audience of a hundred, taking pictures and recording the event.
On a table beside the podium, Dawn saw the metal box that was to be the time capsule. Her fingers brushed the edge of the bag by her feet, holding the treasures for the capsule. Propped next to the capsule was the gold-plated shovel the mayor would use to scoop out the first shovelful of dirt, marking the groundbreaking for the new cancer wing.
In the distance, she saw green, manicured grounds and patches of daffodils waving in the soft spring breeze. Overhead, the sky sparkled blue, freshly washed by an April shower. Dawn’s eyes skimmed the audience. Her parents, Rob, Katie, and Rhonda were sitting in the front row.
Right before spring break. Dawn had decided to fill out a schedule card for the next school year. But when she’d shown it to Rhonda, her friend looked aghast. “Why all the science and math courses? I
hate
science and math. We’ll never have any classes together if you stick to this schedule!”
“I need them for college,” Dawn explained with determination. “I’m thinking about going into medicine.”
“You want to be a
doctor
?”
“Don’t look so shocked. I know more than most first-year med students already. Heck, I figure I’m halfway to a degree by now.”
“All right, I won’t complain,” Rhonda said with a grin. “I’m just glad you’re making plans again.”
From the front row, Rhonda fluttered her fingertips and made a face at Dawn up on the stage. Dawn quickly glanced away. She didn’t want to have a giggle fit, and if anyone could start one in her, it was Rhonda.
Her gaze fell on Jake, who sat in the very end seat in the last row. Dawn had almost fallen over when he’d asked if he could come for the ceremony, especially after the harsh words they’d had at the hospital.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she’d told him stiffly over the phone.
“Good,” he’d replied. “I’ll see you there.”
On the other side of the makeshift aisle, she saw the Chandlers. It had been hard talking to them right before the ceremony began. She hadn’t seen them since the time they’d picked Sandy up from camp, when she and Sandy were thirteen. Mr. Chandler looked older, more weathered, and uncomfortable in his suit. Mrs. Chandler was slim and blond, and Dawn could see traces of Sandy in her mother’s features.
Brent caught her eye. She rolled her eyes, a subtle protest to the mayor’s long-winded speech, and Brent grinned. Dawn kept remembering the night before, when he’d shown up at her door, saying, “My family’s holed up in a hotel downtown, but I’ve managed to escape. Can I come in?”
Laughing, Dawn threw her arms around him. “You should have brought them along.”
“Are you nuts? I’ve been plotting my escape all afternoon.”
They went down to the rec room and settled on the sofa. He wanted to hear every word about her hospital stay. She wanted to know all about college. Haltingly, he told her about a girl he was dating. She was glad for him, and said so.
Then he took her hand and said, “I’ll never forget Christmas. The talk we had that night about my sister, the things you gave me . . . I took them to campus with me, and sometimes I take them out and hold them. It’s like she’s there in the room with me.”
Dawn touched Brent’s cheek. “Sandy’s the glue that holds us together,” she said, knowing it was true.
“I care about you,” Brent said.
“And I feel the same way about you,” she replied.
“Will you be a camp counselor next summer?” he asked.
“I made up my mind at Marlee’s funeral that I would. And you?”
“I’m not sure.” He looked long and deep into her eyes, put his arms around her, and hugged her tightly. “I’ll never forget you, Dawn.”
“You’d better not.”
Now, looking into Brent’s face, she knew the past was truly over.
“. . . speaker, Miss Dawn Rochelle.”
Dawn jumped at the sound of her name. The audience burst into
On a table beside the podium, Dawn saw the metal box that was to be the time capsule. Her fingers brushed the edge of the bag by her feet, holding the treasures for the capsule. Propped next to the capsule was the gold-plated shovel the mayor would use to scoop out the first shovelful of dirt, marking the groundbreaking for the new cancer wing.
In the distance, she saw green, manicured grounds and patches of daffodils waving in the soft spring breeze. Overhead, the sky sparkled blue, freshly washed by an April shower. Dawn’s eyes skimmed the audience. Her parents, Rob, Katie, and Rhonda were sitting in the front row.
Right before spring break. Dawn had decided to fill out a schedule card for the next school year. But when she’d shown it to Rhonda, her friend looked aghast. “Why all the science and math courses? I
hate
science and math. We’ll never have any classes together if you stick to this schedule!”
“I need them for college,” Dawn explained with determination. “I’m thinking about going into medicine.”
“You want to be a
doctor
?”
“Don’t look so shocked. I know more than most first-year med students already. Heck, I figure I’m halfway to a degree by now.”
“All right, I won’t complain,” Rhonda said with a grin. “I’m just glad you’re making plans again.”
From the front row, Rhonda fluttered her fingertips and made a face at Dawn up on the stage. Dawn quickly glanced away. She didn’t want to have a giggle fit, and if anyone could start one in her, it was Rhonda.
Her gaze fell on Jake, who sat in the very end seat in the last row. Dawn had almost fallen over when he’d asked if he could come for the ceremony, especially after the harsh words they’d had at the hospital.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she’d told him stiffly over the phone.
“Good,” he’d replied. “I’ll see you there.”
On the other side of the makeshift aisle, she saw the Chandlers. It had been hard talking to them right before the ceremony began. She hadn’t seen them since the time they’d picked Sandy up from camp, when she and Sandy were thirteen. Mr. Chandler looked older, more weathered, and uncomfortable in his suit. Mrs. Chandler was slim and blond, and Dawn could see traces of Sandy in her mother’s features.
Brent caught her eye. She rolled her eyes, a subtle protest to the mayor’s long-winded speech, and Brent grinned. Dawn kept remembering the night before, when he’d shown up at her door, saying, “My family’s holed up in a hotel downtown, but I’ve managed to escape. Can I come in?”
Laughing, Dawn threw her arms around him. “You should have brought them along.”
“Are you nuts? I’ve been plotting my escape all afternoon.”
They went down to the rec room and settled on the sofa. He wanted to hear every word about her hospital stay. She wanted to know all about college. Haltingly, he told her about a girl he was dating. She was glad for him, and said so.
Then he took her hand and said, “I’ll never forget Christmas. The talk we had that night about my sister, the things you gave me . . . I took them to campus with me, and sometimes I take them out and hold them. It’s like she’s there in the room with me.”
Dawn touched Brent’s cheek. “Sandy’s the glue that holds us together,” she said, knowing it was true.
“I care about you,” Brent said.
“And I feel the same way about you,” she replied.
“Will you be a camp counselor next summer?” he asked.
“I made up my mind at Marlee’s funeral that I would. And you?”
“I’m not sure.” He looked long and deep into her eyes, put his arms around her, and hugged her tightly. “I’ll never forget you, Dawn.”
“You’d better not.”
Now, looking into Brent’s face, she knew the past was truly over.
“. . . speaker, Miss Dawn Rochelle.”
Dawn jumped at the sound of her name. The audience burst into
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