“Shhh!” She adjusted her position and shut her eyes.
I was tempted to jerk away and leave her hanging, but I decided to make the most out of the situation. I looked at the girl to my left—at the vacant shoulder that was calling my name, and leaned onto it.
Several minutes later, and once the speaker said he was “almost done” for the umpteenth time, my phone vibrated with a text from my mom.
I’m sorry, hon, but I can’t sit through another second of this. I got plenty of pictures of you walking across the stage, though! Oh! And I got a lot of you at the department ceremony earlier! I’ll see you at home for your party! I’m making crab-cakes! Be there by seven!
You’re my mother and you’re leaving my college graduation EARLY? Really?
I actually wanted to leave TWO HOURS AGO, but because I’m your mother I stayed a little longer. Love you!
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t blame her. I texted, “Love you too, see you soon,” and looked up into the arena. Some members of the audience were getting the exact same idea.
Hell, even some of the graduates were feeling the same way. The ones that still had the energy to get up, that is.
Before I could figure out what I wanted to do, my phone vibrated once more. Carter.
Are you awake right now?
I am.
I texted back.
I’m finding this speech quite inspiring. If you try to pay attention, you might learn something today.
Bullshit. What is this guy even talking about?
I listened to the speaker for a few minutes, honestly not understanding why he was now talking about a dead goldfish, but I pretended I did anyway.
He’s talking about taking chances, trying scary risks, and learning that just one of them is bound to pay off.
You’re so full of it, Ari. You should leave.
I want to listen to the rest.
Then I hope you have another way to get to your graduation party since I just saw your mom leave…
What? I don’t remember rushing you out of YOUR college graduation. I sat through the entire thing!
I wasn’t depending on you for a ride home . You’ve got five minutes.
I’ll meet you there in ten.
I gently pushed my neighbor off my shoulder and stood up.
“Sometimes, you just have to stay until the end,” the speaker said a little louder, louder than he’d been for his never-ending speech. “I wish I would’ve stayed until the end of a lot of speeches when I was younger…I definitely wished I would’ve listened to the entire speech at my college graduation…”
What? I turned around, looking to see if he was not-so-subtly referring to me.
He was. He nodded and gestured for me to return to my seat.
“You never know what you’ll miss out on…” he said.
I took a step back.
“This could be the most important speech of your life…”
I took another step back.
“And you might regret it for the rest of your—”
I turned around and rushed out of the room, hearing the laughter and applause of my classmates behind me. When I made it to the hallway, I looked back to see other students following my lead and joining the exodus.
College was officially over…
I took off my cap and gown and met Carter in the parking lot. “Since you made me leave early, you have to stop at Gayle’s before we go to my graduation party.”
“Do we have to sit inside?”
“I’m shocked you even have to ask…” I got into the car and he let the top down on his black Camaro—quickly speeding away to the diner.
Gayle’s was the number one waffle house and sweets company on the beach. It was so popular that the company bought mobile-store trucks and drove them around campus during its season.
The menu wasn’t anything special; it was beyond simple with its typical home-style American breakfast fare. What set it apart from anywhere else was the 1950s atmosphere and the undeniable this-shit-is-the-best-I’ve-ever-had-in-my-life waffle recipe. For years, the locals jokingly accused them of using crack in their batter to get people to come back so often, so the owner started boxing the batter in tins with the word “CRACK” written right on front.
Gayle’s was also the only restaurant that had a ten page menu solely dedicated to their desserts, and they added new options and concoctions every week.
I’d pulled countless all-nighters, hosted several dates, and even held a birthday party there before. But no matter what, it was where me and Carter met up whenever life veered left and we needed to talk, or whenever there was nothing else better to do.
We met there so often that sometimes his other friends would simply show up if they needed him instead of calling him on the phone.
“Let me guess,” the waitress rolled in front of us on her white skates as soon as we entered. “A Belgian waffle with vanilla yogurt and strawberries—with a sprinkle of chocolate chips for one order, and a waffle tower with chocolate yogurt, peanut butter, and a sprinkle of Oreo chips and candy on the side for the second order?”