Ringing phone and muscles protest the answering. "'Lo," he answers and sits up straight to listen. To cringe. To nod and drum on thighs, nervous beyond the telling.

The handoff comes at one PM and he's got two hours to decide if this is what he wants. He decides to get there late 'cause he's a coward and he can't stand to see JC or Joey. He has an idea what they think and it's right, so. He drinks too much coffee at Dunkin Donuts and knows he'll have to pee all afternoon. He curses himself for a fool.

At 2:45 the tent is full to bursting and he's left either standing or sitting between a proud-to-bursting grandmother and a squirmy toddler. He stands and shifts on his feet and picks at the paint on his hands. The press of people behind him by 3:07, when they're latelatelate is all that keeps him from breaking to run.

Then: speeches by a variety of boring middle-aged white men about the value of education and societal duty. Someone behind him grunts when he steps on a toe. He mutters, "Sorry, sorry," and keeps twitching. Next a speech by one of the soon-to-be graduates, some chick spouting about "best years of our lives" and Chris snorts and thinks "tool." But the speeches are done and there's shuffling and the kids are standing and "Jacqueline Archer" is crossing the stage. He "holds his applause to the end" for Lance, and waits, waits, through some eighteen letters until the T's are walking and they announce "Justin Timberlake" and he almost breaks. When "Tammy Zargarian" crosses the stage he whoops with the rest, drowning out the guys on the podium.

There are more words, but the people in charge seem to realize no one's listening because it's fast and then there's organized chaos as people are filing out. He takes the opportunity to hide in the crowd, waiting. He's far enough away to be able to spot the Basses and then Lance breaks away, scans the crowd, and starts greeting friends.

From the hill he's on, Chris follows him, watches him pause for pictures with people, half impatient, half afraid. When Lance finally gets to them, Chris freezes, then, deep breath, heads toward them. They're off to one side, a group without adults, unusual, and he concentrates on that, not the crazy thumping of his heart of the tingling in fingers clenched too tight. He hears JC, excited as he chatters, and then he's there, and Justin is in front of him, and he's too quiet as he tells him, "Congratulations, Justin."


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