Onthe whole, crying really isn't my thing. But on June the twelfth – a gorgeous Friday – sometime after four p.m., I bawled my eyes out. He wasn't a valedictorian or anything, but damn it, he was my boyfriend and I was damn proud of him.

The funniest thing had been when Derek had made to take his diploma, and a cigarette fell from behind his ear. Mr. Roth simply chuckled and shook his head, muttering something about it 'being a Kodak moment.'

Derek smiled over the crowd at me, and not sure if he would be able to see, I stage-mouthed, "Your mother would be so proud!"

He saw. And if my youthfully strong eyesight was correct – and I do believe that it was – he whispered back, "I know." And for what it's worth, his smile burned brighter than the boiling June sun….

***

…Which brings us back to where I stand now, in line for my own little scrap of hard-earned paper. My speech went well, in case you were wondering. I talked briefly about how I wasn't exactly the person my class (or my teachers) had expected to be making this speech. I mentioned a few funny or inspiring incidents that had befallen my friends or myself over the years.

But mostly, it had been a speech about change.

My story reflects similarly the way we change, the way we grow…or at least the way I have. And the way my loving Derek has. As I'm standing here in this line, hardly moving, I am reminded of everything we've been through in the last year since his graduation. We had our first fight, and a few more after that – but we always made up. He's just coming off of his freshman year of college.

We've had a disagreement or two about that, as I have decided to go to Boston while he has spent the last year at NYU.

Derek is still as playful and as loud and as sweet as the day I met him. I've just come to recognize it. Still, he's matured. He's beginning to enter a time when he realizes that the two of us have dreams, and that whether we like it or not, those dreams don't always coincide…but a few do, and that seems to be enough glue to hold us together.

We are still in love. We are still infatuated, amazingly.

He just turned twenty, and I've only been eighteen for a month.

Whoa, hey. When did I get up to the front of the line?

"Carson Rachael Cassimov!" Mr. Roth is shouting my name into the microphone, and it echoes across the baseball field full of parents and siblings and relatives. I can see my mom in the front row, struggling hard against tears as she tries to get pictures of the Big Day.

Derek is beaming.

My dad didn't show, but somehow, I'm no longer bothered by his absence. That's been another change around here: I don't miss him so much. It's mostly been thanks to mom and Allan and Derek, but hey, I have to give props where props are due: Mariah and Nicole have been the best friends I've ever had.

Okay, and Seth too. He's laughing at me along with everyone else right now, watching me stumble forward to accept that silly piece of paper. My diploma. Just saying it is like a breath of relief.

It won't be long before I'm at it again though, and I know that.

The first person to find me is – miraculously – my mother. She's hugging me and blubbering and it's endearing. I love her, and I love that she's proud of me. Then there's Seth and Mariah and everyone else. And finally, there's Derek. While he's hugging me, I can feel a little bit of dampness on his cheeks. He's crying.

"I'm so fucking proud of you, honey," he whispers, hugging me tightly. I hug back, starting to cry myself, my eyeliner smudging.

"I know…I'm fucking proud of me too," I say. We look at each other and then we kiss.

This is the picture-perfect ending I've always dreamed of.