Dolores doubted the pretty sky as much as her daddy’s fairy-tale description of Grade One. She knew it would probably rain, and eventually, he would let go of her hand.

When he said, “It’s such a beautiful day, Dolores. You’re going to like first grade, so don’t be such a worry wart!” Dolores felt mounting doom, her small face pale with worry, while the flurry of other children only amplified her fears.

She observed mothers of all shapes and sizes, reminding her of the ladies in the television commercials selling washing machines and refrigerators, with nicely styled hair, pleated skirts, high-heeled shoes, and matching jewelry ensembles. The sweet smell of rose petals and carnations wafted through the air, which made Dolores wonder why her mother did not wear perfume or try to look nicer.

She begged her father, “Please don’t go, Daddy. I just know none of these other children will like me!”

Without saying another word, he smiled proudly and watched his little girl obediently follow the other dutiful soldiers as they marched into the classroom.

Dolores knew she was unlike the other little girls with bouncy ringlets, colourful hair ties, and vibrant dresses. Instead, her hair was an unmanageable mop-top, and her father dressed her in bibbed overalls and oxford shoes. She decided she hated school as much as she hated her mother.

So, on the first day of the next twelve years of her life, Dolores sighed in resignation and found a seat at the back of the classroom. After she settled in and scanned the room, a glimmer of hope trickled in when she spotted a boy who looked as awkward and out of place as she felt. Later, she would describe the experience to her father as love at first sight.

She discovered that the little boy’s name was Peter, and she knew they would one day be best friends.

When the first day of school arrived, Wendy eagerly dressed in the outfit she had picked the night before—a navy blue jumper, frilly white blouse, white knee socks, and her favourite penny loafers. She adored how her ponytail flipped from side to side, like the swish of a horse’s tail prancing in a parade.

As she ran down to the kitchen for breakfast, the aroma of sweet butter and brown sugar filled the air. She ate quickly, while the sound of her father’s snoring filtered into the kitchen.

Wendy skipped to school, swinging a basket of white-sugar cookies with one hand while holding her mother’s hand with the other. The whole time, she sang ‘Hippity-hop to the barber shop to get a stick of candy.’

In the undercover area, children scattered and chattered, balls bounced, and skipping ropes smacked the pavement.

Once inside, Wendy found a desk in the front row, closest to the teacher. Front and centre, she craned her neck to keep track of her fellow Grade One students entering and finding their seats.

Growing up without a father left Nicky’s heart in a constant ache, and she was never far from her devoted mother’s side.

“Mommy, instead of just dropping me off, can’t you come to school with me?” she would often plead.

On her first day of school, she insisted on wearing fairy wings—an outfit far from acceptable in 1965. As a compromise, her mother agreed to let her wear a turquoise butterfly brooch instead.

After hugging her mother for what felt like the tenth time, Nicky finally stepped into the classroom, with a heavy heart. She winced at the sight of her classmates already seated, realizing she was late. From the doorway, her eyes were drawn to the teacher, clad in a fitted white blouse and a loose black pleated skirt. She briefly wondered how the collar was not stifling every last breath out of her, and whether the tight bun on her head might give her a headache. Her attention then shifted to the alphabet displayed above the teacher’s desk—each letter shaped like an animal.

For a fleeting moment, Nicky smiled.

When the room suddenly fell quiet, with tight lips and a furrowed brow, Miss Terence asked Nicky to put her lunch away and find a seat because she was holding up the recital of the Lord’s Prayer.

Placing her Roy Rogers and Dale Evans lunch kit in the cloakroom, Nicky decided she did not like the teacher, and perhaps the teacher did not like her.

Once seated, she eyed her classmates and instantly spotted a little boy sitting in front of her. He had the most beautiful blonde hair, and when he turned around, his eyes shone like blue sapphires. She knew instantly that she would love him, and whispered, “Hi, my name is Nicky. What’s yours?”

Relieved, he said, “Hi, my name is Billy.”

Before she could delve into a conversation, the teacher interrupted, “Miss Warner, there is no talking during class, especially while I am speaking! I have a feeling I’m going to have a problem with you!”

At once, Nicky had a tummy ache and wanted to go home.

Miss Terence usually held off on making judgments until the first report card, but her new Grade One students stood out immediately, like a wild, unruly field of flowers growing wild. Their behaviour baffled her, making her wonder if the 1965-66 school year would be her last.

Miss Terence stumbled off her mark. She concluded that most children were as peculiar as a wooden nickel and were not to be trusted. So, she decided to straighten the rudder, steer the boat, and announce the ship’s captain. Her stern facial expression set the tone, as the yardstick came down hard on Nicky’s desk with a sudden force. The abrupt silence that followed was palpable, and the classroom seemed to hold its breath as wide-eyed and shocked faces turned toward the teacher.

Miss Terence cleared her throat. “It has come to my attention that some of you are unsure about who is in charge here. Let me make it clear—I am the boss and will not tolerate speaking out of turn. You are here to learn, and it is my job to teach!”

“Now, please stand, face the front, and follow along to ‘God Save the Queen.’ Afterward, take out your notebooks and practice the alphabet. The first to finish will receive a star, and the last will wear the donkey tail!”

To emphasize the consolation prize, she held up a scraggly grey-tattered tail.

Markus stifled a laugh, Billy couldn’t care less, Peter rolled his eyes, Nicky decided never to return, Wendy did a silent hand clap, and Dolores assumed she would wear the donkey tail pinned to her backside.

Nicky finished first, and meekly raised her hand to indicate she had completed the task. Her printing was neat and within the lines.

Wendy’s hand shot up next. “I’m done, Miss Terence. I’m first, look, see!” She continued verbalizing her enthusiasm by saying, in unison with her actions, “Pick me, pick me, p l e a s e pick me!”

Eying Nicky and noting her politely raised hand combined with a tear-stained face, Miss Terence turned her attention towards Wendy, smiled warmly, and said, “My word, it does appear we have a winner!”

As Nicky bowed her head in defeat, Wendy’s hands clapped silently while the teacher wrote her name on the blackboard in yellow chalk and placed a check mark beside it in a different colour.

Markus immediately took note of the cute girl sitting in the front of his row, raising her hand and making herself known. He decided she was a winner and someone he needed to beat. He smiled and whispered her name repeatedly in his head so he would not forget it… Wendy Chartwell, Wendy Chartwell, Wendy Chartwell…

Once outside on the playground, Markus spotted Peter. He knew his father owned the corner store and speculated his hard-nosed defence lawyer dad would refer to Peter as a weaker link. So, before the bell rang to come inside, Markus decided to target the geeky boy and trick him out of his hotdog money.

Billy looked for Nicky to console her. He planned to tell her what a dummy the teacher was for not picking her. But when he spotted his friends, he joined in a game of cops and robbers instead. Because he thought he might like to be a policeman someday, he always picked the side of law enforcement.

Wendy quickly acquired the nicknames ‘Teachers Pet’ and ‘Nosy Nelly.’ Honoured rather than hurt, she accepted the labels like a badge and wore them proudly. She could hardly wait to tell her parents she had won the alphabet printing contest. But first, she would find Nicky and apologize, as it probably should have been noted as a tie.

Dolores had only managed to get to the letter K. Then she was furious with her mother for not preparing her, mainly because she was left-handed. Her teacher commented,

“Well, dear, you will certainly be at a disadvantage if you choose to go through school using the wrong hand.”

By Grade Four, Dolores felt like a shadow in a room full of bright, buzzing lights. She yearned to blend in but found herself mute amidst the din of confident voices. As her classmates’ laughter and chatter swirled around her, she wrestled with her own insecurities, her voice trembling when she dared to speak. The boy she hoped would be her best friend barely acknowledged her, and the other girls made plans with the ease of old friends—plans she was never part of.

‘Cinderella, dressed in yella’, went upstairs to kiss her fella…’ Wendy, the best skipper in Grade Four, always had others turning the rope for her. She insisted on singing skipping songs like ‘Blue Bell Cockle Shells’ and decided who got the next turn since it was her rope.

Nicky avoided the chaotic playground and bossy girls like Wendy, preferring to sit on a boulder or twirl on a bar. Her best friend Billy sometimes joined her, sharing his baseball cards and Superman comic books.

Someone brought a banned transistor radio that blared the local station for everyone to hear. The DJ announced, “This one’s for all the students on your first day back to the books.” Bill Withers’ “Lean on Me” played through crackling static. The song continued until the hall monitor confiscated the radio.

Nicky, showcasing her new shag haircut and Bonne Bell Lip Smackers, followed closely behind Billy. While some speculated they were a couple, they were just friends. As the crowded halls swallowed her petite frame, Nicky called out, “Billy, please wait up!”

With his long blonde hair resting on his guitar strap, Billy hoped to be known as the guy who was friends with the most far out girl in school. Smiling, he said, “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, Nick; c’mon, your homeroom is across the hall from mine. I’ll show ya!”

The newcomers to high school navigated the crowded hallways, each turn revealing unfamiliar faces in bellbottom jeans and platform shoes. The scent of polished floors and Sweet Honesty perfume heightened their senses, amplifying the first day jitters.

Bursting through the front doors, Wendy and her friends whispered secrets as classmates hurriedly exchanged news of what they did over the summer, what poor young girl had gone to first base, and what disgusting boy had made her.

Outside the science lab, waiting to go in, two Grade Eight students, recognizably from different worlds, stood side by side. Peter was slight, bespectacled, and bookish, constantly accompanied by textbooks. Tall and radiating coolness, Markus was the epitome of confidence, sporting a stylish leather jacket and a mischievous grin.

They had known each other since Grade One but rarely gave each other the time of day. Now, once inside the empty classroom with microscopes, glass beakers, and Bunsen burners, their exchange painted a picture of unity in the diversity of the two most unlikely souls. It was a collision of personalities, as Peter launched into sharing what an atom was with Markus. For a brief moment, bullying and cowering subsided in an interaction without barriers, while the two boys discussed their fascination for chemistry.

Peter caught sight of the blackboard with yellow-chalked diagrams. “Hey, Markus, did you know that the nucleus is the central part of an atom? It’s like the core that holds protons and neutrons together.”

Markus replied, “I’ve heard of it, but I am not exactly sure how it works.”

Encouraged by Markus’s interest, Peter continued, “Well, see, the protons are positively charged, and the neutrons have no charge. They’re both in the nucleus, while the electrons orbit around it in energy levels.”

Still interested, Markus nodded, “Got it. So, the nucleus is like the command centre of the atom, keeping everything in order?”

Peter became excited, “Exactly. And it’s so cool how these tiny particles come together to form everything around us. It’s like a microscopic universe right in front of us!”

Appearing impressed, Markus said, “That is pretty cool, Peter. I’ve never really thought about it that way.”

Peter grinned and briefly pondered how it had taken eight years for Markus Jones to see him as someone other than the brunt of his jokes and pin cushion to his constant mocking. He felt the need to continue. “Science has a way of revealing the wonders of the world, you know?”

Markus smirked, “You’ve got my attention, Peter. Maybe science class will be groovy after all. Who knew geeking out about atoms could be this cool?”

As students streamed into the classroom, their chatter mingling with the screech of stools against the floor, the connection between them flickered, then vanished. Markus’s voice cut through the noise, “Hey Peter, what’s that smell? Did you let one rip, or is that just the aromatic odour of your BO?” The words hung in the air, sharp and jarring, like a radio signal lost to static, impossible to tune back in.

As the students laughed, Peter bowed his head, shaking it in disappointment. He had hoped that Markus had become kinder by Grade Eight. When he lifted his head, the sneering faces around him seemed clown-like, and their laughter stuck in his mind.

Struggling to steady himself, Peter whispered, “One day, you will all be sorry, mark my words.”

Just before summer vacation at the end of Grade Ten, Nicky was kicked out of her math class for supposedly ‘cheating on a test.’ Her first instinct was to find Billy, drive to the beach, and smoke weed.

After being wrongfully accused and misunderstood, she headed to the smoke pit at the center of the school. She knew Billy would be there, skipping out on something and reading about social injustice, racial discrimination, or the legalization of marijuana.

The thought of her serious best friend, always ready to take a stand, made Nicky smile.

She spotted him across the courtyard, sitting cross-legged with a book, his perfectly feathered blonde hair spilling over his furrowed brow and squinting blue eyes. The open-air ceiling allowed his cigarette smoke to drift up and out, mingling with the varying moods and complaints about teachers, exams, and the general unfairness of life.

Pulling out the mirrored compact from her fringed leather handbag, Nicky noticed thick black streaks of mascara staining her cheeks, clumping in the corner of her eyes. She mumbled to herself, “What the hell?” as she frantically dabbed at the evidence of anguish over being labelled a cheater—someone she was not.

Opening the smudged glass door leading into the teenager haven of overflowing ashtrays and picnic tables, she looked past the carved initials, four-letter words, drawings of butts and boobs. She met Billy’s eyes and let the door slam behind her for effect.

The lump in her throat grew, nearly choking her as she sighed, preparing to rant.

Sensing something was wrong with the girl who seemingly shaped his identity, Billy jumped up, dropping his book into a puff of sand and cigarette butts. Clenching his teeth around his lit smoke, he moved toward Nicky.

Before she could speak, he said, “Who did this to you, Nick? What’s wrong? C’mon, let’s get out of here!”

Excused from Home Economics before lunch, Wendy hurried past the smoke pit, always amazed at how dirty the windows were. She wondered why no one ever cleaned the yellow nicotine-stained glass or, worse, restored their blackened lungs to their original pinkness, as shown in Health class.

She lingered when she saw Billy and Nicky embracing. Were they finally revealing their romance or parting after a secret breakup? She admired their aloofness and twin-like persona, as if cut from the same cloth, though he was a blonde Adonis and she a brunette Aphrodite. Suppressing annoyance, Wendy tapped on the window, pointing to her Timex watch as if to say, ‘The bell hasn’t gone yet, so why aren’t you in class?!’

Quickly moving apart, the two turned toward Wendy, who stood with her hands on her hips and feet shoulder-width apart, making her a force to be reckoned with.

As Billy began raising his middle finger to the school know-it-all, Nicky covered his hand with hers, dipping her head to hide a laugh.

Turning on her heel, Wendy let out an exasperated huff. Stomping off with her ponytail swishing like a determined mare, she continued down the hall, pausing when she saw Markus in the office. She wondered if he was picking up a late slip or getting excused early to peel out of the parking lot in his mother’s sports car, just in time for his female admirers to glimpse their hoped-for boyfriend.

Rolling her eyes and taking a deep breath, she questioned why the sight of Markus infuriated her while simultaneously hoping he would notice her.

As Wendy headed down the hall toward the cafeteria, she peeked into the gymnasium, where basketball teams were warming up. The cheerleaders crowded the bleachers like hummingbirds fluttering while all eyes were on them instead of the players.

Reaching the cafeteria as the bell rang, Wendy removed a wicker basket from her shoulder, spread out a gingham tablecloth, set up a jewelry stand, and arranged her feathered earrings. Sitting down, she eagerly waited for her first customers.

After ducking from a flying French fry, she thought the scene needed a makeover. The brown and orange trays were ghastly, the plastic cutlery tacky, and the food disgusting. If it were up to her, the menu would be healthier and lighter, with centrepieces and place cards at each table for students to know where to sit.

Billy and Nicky emerged from the fishbowl the principal had cleverly installed back in the 1950s as a place for teenagers to hang out and escape the confines of the institution.

Once in the school parking lot, they walked past Markus as he was about to climb into his new red TR-6, a recent gift from his parents. Both boys nodded at each other, high- fiving, while Nicky took no notice and climbed into the passenger side of Billy’s rusty- edged GMC pickup.

Dolores stared out the window of the chemistry classroom, into the parking lot below. She had started eating her lunches there because Peter and his friends played chess amongst the Bunsen burners, safety goggles, and lab coats.

She enjoyed the saltiness of her tuna fish sandwich and the softness of the bread, and made a mental note to find a toothpick later to pick out bits from her braces. Gazing out the window, she spotted Billy and Nicky getting into his truck and wondered where they were headed. With a smile, Doloros speculated that they might be heading off for a romantic rendezvous—“skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight”—relishing the connection to the Starland Vocal Band’s new song.

Biting into her sandwich and glancing at Peter, who sat a few tables over, she noticed his serious expression showing deep concentration as he prepared for checkmate.

Dolores crumpled her wax paper, sipped her orange pop, and glanced at the wooden science table. She ran her fingers across the carvings made by bored teenagers— obscene gestures, doodles, and initials gouged into the tabletop with a protractor. She noticed B + N with a heart around it and knew it stood for Billy and Nicky.

The cliques ruled everything inside and outside.

Fashionable teenagers wore bell-bottom pants frayed at the bottom, tie-dye t-shirts, peasant blouses, and ponchos. Girls had long, straight hair, and boys tried to grow mutton-chop sideburns. Mood Rings, Rubik’s Cubes, Pet Rocks, and PEZ candy were popular trends and must-have pastimes.

The rallying cry, “Disco Sucks,” became a symbol of resistance among rock and roll enthusiasts. As a revolt, Billy started a band. He knew Nicky could sing. He’d seen Markus messing around on the drums before and he himself was known for his guitar riffs.

Billy transformed his parents’ garage into a dim, glowing masterpiece. Black light posters of rock legends lined the walls, their neon hues pulsing in the dark. An old extension cord snaked across the floor, feeding power to a few mismatched lamps he’d salvaged from around the house. As he stepped back to admire his handiwork, a sly grin crossed his face.

While he waited for his bandmates to arrive, he strummed his acoustic guitar and hummed “Blackbird” by the Beatles.

Markus, the first to arrive, unloaded his drum kit and rolled his eyes at the state of where they were going to practice. Nicky came next and handed out the embroidered jean jackets–she had gone for lightning bolts and skulls.

While she twirled her sheer black scarf, channeling her inner Stevie Nicks, Billy called their first practice to order, “Alright, guys, gather around. It’s time to make history. We’re starting a band, so let’s discuss our plan.”

Markus chimed in, always one for sarcasm, and rolled his eyes, “Oh, joy. A band. Because there aren’t enough of those floating around in ’76.”

Nicky looked at him sympathetically to make peace, “Chill, Markus! We’re not just any band. We’re destined for greatness. I can feel it in my platform shoes.”

Markus once again rolled his eyes and smirked, “Greatness, huh? You sound like a fortune cookie, Nicky.”

As the band’s leader, Billy quickly defended and brought everyone back to the task: “Let’s focus, people. We need a killer name—something that screams 1970s cool.”

Markus turned surprisingly positive when he said, “I was already thinking about this. How about ‘Cosmic Marmalade’?”

Billy paused, “That’s… surprisingly good. Alright, Cosmic Marmalade it is.”

Caught in the middle of another twirl with her scarf and hair extended in a perfect stream, Nicky enthusiastically added, “And our first hit single will be called ‘Starshine Serenade’ or something mystical like that!”

Markus laughed, “‘Starshine Serenade’? Are we trying to summon aliens here? How about something with a bit more punch? Like ‘Disco Dumpster Fire’?”

Nodding, Billy smiled warmly, “I like that. It’s edgy.”

Nicky frowned. “Edgy? Can’t we have something with velvet and moonlight? Like if Stevie Nicks and Earth Wind and Fire had a sparkly little love child!”

Markus, being the person he was, shut down her idea. “Save the moonlight for the ballads, Nick. We need a power anthem to make people remember they’re rocking to drum beats, not a disco ball!”

Billy, strumming his guitar, felt the need to defend Nicky even though he disagreed with her, “Speaking of beats, Markus, can you, like, not break every drumstick in the first five minutes?”

Up for the challenge of arguing and boasting, “I can’t promise anything. The sticks just can’t handle my rhythmic genius.”

“Or your ego,” Nicky said with a smirk.

Billy lit up a joint, inhaled the crackling homegrown bud, and on his exhale, filled the garage with the skunky aroma. He passed the half-smoked joint to Nicky. She took it, her fingers brushing his, but instead of lifting it to her lips, she paused. A beat later, she handed it back, her voice soft and casual. “I’ve got a bit of a sore throat,” she said, her eyes meeting his briefly before drifting away.

He coughed a nervous laugh, followed by a hazy stream of musky smoke. Markus smiled and changed the subject suggesting they wear uniforms, “Can’t us guys wear suits and ties, you know, clean cut, like the Beatles used to be, and you wear a nice, fitted dress, Nicky, and we call it a day?”

Billy smirked, a twinkle in his eye as he said, “Man, you bedazzle these jeans just right, and they’re gonna be legends. Nicky’s got the magic touch for that.”

Then he raised his fist and concluded, “Alright, ‘Cosmic Marmalade’ it is, with “Disco Dumpster Fire” as our debut single. Let’s make 1976 our year, guys!”

Markus muttered in his usual sarcastic tone, “This better be good and worth missing the Six Million Dollar Man and Saturday Night Live for!”

Nicky, usually thoughtful, piped up, “Trust me, Markus, we’re gonna be bigger than Six Million Dollar Man and the Bionic Woman all rolled into one; we’ll be touring and on the Johnny Carson Show for sure!”

Markus rolled his eyes again, keeping up with his tone. “Wow, I can hardly contain my excitement.”

The discussion continued with very few notes played while voices became escalated.

Eventually, the conversation petered out, and Billy said, “I gotta hit the hay, let’s pick this up again next Saturday.”
As the band parted ways, everyone knew they sucked as musicians and were doomed at ever making it big as rock legends.

Markus and Wendy were in the same math class, and ever since Grade One, he had noticed Wendy’s bossiness and air of fun like a champagne cork popping off and the bubbles tickling his nose, causing unavoidable snorts of laughter. Now that they were older, he thought he might have a chance of making it to third base with her. He had heard other boys talk about her, and words like nympho and phrases like getting a piece of tail were used regularly.

Unbeknownst to Markus, none of the rumours were true.

He instructed Wendy to be ready just after the 3:00 p.m. bell and to leave her snobby friends behind. Despite his misplaced vanity, Wendy was excited about the date and curious to see what his massive house looked like on the inside.

After removing her winter boots and before taking her books out, Markus unexpectedly grabbed her hand. While overlooking the possibility of building a meaningful relationship based on trust, he forcibly yanked her closer for a wet, slobbering kiss.

Wendy did not hesitate and lustfully kissed him back.

Just as he leaned in, ready to push his luck, the unmistakable clatter of dishes stopped dead. His mother appeared from around the corner, her eyebrows shooting up as she spotted the little blonde with her arms wrapped around her son. She cleared her throat, the sound slicing through the air like a record scratch. “Well, well,” she chimed, trying not to grin, “and who’s this charming young lady interrupting my dinner plans?”

Taking too long to pull apart, blinded by his desire, Markus snidely laughed and said, “Oh, hi, Mom, this is Wendy from school. We plan to do some math homework together.”

Wendy smiled as if nothing was wrong, politely said hello, and added, “You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Jones; I especially love the high ceilings and velvet drapes. Everything is so glamorous.”

Wendy loved the word glamorous, which seemed fitting to use in the moment.

Markus’s mother eyed Wendy up and down, her lips curving into a tight, unimpressed smile. The girl’s syrupy compliments dripped from a high-pitched voice, barely masking the too-low neckline and micro-mini skirt that made her raise an eyebrow. “Charming,” she murmured sarcastically, sizing up the girl she wished her son hadn’t brought home.

Markus, oblivious to his mother’s disapproval, led Wendy to the living room sofa. As her eyes widened at the rich mahogany paneling and luxurious furnishings, he couldn’t resist boasting, “Some of these heirlooms are from the Ming Dynasty, and the tapestry wall hangings are direct from India.”

Wendy had no idea what a Ming Dynasty was and wondered why anyone would hang a carpet on the wall. She was still ostensibly impressed but increasingly grew panicked, wondering if she was about to lose her virginity right then, with Markus’s mother overseeing the whole escapade.

Mrs. Jones, sensing the teens’ focus drifting from homework, suggested they move to the kitchen. Markus shot his mother an irritated look, while Wendy, relieved, welcomed the change to a stiff-backed chair, grateful for the interruption that kept things from going too far.

Markus, with a forced smile, pulled out his math book and asked, “So, Wendy, how far did you get on today’s assignment?” His mother’s gaze lingered, and he was eager to appease her.

Wendy flipped her hair and casually replied, “Oh, I usually just do every other question.” Markus’s smile faltered. Every other question? He stared at her, a mix of confusion and arrogance swirling in his mind. She’s gotta be kidding, he thought, his eyes narrowing. This girl really thinks she can coast on just her looks?

As soon as his mother’s footsteps faded down the hallway, his patience vanished. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers, but this time, his hands roamed with a confidence that had nothing to do with permission. Wendy’s eyes widened in shock as his grip tightened where no boy had ventured before. With a gasp, she shot to her feet, knocking over the chair in her haste. Tumbling to the floor, she shrieked, “My word, Markus Jones, what is wrong with you?! Keep your hands to yourself!” The kitchen echoed with the clatter of wood on tile and the sharp sting of her words.

Confounded by Wendy’s change in attitude, he said, “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You know you want it, now c’mon, gimme a little sugar, Wendy!”

Outraged, she replied, “If you think I’m easy, you got it wrong, mister!” All he could think of doing next was to send her home.
At 8:35 a.m. the next morning, the gossip mill was spinning out of control.

“They’re saying you and Markus did it last night! You know, ‘went all the way.’ Wendy, I thought better of you!”

For a moment, she liked the thought of being a vixen, a bad girl, of having every boy in the school enamoured with her. Then, changing her mind, she spoke vehemently, “Are you kidding me, that jerk! No! I did not do anything with that egomaniac!”

The news reached the guidance counsellor. Over the intercom, Wendy was called to the office.

From there, she was sent to the school nurse, where she had to complete a six-week course on venereal disease and the importance of contraception. Wendy wondered if Markus was going through the same thing, but somehow doubted it.

When it’s over, it’s over.

Behind the stage stood zealous teens, their caps and gowns rustling as they lined up alphabetically, waiting to receive their diplomas.

Markus stood at the front of the line, his eyes scanning the room with pride and determination. Bound for university in the fall, he saw graduation not as an ending but as the first step toward a future filled with limitless possibilities.

Behind Markus shuffled Peter and Dolores—Peter, the science star who could recite the periodic table in his sleep, and Dolores, the math whiz who made algebra look like tic- tac-toe. The once geeky girl and nerdy boy found themselves in the awkward first steps of young love. They had recently started dating but kept their hands to themselves, too nervous to risk messing it up with something as awkward as hand-holding.

In contrast, Billy, the party boy, viewed graduation as his ticket to freedom. With a carefree grin, he stood in line, already dreaming of the up-coming celebration. High school had been lame, yet he relished the friendships he had made and the continuous parties. Graduation was his “get out of jail free” card, an opportunity to embrace life on his terms without the confines of school rules and schedules.

For Nicky, high school had been drudgery. Yet, her small group of friends, mostly boys, had been the ink that made the pages worth reading. The late nights and missed assignments, almost a distant memory, gave her a mix of relief and nostalgia.

Wendy, meanwhile, smiled serenely, her thoughts not on the past twelve years but on the familiar comfort of home. While others dreamed of big cities, she cherished the close-knit community around her. For her, graduation was more a gentle step forward than a leap into the unknown. She had just started working at Supervalue and loved it.

Leaning in, she whispered urgently to her friends. “Okay, guys, remember to stand straight and smile. We want our graduation photos to be perfect. This is our moment!”

Billy grinned at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Chill, Wendy. When it’s over, it’s over, yah know? Let’s just go with the flow and soak it all in. I can’t wait to feel that diploma in my hand!”

“Billy’s right,” Markus said, adjusting his gown with a hint of arrogance. “This is the last time we’ll all be together like this. We’ve got to make the most of it before we head off in different directions.”

Peter adjusted his glasses with a bit of a nervous fidget. “Yeah, Markus, you’ve got a point. I’m already kinda mulling over what’s next, but let’s take a moment here. I mean, it’s not every day you get to wrap up a chapter as big as this, right?”

Nicky smiled softly, her eyes distant. “I think I’m going to miss this—miss all of you. We’re like words in a poem. It’s simple yet kind of beautiful, in a way.”

Wendy nodded, her determination softening into warmth. “You’re right, Nicky. It is beautiful. Okay, I’ll admit, I’m going to miss this too. We’ve made it, and that’s worth celebrating together, no matter what comes next.”

Billy winked, his excitement infectious. “Exactly, Wendy. And after the ceremony, let’s party! Who’s in for a night of rock ‘n’ roll and getting wasted?

“Count me in,” Markus said, grinning. “I’ll bring the tunes, if you bring the brewskies.”

“I’m definitely up for it,” Peter added. “Can’t say if I’ve ever joined you knuckleheads in one of your lame-brained parties before.”

“I’m there,” Nicky agreed. “There’s gotta be lyrics to a song in this somewhere.”

Wendy smiled at her alphabetized counterparts, whom she never realized were her friends…“Alright then, it’s a plan. Let’s do this, guys. Ready to graduate?”

“Ready!” They shouted, as they slung their arms around each other’s shoulders. After their caps had been tossed in the air, the ceremony ended with The Long and Winding Road by the Beatles. Their journey from Grade One to this moment had been filled with loneliness, comraderie, angst, and rebellion, and at that moment they felt like they were on the stairway to heaven hoping for a new day to dawn while they wind on down the road.

From 1965 to 1978, Markus, Peter, Billy, Nicky, and Wendy had found a bridge between twelve years of unlikely friendships and a future full of promise, like an open book ready for its next rock anthem.