Cute, modest flower skirts and dress pants with matching ties flit across the low stage.

They all smile. All shake the line of suits hands. All turn for a picture from a grinning parent. And they walk back to their seat, gripping their little certificate like it’s their lifeline. 

And despite everything, despite all I’ve done, I am not with them.

I wonder if they saw me in the audience, clapping politely and wearing my oh-so-genuine fake smile.

I ponder if they noticed me glancing at the list of names on the program in my hand, and practically wrenching at some of them. 

“And now,” the tallest suit wore a smile even more false than my own. “I am proud to present Scatterfeild Regional High School’s newest inductees of the National Honor Society.”

The audience of adoring parents claps loudly.

The line of suits on the stage claps lightly.

And I keep clapping politely. 

Finally, the clapping is silenced by the school’s pitchy chorus, singing some triumphant tune about goodness and opportunity. That had been the theme of the night. 

Goodness. Opportunity. 

The same kids who vape in the bathroom to get away from it all are the country’s greatest minds. The same boys who share answers to homework assignments are the school’s most honest representatives. The same girls who stare at Instagram endlessly willing themselves to have the most perfect body are the state’s hope for the future of integrity. 

The worst part though? Is that none of tonight’s themes had been hypocritical. Not really. 

Because they were smart. They were hardworking. They were good. They were able to be decent people and normal high schoolers all at once. 

They were the best.

And I wasn’t one of them. 

The new inductees file down the aisle, to more clapping. I see some of my friends and give them winks, acting proud. The ceremony ends, rather unceremoniously, and we all follow the NHS members out.

“Oh my god, Julia!” One of my friend’s moms appears beside me, wearing a white sweater matching the one her daughter walked across the stage with. “I didn’t know you would be here. I mean, not, well, here. In the audience. With us.”

I put on that smile again, falser than ever before. “Had to show up to support my girls! I’m so proud of Andy!”

“Aren’t we all,” She beams for only a second before her face grows stiff. Maybe I wasn’t up on that stage tonight, but at least my mom never expected the impossible of me. “She pulled through. I was worried there for a minute, with Chemistry.”

I pat her on the shoulder. “You shouldn’t be. Andy studies harder than any of us.”

Harder than me, apparently. 

We enter the foyer, and there they all are. 

Floral skirts and tight sweaters and khaki pants and pin-striped ties. 

And I’m in my jeans and bomber jacket. 

“Andy! Kaya! Megan!” I shout, grinning. “I’m so proud of you guys!” 

Hugs, pictures, congratulations. Certificates, parents, smiling. 

After forever, they all file out, murmuring of ice cream on the road and finally getting a good night's sleep. I sit out front of the school, waiting for my own proud parent to pull up. My mother’s gray minivan rolls up in the flickering lights, and I finally drop my plastic smile. 

“How was it?” Mom asks as I slide into the seat beside her, practically throwing the program dejectedly on the floor. “That bad?”

The red and yellow distorted lights of the road become blurry in my eyes. “I should be proud of them, Mom. They deserve it. They really, really, do. And I am… I’m just…”

“I’m proud of you, Julia,” My mom murmurs, glancing at me before training her eyes back on the gravel. “You didn’t have to go. But you did. Because you’re a good friend. And a good person. That’s all that matters.”

But what if it’s not?

“I worked so, so hard,” I declare, trying to rationalize it all. “I mean, I have like a million extra-curriculars. And I did so many service hours this summer. I’ve taken a bunch of honors and APS and… I don’t know. I’ve worked this hard, shouldn’t it count for something? Shouldn’t it matter?”

A car flashes by us, a swerve of blue and red glow broken in my teary eyes. 

I was right. I knew it. I deserved to be up there with all the rest. The only thing that held me back was a .01 in my GPA. And yet, everybody else crossed that line. Why couldn’t I?

“Yes, it should matter,” Mom admits, before amending her words. “You deserve to be in NHS the same as anyone else tonight. But you don’t need to focus on that. You don’t need to be as good as everyone else. You don’t need to be good enough. You just need to be good.”

I sighed, wiping away a stupid clear pearl slipping down my face. “What does that even mean? People always say stuff like that… but it’s all just a nice way of saying that I did my best. And it wasn’t as good as everyone else’s.”

“Julia,” Mom takes a turn off the highway, down the road toward home. “What you do, it’s not about what comes out of it. Well, it is. A little bit. But really, it’s about enjoying what you do, about working hard. Even if you don’t get the result you were planning for, the only thing that should bring you fulfillment is knowing you did everything you could.”

I know what she’s saying. But the pit in my stomach isn’t going away. 

The lights on the road get blurry again. 

“There’s still another chance,” Mom says, unaware of the heat on my face and the cool running down my cheeks. “You can try again senior year. But I don’t want you to focus on that. I want you to focus on working hard and doing your best, and being okay.”

Being okay?

I wasn’t supposed to be okay. I was supposed to be great and intelligent and I was supposed to make my parents proud and my friends smile and my teachers call me the “easy kid”.

“How does that sound?”

“I don’t know.”