A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth.
“She said there was no way Stanford would ask you to speak at my ceremony.”
The words should have hurt.
They did, but not sharply. More like touching a bruise and finding it old.
“And you?” I asked.
“I knew it was you.”
“Did you tell them?”
“I said it was probably you.” He looked up. “Mom told me not to be ridiculous.”
Of course she had.
A group of graduates passed by the corridor entrance, laughing, arms around one another. Their joy echoed briefly, then faded.
Derek shifted his weight.
“I didn’t know they skipped your graduation,” he said.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I knew they didn’t go,” he said quickly. “But I didn’t know how it happened. I didn’t know about the texts. I thought…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you didn’t want anyone there.”
