Her expression softened. In three years of working together, she had gotten enough glimpses into my family dynamics to understand what interesting meant.
“Well,” she said, “I think they’re going to be very surprised today.”
Before I could ask what she meant, Dean Morrison approached with his characteristic warm smile.
“Sarah, perfect timing. I wanted to run through the special announcements with you one more time.”
“Special announcements?” My stomach dropped. “I thought I was just receiving my diploma with everyone else.”
Dean Morrison and Dr. Hendricks exchanged a look I could not quite read.
“Well, yes,” he said, “but there are a few other items we need to address. Don’t worry. It’s all good news. We’ll brief you fully in about an hour.”
Families began filtering into the auditorium around one-thirty, and I spotted my parents immediately. Dad wore his I’m-doing-this-under-protest expression, the same one he had worn to every school play, science fair, and academic awards ceremony throughout my childhood.
Mom had dressed appropriately for the occasion, but she kept checking her watch as if she had somewhere more important to be. Marcus arrived fashionably late, of course, wearing sunglasses indoors and carrying the good camera Dad had mentioned, though he spent more time taking selfies than actual family photos.
My younger sister, Emma, sat between Mom and Dad, scrolling through her phone with the practiced boredom of a high school junior who had been dragged to another family obligation.
They had saved me a seat, technically, but it was at the end of the row where I would have to climb over people to reach it. The universal family seating arrangement that said, You’re included, but barely.
“There she is,” Dad said as I approached, his voice carrying that particular tone of resigned tolerance. “The graduate. How does it feel knowing this is finally over?”
“Expensive,” Mom added helpfully. “Twenty-three thousand dollars a year for four years, plus living expenses, books, that computer you insisted you needed.”
“Don’t forget the coffee shop uniform,” Marcus chimed in, lowering his sunglasses to look at me. “Though I guess you’ll be keeping that job for a while longer, right? Market’s pretty tough for—what was your major again?”
“Molecular biology,” I said quietly.