Graduation Ceremony – Crystalline University Central Plaza
The central plaza of Crystalline University was built for photographs, and today it delivered at full, cinematic power. Sunlight spilled across the pale stone courtyard like confetti, catching every reflective surface... the brass light posts, the polished railings, even the creases of the faculty's satin hoods. A velvet carpet the color of fresh pomegranates sliced the courtyard in two, leading straight from the marble entrance of the main building to a wide graduation stage draped in navy‑and‑cream banners. A thousand identical white‑plastic chairs fanned out in perfect military rows. By 8:45 a.m. almost every seat was filled, and the whole plaza hummed the nervous energy of people about to be called onstage.
The soundtrack to this morning was an over‑eager rendition of "Pomp and Circumstance." Someone from the music department... rumor said it was a senior with Bluetooth privileges... kept restarting the track before it could fade, turning the stately march into a long, skipping record. Parents craned their necks for better angles; bouquets rested in laps like floral shields; phones hovered above heads, recording everything from seat‑finding to cap‑adjusting. Every so often a sea of flashes went off, and for an instant the whole class of 2025 looked like celebrities at a premiere.
Xenia Alderidge stood in the center aisle of Row D, one hand smoothing the golden sash that crossed her tailored navy gown. She had stitched her name into the lining herself months ago... small, neat loops of white thread that reminded her she'd built this day stitch by stitch, class by class. Chestnut hair curled over her shoulders in precise, soft waves; her lips wore only a swipe of rose gloss. On the outside she was composed. Inside, her stomach fluttered like it was trying to take flight.
A sudden cheer rose from the parent section. Xenia followed the sound and spotted Mrs. Navarro... Zoe's mom... standing on tip‑toe in her wedge sandals. The woman waved her phone like a bright flag and shouted Zoe's name as if she could boost the volume by willpower alone. Tears... proud, shiny... already blurred the corners of her eyes. Zoe waved back, grinning so wide her cap nearly slid off.
Xenia's own smile dimmed for a fraction of a second. Her mother was technically only fourteen kilometers away in Solmere, "helping" with her stepdad's contract. Her father had vanished into voicemail territory. And yet, here she was... Valedictorian... moments from speaking words meant to represent every student journey, and not a single blood relative would hear them in person.
Zoe elbowed her gently. "Chin up, Scholar Barbie. My mom claims you anyway."
Xenia forced a laugh, then eyed Zoe's bright yellow Crocs peeking from under her robe. "You're wearing Crocs to graduation."
"That's not footwear; that's a lifestyle," Zoe replied. "Also, we both know my heels died in the Nova Pulse incident."
Behind them a dramatic gasp sliced through the chatter.
"You mean to say I'm the only martyr here suffering in these faux‑leather torture devices?" Jecipher slid into their aisle, hair so black it shimmered blue. His gown was borderline contraband... glitter‑edged hem, rhinestone initials on the sleeve, and a winged eyeliner so sharp it should have required a campus weapons permit.
"Jec, you're wearing more highlighter than the dean," Zoe observed.
"Beauty is resistance," he declared, tilting his cheekbones into the sun. "Tonight I re‑emerge as Jennifer...vfreed from the shackles of binary academia. But for today? I march, darling."
Xenia shook her head, smiling despite the nerves. Jec's theatrics were a familiar comfort, like background music in a childhood kitchen.
A ripple of hush moved through the plaza... the faculty procession had begun. Professors filed onto the stage, robe colors signaling their disciplines: emerald for science, crimson for law, amethyst for liberal arts. Mild applause greeted each until a collective breath seemed to catch.
Professor Rafe Lysandros stepped into view. Even hidden beneath the ceremonial cape, his build was impossible to ignore... broad shoulders, runner's calves, and forearms that strained cloth at the slightest movement. Sun‑warm skin and wind‑tousled hair made him look like he should be leading a Spartan phalanx instead of a phys‑ed seminar. Students whispered nicknames
"Ripped Rafe,"
"Lusty Lysandros"
but today the man simply lifted a hand in greeting and took his seat with modest ease.
Jecipher fanned himself with his program. "Greek god detected."
Zoe snickered. "He once told me my spine was made of uncooked spaghetti."
"He gave me a B‑plus for 'breathing inefficiently' between laps," Xenia added dryly.
"Still worth the view." Zoe winked.
Names began rolling over the speakers. One by one, students climbed the stairs, shook the dean's hand, and descended with diplomas and relieved smiles. Caps flew. Streamers popped. Somewhere a relative blew an air horn, earning scowls from nearby grandparents.
Xenia tried not to search the bleachers, but her gaze drifted anyway, scanning for her mother's soft brown eyes or her father's crooked grin. She found neither... just strangers, faculty, and Zoe's mom still recording like an enthusiastic documentary crew of one.
A light breeze caught the edge of the velvet carpet, lifting it a centimeter before it settled again. Hold your own joy, Xenia reminded herself. When no one arrives to clap for you, clap for yourself.
The dean approached the lectern. "And now, with the highest academic record in the University of Crystalline, representing the College of Education… please welcome our Valedictorian, Miss Xenia Alderidge."
Applause detonated. Zoe unleashed a scream worthy of a rock concert, and Jecipher produced an entire fistful of biodegradable glitter, tossing it skyward. Shimmer drifted like tiny shooting stars.
Xenia rose. Every lesson plan, every sleepless dawn in the library, every instant‑noodle dinner... she carried them all up the steps. The plaza felt both massive and intimate, like walking through a dream she'd storyboarded years ago.
She reached the podium. The microphone sat at lip height; someone had remembered she was shorter than the dean. Her speech, printed on heavy cream paper, rested in her hand... eight drafts distilled into three pages of essence.
At the edge of the stage a late‑arriving professor hobbled up the stairs in the stage, clutching his robe closed. His skin looked waxy; sweat darkened the collar. A small bandage hid beneath his neckline, pink edges seeping through. He leaned on the banister, jaw tight.
The crowd, however, focused on the podium.
Xenia inhaled. Her heartbeat echoed in her eardrums but her training took over... speech and debate club, nights practicing in the dorm mirror, breathing exercises between thesis presentations. Her voice steadied.
"Good morning, Dean Marisse, esteemed faculty, fellow graduates, friends, and families…"
The words drifted out clear and sure. She spoke of first‑year anxieties, of shared victories in group projects, of resilience forged in dorm hallways at 2 a.m. Students nodded. Parents dabbed at eyes. Even the restless toddlers on the fringe quieted, lulled by her cadence.
Halfway through page one the distant church bell tolled ten and somewhere in the back row a baby giggled... in any other speech she might have paused for the laugh line she'd built in, but the baby's timing worked, earning a ripple of good‑natured chuckles.
Near the stage steps the pale graduate swayed. A professor reached toward him, concerned, but the young man straightened and mouthed something like I'm fine. His fingers, however, twitched erratically.
Xenia pressed on. "We learned knowledge, yes, but we also learned kindness... to lend notes, to share umbrellas, to lift each other when deadlines felt like avalanches. Today we cross a physical stage, but every day we cross smaller invisible stages... acts of courage no camera catches."
She reached the final paragraph, the one she'd rewritten five times to hide how desperately she wanted her parents to hear it: "To the families who stood behind us... present or far away...vwe carry your hopes in every step."
Her throat tightened, but she kept her smile. She thought of Zoe, Jecipher, the dorm RA who always left extra tea bags outside her door during finals week. Family isn't only blood; sometimes it's survival partners.
Applause erupted again as she closed with: "Class of 2025, we survived. Let's teach the world how."
She stepped back. Dean Marisse shook her hand, whispering, "Beautifully said." Camera shutters snapped like summer rain.