1. Caplan

Sometime in March, the loudspeaker goes off in the middle of homeroom, calling Mina to the office, which is funny cause it's Mina.

"You're getting expelled," I say.

It gets a good laugh, but not from her. Mina can keep her face straighter than anyone I know, especially if people are looking at her. She'll tell me sometimes, after the fact, that she was trying not to laugh or cry or roll her eyes, and I'll think she's lying, because her face was so pale and still.

I remember just as she's out of the room about the day they called her to the office because of her dad, and then I feel like a dick.

She still isn't back when I'm on my way to the office myself to do the morning announcements and everything before first period. When I get there, she's standing in front of the principal's desk with her arms crossed, and the principal and the vice are looking up at her all tense. I'm worried for a second that something terrible did happen.

She turns and sees me. "Caplan should do it."

I step up next to her.

"It is tradition," the principal says, "for the—"

"But I can't do it, and Caplan will be happy to."

"Sure I will," I say. "Do what?"

He starts again. "It is tradition for the valedictorian to speak at graduation."

I turn to Mina, but she won't look at me. She goes into some point then that I don't really follow, about democracy and the voice of the people.

The principal sighs. "Are you suggesting we hold a vote for the graduation speaker?"

"I'm suggesting we already have. Caplan is class president. He should give the speech."

I ran for class president on a dare from Quinn. This is sort of common knowledge, I think. My only real duties are the morning announcements and leading pep rallies.

"The speech is supposed to be an honor, and it is ideally"—he looks at both of us, Mina in her sweater vest, arms folded over her books, and me in my TDHS soccer windbreaker, probably with a pretty vacant expression. I realize I'm chewing gum and swallow it quickly—"of a certain tone."

Mina waits for me while I do the announcements. Walking back to class, she says, "You did a little fist pump. When you announced the Chess Club's tournament win."

"So?"

"So, no one can see you. They can only hear you." She's got a small smile in her voice. "I didn't know you were such fan of chess."

I give her a shove. "I didn't realize I was doing it," I say.

She's still smiling to herself.

"Stop paying attention to me," I say.

"Okay," she says, and she turns the corner to go to AP calc, which I am not in, without saying bye.

"I don't want to make a speech at graduation, either," I call to her.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," she calls back.

We bitched back and forth for weeks about the grad speech. I told her I'd deliver it if she wrote it, and she told me she had nothing to say about our high school or anyone in it. I told her that was a pretty mean and lofty thing to say, and she narrowed her eyes and asked me how many people I could say something nice about. I sat down and started to try to write one good thing about each person in our grade. I got tired after about fifty kids. I thought that was pretty impressive, but she just laughed at me. You cannot stand up at graduation, she said, and say that Jamie Garrity once held the side door open for you when you were running late. I told her I could write a really nice speech about her, or Quinn, or Hollis even, and that the whole idea of a graduation speech was dumb, and everyone should just each get to say one good thing about one person they really know and call it a day. She liked that. Like foot-in-the-door feelings, she said. When I didn't get it, she went on, "Like, the door is closing, it's your last chance, what do you still need to say?" Anyway, that's how we came up with the idea. I think the principal was so tired of talking about it that he said yes.

The day I film my part of the video is the first day of June—shorts-and-sweatshirt weather, really blue sky. After I film it, I head back to the cafeteria and cut through to the outdoor tables. Everyone's at the usual spot, and then there's Mina off on a bench with her book.

"CAP-O!" Quinn calls out, and I raise my hand to him as I pass by on my way to Mina's bench.

"You're outside," I say.

"It's a nice day," she says, not looking up from her book.

"Come on." I take the book, which I know will really annoy her. Once when we were little, I threw her book into the sand at the lake, and she didn't talk to me for days.

"Give it back."

"You know I will. I don't know how to read."

"Ha ha."

"Come eat with us."

She crosses her arms, then crosses her legs.

"It won't kill you. It's lunchtime. It's a perfect day. It lured you from the library. Come socialize." I take a step back, toward my friends, with her book.

"CAP!" Quinn yells again. "Stop flirting."

This makes Mina almost smile. Really, she just presses her lips together.

"How are you going to make friends next year at Yale if you don't start now?" I ask.

For a second, she looks like she's going to start yelling. Then she just says, "It's a little late for me, with all of them, don't you think?"

"Mina, is he bothering you? Want me to beat him up?" Quinn yells.

She laughs then and leans around my shoulder, probably checking for Hollis, who I'm pretty certain is sitting up on top of the table, holding court. I don't know for sure. We were on a break right then, so I was in the habit of trying to never look at her directly, just at the edge of things, off to the side. This is sort of easy to do because of her hair, which is really long and reddish blond and always swinging around.

Mina sees her, or something else ominous, cause she shakes her head.

I hold out her book. When she reaches for it, I grab the strap of her bag and turn toward the others, so she has to walk along backward behind me.