decorate the gym for graduation at six. Given the gymnasium's ventilation issues, stained walls and limited space, Asher thought they'd done a phenomenal job. Gold bunting encircled the whole room, wrapped around the staircase railings, with matching balloon tacked onto the walls. Someone had pushed the basketball hoops back on their hinges, and flung a black cover over them. A temporary stage was erected under one such hoop, with black carpet on it and gold bunting looped daintily around the edge. Tall vases of lilies sat at each corner, and on each side of the steps that lead up to it. Asher knew they were fake, but in this humidity, even the plastic lilies seemed to be wilting.

  The students sat in alphabetical order, had been told earlier to behave regally should they be waiting, but were giggling and chattering as if it was the first day of school, instead of the last. Next to Asher sat Alfonso 'Elf' Dertrich, a happy-go-lucky, pixie-like boy who'd been in his English learners class freshman year. Holding a selfie stick above the crowd, he was trying to capture as many smiling faces as he could, by panning around the room and rapidly pushing the camera button.

"Smile!" Elf instructed Asher, tilting his phone towards him. Asher grinned in preparation, then—

"Why's it videoing?"

Elf burst into chuckles, yet managed to keep the selfie stick impressively steady. "I love doing that. People are so gullible."

"And you're probably one of those people who peak in high school," Asher quipped, affectionately. He tried to shield his face from Elf's phone, which was still videoing.

"Probably. And I'll gladly accept my fate of ramen noodles and five cats, reliving the glory days. What about you? You must still be going strong with the motocross stuff."

"I, um. I guess I'll do that until the industry gets tired of me, and go to university to study medicine."

"Medicine? I never took you for a doctor. Think you can stomach all the death?"

"Believe me, I've had more than enough practise."

Elf shrugged flippantly, and turned to face the stage. Their vice principal walked on, took her place behind the podium and shuffled his notes. With a commanding voice, she settled the students, and the parents sat on the bleachers, flashing their cameras, waving to their children. Asher had caught a glimpse of Vasily minutes ago, perched on the edge of the bleacher. He'd seemed to have been waving and trying to get Asher's attention for a while.

Symont's best-kept secret was that their vice principal was the true head of the school. She was a black woman with thin glasses that sat atop her flat nose. Her outfit almost always consisted of blazers and pencil skirts — but tonight, she wore a beaded navy gown that elegantly trailed behind her on the stage. 

The workload she took on was incredible; organising trips, contacting universities for scholarships, budgeting, chair-personing the board of trustees. Compared to their elderly principal — who only appeared at the end of football games to thank everyone for coming out, and was barely lucid most of the time — she was a well-respected person. That she be the one to open the graduation ceremony was only natural.

"Firstly," her authoritative voice rang out. "Congratulations are in order. You have all passed four years' worth of examinations, and have come to the point in your lives where you diverge from your peers."

She had prepared a short but powerful speech. During the delivery, Asher could feel the atmosphere in the gym shift. Before, it'd been a celebratory mood. They were graduating, leaping out of their prison and into the sky.

Like the students around him, Asher began to think heavily on their vice principal's words. She was an austere, but wise woman. Her advice was that they take care in everything they do, and live every moment not for themselves, but for who they wanted to be in the future. 

But Asher couldn't imagine himself older than twenty-five. He had never been able to. When he was younger, he thought that not being able to imagine himself grown meant that he wasn't supposed to grow up, and that he would die young.

Everything he did was purely for his present survival, because thinking about who he might be in the future was terrifying. It scared him witless. If truth be told, Asher didn't believe things would ever get better for him. People spoke of peaking in high school, or peaking in college, or peaking later on. But talk of peaking never resonated with Asher. He felt like feeling low was the norm, and happiness was a temporary distraction that merely punctuated his story — rather than comprising it. 

But, trying not to think about these sorts of things was a hobby of his. He'd become very skilled in the arts of denial and avoidance, and put it to use right now. Having concluded her speech, the vice principal began to call up the names of every student in the gym. The A's went first, lining up by the fake lilies until it was time to collect their certificates. Then the B's and  C's.

When Asher went to line up by the lilies, Kerrish cheered loudly for him. Ryanel probably wanted to, but he was naturally shy and soft-spoken. It felt great having someone cheer for him even if it was only one. Understandably, the more popular people received something close to applause.

"Asher Delrov."

Asher made sure to bunch up the front of his robe so he wouldn't trip over. He'd seen enough viral videos to know what to avoid. In charge of passing certificates from a table at the back of the stage to the principal was an excited junior, who smiled at Asher as he walked by.

Their principal was standing at the other end of the stage, in a wrinkly tuxedo. He smelt like talcum powder, old people, and said, "well done, boy," when Asher shook his wrinkled hand and accepted the rolled up certificate. He had to pose awkwardly in that position for an extra second while the photographer snapped a picture — which Asher was never going to buy because he wasn't at all photogenic. 

Besides, his father probably had been surreptitiously taking photos throughout the whole ceremony. On his walk back to his seat, Asher quickly sought out Vasily on the bleachers. The two shared a proud grin.

Onwards the procession marched. Asher and Kerrish cheered for Ryanel when he was onstage, and Kerrish, once his turn came, received an ovation from about thirty people. No doubt, this part was the longest of graduation. The flashes from the photographer's camera made his vision blur and fade, and it wasn't long before Asher simply closed his eyes and dropped his head to avoid the disturbance. 

Because he went up earlier, Asher had plenty of time to simmer and think over the magnitude of the occasion. He'd been happy before. With infectious cheer, Elf and all his classmates were celebrating their release. But graduating high school didn't seem so promising to Asher. 

He felt like Icarus, standing at the edge of his window with his life depending on a meagre pair of wings. Jagged, murderous rocks waited below him, a scorching sun glared above. Asher had so many obstacles to overcome, and miles to fly before any form of haven appeared. He felt nowhere near ready, but had to jump off the ledge regardless. 

Chances were slim. 

Courage was slimmer.

Asher could only hope he wouldn't crash or burn — whichever came first.