I feel cold all over. My teeth practically chatter. My hands shake and the program shivers. There, in the centerfold, is the drawing. 

          Jieun's drawing.

          It isn't wrinkled like the one I pried from Seulgi's fingers. It's color-copied or was printed using a laser printer. And stapled into the program.

          It has a caption now. I Love You, Man.

          And Kyungsoo's voice echoes it as he finishesthe last part of his speech.

          Real funny, Minho. Way to scare the bejesus out of me. Put a copy of your sister's drawing in a program and then hand it to me.

          I look at him.

          And when I do, he snorts half a laugh.

          I look at Kyungsoo onstage. His smile is firmly in place, lacking the zap that stops my heart.

          But my very next thought does that trick. The temperature in the auditorium drops another ten degrees as I imagine a copy of the drawing in every program.

          I lean forward, peer around my next-door neighbor, past Lee Jinah's empty seat next to her, and down the row of students. No one looks back at me. I look the other way, around the black mass of Minho's robe, but Jieun doesn't look at me either. Her eyes are squeezed shut as if she's trying to turn off the flow of tears. I look over my shoulder and catch NamJoo's eye. She makes a face that seems to say, I'm sorry.

          So I look.

          And sure enough, there's one stapled in my crunched-up program.

          And one in my neighbor's.

          Oh. God.

          Oh. God. No.

          I look up at the rows of people surrounding us and begin to feel like an exhibit at a zoo. I feel the sting of tears forming behind my eyes. I blink and find Kyungsoo's face behind the podium. His smile is more relaxed, more real. He obviously hasn't seen his program. Yet.

          He's wrapping up, "Seniors!" he shouts. "We're outta here! Hasta luego!"

          Chanyeol is the first to jump up, clapping. And then everyone around me joins in. While everyone is cheering, whistling, and whopping, I stay seated, my face buried in my hands. Silently, I chant my new mantra to their impromptu rhythm. Oh. God. No. Oh. God. No.

          The stadium goes quiet, and an unfamiliar voice is amplified over us.

          "Good afternoon, everyone!" it says. "I'm Lee Jinah."

          Part of me wants to look up, verify that it is her--since I've never heard her say more than "I'm sorry" and "Excuse me." But my own personal hell seems better suited to the dark, even if it's just the palms of my hands. Oh. God. No. Oh. God. No.Because there's no place to hide. No desk or table to hide. No desk or table to crawl under. No stuffy closet. No tomorrow. 

          "As you can imagine," Jinah says, "I've spent the last who-knows-how-many nights reading commencement speeches and trying to figure out what to say. This speech is supposed to be about looking forward to our future, but all I've been thinking about for the last three years is our past."

        All I can think about is how "I'm sorry" and "Excuse me" are the only words to say to Kyungsoo. I'm sorry I screwed up your life. Excuse me, I didn't mean to make you the focus of the worst prank in the history. I know this wouldn't have happened to you if it weren't for me. I'm sorry. Excuse me, I'll be leaving now. I'll get out of your life. So I won't ruin it further. Not with my stupid, babbling mouth. Not with the way I look at you. Not with my totally-out-of-bounds friend crush on you. Not with our portrait in your graduation program. I'm sorry.
        I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

        "Our school experiences were all different. Some of us saw our high school years from the stage, others from the orchestra pit, the basketball court, the field, the stands. Some of us watched it from the back of the classrom or from behind a book...."

          From the closet? I wonder, my fac