My marble.
Where was my stupid marble?
A prank dreamt up by our valedictorian: get a diploma, give a marble. So original.
I dipped into my pocket, pulling out a red, grease-stained cocktail napkin instead. Inside, one chocolate chip cookie from last night’s graduation party.
I handed it over anyway as the headmaster’s jaw clenched, his eyes raged. I then turned to the audience — my diploma held high. Who cares that I was hungover, that my stomach was doing backflips, that my head ached, my tongue sandpaper?
I had just graduated high school.
It was my time to shine.
The Weekday One Hundred 