“He looks good in a cap and gown,” she whispered. “Now I get it.”

I pictured us next year, sitting side by side, donning our own caps and gowns. We would whisper to each other through the entire ceremony, and I wouldn’t even be mad that Andrew was valedictorian, because he had to sit onstage with the faculty the whole time. I would have much rather shared the experience with my best friend. But Gabriela is not here with me. Today, she’s just a little black box and a name on my computer screen. She’s keeping her video turned off because she said she didn’t want anyone to see her in a hospital room, with tubes up her nose and a rash that’s spread across her face.

Meanwhile, I am sitting alone in my living room, feeling ridiculous in my white cap and gown, listening to Principal Jackson welcome our families on a computer screen. My lips still feel a little sore from playing my horn with the rest of the marching band for our virtual processional, and though we weren’t totally in sync, we did our best. Upstairs, my parents and sister are watching the ceremony on another laptop, because I told them I’d be too nervous to deliver my speech if I could feel them staring at me. Some of my aunts and uncles have logged in, but their cameras are all turned off and their audio is muted. There will be no loud cheers when my name is announced. Later, they’ll probably caravan down our street, honking their horns and waving signs, but it won’t be the kind of pomp and circumstance all of us always imagined.

And Andrew’s not here for any of it. I am our class valedictorian. I’m the person responsible for giving a speech that meets this moment. Full disclosure: I nearly buckled under the pressure. With Gabriela in the hospital, writing something coherent felt like an insurmountable feat. And it was scary not using Gideon as a sounding board. It was almost impossible to figure out if something was good and worthy, without him telling me so. I can’t help but wonder if he’s logged in to the ceremony right now, but I try to push any thoughts of him out of my head. I can’t afford any distractions.