1.1 Graduation
The Larosa Academy Princess Theatre was beautiful. Inside, it looked like a giant jewellery box. Walls of sinuous gold, a painted dome ceiling. In the middle was a massive, crystalline chandelier, moving to an inexplicable breeze, tinkling.
That night, Maeven Riel was waiting by the wings of the theatre’s stage. It smelled like the inside of an old piano. She was shaking her head, the little tassel on her graduation cap swinging, and it was dead quiet. The stage assistants freeze-framed, all afraid of the echo. Finally, the commencement speaker resumed.
“Will.”
He was robed with layers of the Academy: dark blue, maroon, a shining gold.
“It is the gift of extraordinary abnormality and it is the greatest discovery in all of human history.” Another pause, when someone in the crowd might have whimpered.
“Well—what makes it so great? What specifically? It is not so much the discovery that the Willed can quadruple their physical strength, soar to skyscrapers, master weaponry and craft and science better than our humanly dispositions appear to allow; it is not so much that. It is the discovery that if we devote ourselves enough, if we believe in the impossible, our most ambitious of dreams can shake hands with reality and step into the world.” He paused again, to observe the crowd. “Manifestation.”
There was a short, scattered applause.
“And needless to say, it is difficult. This cohort is only a portion of what it began as sixteen years ago. And to have made it this far alone speaks volumes. But to depart having climbed as high as these last eight students, that is momentous.” He was pointing to the line of students waiting behind the curtains, the last to graduate. “If all of our graduates here today were a flying spear, trailblazing towards the possibilities of tomorrow, these eight students would represent the spearhead.”
Maeven blinked at the analogy. A spearhead. She didn’t like the sound of it very much.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Families and friends of graduates of Larosa Girls’ Academy of Will and Larona Boys’ Academy of Will. I am honoured to humbly declare our first Honour Roll graduate, Grayman Adcut.”
The superstar of the Larona cohort, the heartthrob of the Larosa cohort. Grayman’s graduated classmates hollered from the edges of the mezzanine. Family and friends cheered just below.
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“Yeah Gray!”
“Get 'em Gray!”
“YEEOW!”
“Class 14F. Specialty in Weaponist Will. Secondary in Will for Optimisation. Grayman has time and time again proven himself to be a natural leader, a go-getter who stops at nothing. He’s topped grade ladders, triumphed in sports events, served as club leader for the Student Engagement Society and was a valued Student President. As he walks onward today, we are very proud to announce that he has attained provisional membership at The Golden Guilds. And will start his internship just before the coming Summer.”
There went the crowd again. Adcut shook the announcer’s hand, the principal’s hand, took his binder and waved.
Frey Elmes was next. Class 2B. Specialist in Spatial Will. She earned an apprenticeship at the Department of Home Security. Then it was Leigh Kennan, Phillip Mayhugh, River Oh; Big tech, bioengineering, medical school.
Rori Peres was a different case from the rest. She didn’t graduate with a Concept, but a Phd. Her teacher was so proud she submitted her dissertation on the student’s unbeknownst for the Junior Nobel Peace Prize. Dr. Peres won, she found out that night. And she almost lost her composure until she pushed her glasses up, mouthed a humble thank you, and took her spot on the stage with certificates in hand.
After that it was Shu Reddy. Another uproar. The Optimisation major broke the world record in hurdles during the last sports carnival, apparently. Now he’s training for the Willed Olympics.
“Maeven Riel.”
Then at last, it was her turn.
Maeven stepped out. The spotlight washed her eyes. The audience was a dark sea. She dipped her cap. Her footsteps were hollow and wooden over the thin velvet carpet. There was a cheer from Mum and Dad, some way back. Her older brother, Hunter, and the girlfriend he bought an extra seat for gave a, “Woohoo!” and what sounded like a, “Go Maeven!”
“Class 16W. Specialty: Undef—" The announcer stopped. His silence was glaringly out of place. He lifted his glasses and for a moment, squinted at his notes. “Pardon, no specialty,” he spoke. Maeven had reached the podium. He leaned over for an impromptu handshake, then whispered, “Your friends did not submit a testimonial for you?” His hand was over the little microphone.
“I don’t have friends,” was the first thing that came out of her mouth.
There was consternation, maybe pity in his eyes.
“May I ask how you got on the Honour Roll?”
She answered, “Grades.”
He cleared his throat. “Riel has time and time again proved herself to be indomitable in academic achievement. It goes without question that her future is bright. B-blindingly bright.” He closed his eyes as he passed the binder.
Maeven took it. She opened it and looked inside as she was walking across the stage. She saw a large print of her ID photo, of acne scars and baby hairs in unfavourably high definition. On the other page, there was a beautiful adornment of calligraphy. She felt the letters, the smooth peaks of ink. There was a plate of gold in the middle: the school emblem etched with full intricacy.
All those years, all those sleepless nights, culminated in metallic gold letters spelling the words: “High Distinction.” It felt like she had never stopped to breathe, and to say that she was proud of herself, until today.
Shu nudged. “Camera,” he whispered. She had barely the time to look up, and she had forgot to flip her certificate around before it snapped.
It’s a year later. That photo is nothing but an ill memory now, as it lays fractured against the panel of Maeven’s book nook.