Shadows at the Graduation Party: A Story of Estrangement and Hope

“Anna, please, just come with me. I can’t do this alone,” Kasia’s voice cracked as she stood in my doorway, her hands twisted in the hem of her hoodie.

I stared out the window, watching the spring rain blur the world outside. “I told you, Kasia. I don’t want to go. There’s no one there for me, and I really need to study.”

Kasia dropped her backpack with a thud, frustration lighting her face. “You always say that. It’s just one night. Everyone will be there, and I don’t want to look pathetic wandering around by myself.”

I flinched at her words. My chest was already tight from the pressure of exams, but now it felt like there was a stone lodged in my throat. “Ask Ola or Maja. I’m not in the mood to play social butterfly tonight.”

Kasia’s eyes narrowed. “Maja’s studying. Ola won’t go anywhere without her boyfriend. And you know that. But you… you never want to do anything anymore. You’re not even trying.”

I turned away, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. “You think I want to feel like this?”

My mom called up the stairs, her voice brittle, “Anna, dinner’s ready! You two coming down?”

Kasia sighed and grabbed her bag. “Whatever. I’ll just go alone. I hope you’re happy.”

She slammed the door behind her, echoing the sound I’d heard too many times from my parents’ room this year. I sank back onto my bed, letting the silence fill the space Kasia had left behind. My phone buzzed with group chat notifications—memes, photos of graduation gowns, someone joking about spiking the punch at the party tonight. I put it face down, heart pounding with a familiar mix of FOMO and dread.

Later, at dinner, the tension in our kitchen was thick enough to cut. Mom was trying too hard, asking about graduation, about my plans for college, about whether I’d heard from Dad. I kept my answers short, pushing pasta around my plate. Dad hadn’t called in weeks, not since the fight where I yelled at him for missing my debate final. Not since he left, really.

Mom’s smile was tight, and I could see the worry in her eyes. “You know, you could go to the party. It might be good for you.”

I almost said, ‘It might be good for you if I wasn’t here, so you and Dad could figure things out.’ But I swallowed the words, just like always.

After dinner, I sat at my desk, textbooks open but unread. My mind kept drifting to Kasia, picturing her at the party, alone, maybe standing with a red plastic cup, trying to look like she belonged. I hated myself for not going. I hated her for making me feel guilty. Mostly, I hated how complicated everything had become—friends, family, all of it. I was supposed to be excited about graduation, about the future, but all I felt was numbness and fear.

Around ten, my phone rang. It was Kasia. I almost let it go to voicemail, but something in me picked up.

Her voice was thick, like she’d been crying. “Anna, can you come get me? Please. I don’t want to call my mom.”

I was out the door before I even realized I’d grabbed my keys. The drive to Tyler’s house—the party—was short but felt endless. Rain hammered my windshield. My hands were shaking. When I pulled up, I saw Kasia sitting on the curb, mascara streaked down her cheeks, hugging her knees.

I sat beside her, letting the rain soak through my hoodie. For a while, we just sat in silence, listening to the muffled thump of music from inside.

She spoke first, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought if I went, maybe things would feel normal. But I just felt… invisible. Like no one saw me at all.”

I stared at the wet pavement, voice trembling. “I know. I feel that way even when I’m home.”

Kasia leaned her head on my shoulder. “Why is it so hard now? We used to be inseparable.”

I wanted to say it was Dad leaving, or the stress of college applications, or the way everyone seemed to be changing except me. But the truth was, I didn’t know.

Instead, I whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t come with you.”

She squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to.”

We drove home in silence, the kind that isn’t awkward, just heavy with everything that hasn’t been said. When I walked through the door, Mom was waiting up. She looked at me, at Kasia, at our soaked clothes and swollen eyes. She didn’t say anything, just hugged us both so tight I could barely breathe.

That night, lying in bed, I thought about how everyone always talks about fresh starts at graduation—new chapters, new lives, new friends. No one ever talks about what you lose. About the people you leave behind, even when you’re still in the same room with them.

I wonder if anyone else feels this lost. Or is it just me, standing at the edge of everything, not sure which way to go?