We stand very close together. The air smells like fifty years of sweaty socks, of games lost and won in the youth of men’s lives in a factory town by a river where the Iroquois used to make raids. From out in the gym, we hear the faint strains of two people being crowned king and queen of the prom. Last year it was Junior and Rack. He leans his forehead against my shoulder. I put an arm around him, and he starts to breathe raggedly, long, shuddering breaths that sound like they hurt, emotions with one-way barbs that are going to feel twice as bad coming out as they did going in.

But other people’s feelings go off like firecrackers at my feet. I’m just not that connected. Maybe it’s that great space between me and everyone else. And all the switches that got turned off. Eventually, he lifts his head, and the light from the exit sign illuminates the tears on his face. I pick up the hem of my dress. We walk back out of the locker room. Rack is still there.

“Come with me,” Junior says. “Maybe she’s got three beers.”

“No.” I point him toward Rack and give him a push. “I’m going home.”

Finals come and go. I go in after my last one, and Mr. C. is at his desk, correcting tests. He stands up when I come in. I give him back all the books I’ve either stolen or borrowed over the past two years, and he hands me my upward mobility notebook.

“Quite a journey,” he says. “I was honored to read it. It would appear you’re a wonderful writer. And you have something original to say. That’s a combination with a future.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. The future is one thing I don’t enjoy discussing, so I pretend I’m interested in what he wrote in my notebook. He’s left checks and comments and question marks in the margins, all in red ink, but I guess that would be my fault, for not typing it into an official report. He watches me flip through the pages.

“I think about her a lot,” he says. “Your friend.”

“You do?”

“We all do. I don’t think anybody knew what her potential was—probably she didn’t, either, but—”

“She knew,” I interrupt.

“Well. Then it’s doubly a waste.” He turns to the window. He leans on the radiator on his fingertips. He turns his head toward me. “She did know?”