Chapter Eighteen – A Day We Remember
It started with a sign-up sheet taped to the drama room door.
UNITY WEEK FINALE – CELEBRATION & OPEN STAGE
Read. Sing. Speak. Stand.
Kira never planned to perform.
She didn't perform.
She created — alone, protected, behind a page.
But Mina?
Mina walked up to that list during lunch and added her name in black ink.
No hesitation.
Just her full name: Mina Park – Spoken Word.
Kira's breath caught.
She knew what that meant.
The auditorium buzzed with something different that Friday afternoon.
Not boredom.
Not chaos.
Anticipation.
The folding chairs were mostly filled — students, a few teachers, even some parents trickling in with polite, unsure smiles.
Kira sat near the side wall, third row from the back. Her sketchbook rested closed across her lap.
She didn't bring pencils.
She didn't need armor today.
She just waited.
Mina took the stage second to last.
Someone had already sung a cover of Billie Eilish.
Someone else read a letter to their brother.
A girl cried mid-sentence and everyone clapped anyway.
But when Mina stepped into the spotlight, the room changed.
She wore a white button-up tucked into black jeans, sleeves rolled. No makeup. Hair back.
Simple.
Undeniably herself.
She stood still, paper in her hands — but didn't look down once.
She looked at them.
Then she began.
"This is not for your comfort," she said, voice steady.
"This is not cute or rebellious or convenient."
"This is for the girl in the back of the class who doesn't raise her hand anymore because someone made her feel too much and not enough all at once."
"This is for the kid who still prays every night but not for heaven — for safety."
"This is for my mother, who told me silence would protect me."
"It didn't."
"This is for the hallway stares, the bathroom whispers, the second glances."
"This is for the one who holds my hand like it's a truth we both survived."
"And this—" she said, her voice breaking slightly, "is for the ones who are still hiding."
"We see you."
"You are not invisible."
"You are not alone."
By the time she stepped offstage, the applause was louder than polite.
It wasn't everyone.
But it was enough.
And for the first time in months, Mina looked like she believed it.
When she stepped offstage, her eyes searched the crowd.
Landed on Kira.
And stayed.
Afterward, in the hallway outside the auditorium, students clustered into post-performance huddles — praising, whispering, recapping, crying quietly in corners.
Kira waited by the water fountain.
People passed. Some nodded.
One boy said, "That was… wow," without specifying what.
Then Mina appeared.
She didn't say anything at first.
Just stepped into the space beside Kira like it had always been hers.
"You were amazing," Kira said.
"You were brave," Mina replied.
"I didn't go up there."
"You didn't need to," Mina said. "You stood the whole time. That was your stage too."
They stood together in the hallway as more students spilled out.
Some looked.
Some turned away.
But others came closer.
A girl from the art club with chipped black nail polish whispered, "Thank you."
A boy from algebra passed them a folded drawing — a sun cradled in two hands.
Even Ms. Rowe came out from the auditorium, her eyes glassy.
"I've been teaching for twenty years," she said, voice low. "And today might be my favorite."
Mina smiled. "Even better than your Shakespeare unit?"
Ms. Rowe laughed. "Especially better than that."
Then someone called out:
"Can I take a picture of you two?"
The crowd quieted.
Kira froze.
Not out of fear.
Out of knowing.
Because a picture… made it permanent.
Mina glanced at her.
Didn't pressure.
Just waited.
And Kira, heart thudding, gave a small nod.
Mina reached for her hand.
They stood close, fingers laced.
The flash went off.
Somewhere, laughter bloomed.
Somewhere else, it didn't matter.
The moment was caught.
And Kira didn't look away.
Later, they sat in the courtyard.
The sun was lower now — late afternoon gold dripping down the brick walls.
Mina took off her shoes. Her feet curled into the grass.
"I didn't think I'd make it to this day," she said.
"You did."
"We did," she corrected.
Kira leaned against her shoulder. "Do you regret any of it?"
Mina thought for a second.
"No. I think… I regret all the time I spent afraid of being real."
"Me too."
Mina turned to her. "But you've always been real. You just didn't know how loud it sounded."
Kira smiled.
"Maybe it sounded like a pencil on paper."
"Maybe it sounded like love."
As the sun began to dip behind the school, someone from the newspaper club approached again.
"We're doing a piece on visibility," he said awkwardly. "We'd like to include you."
Kira glanced at Mina.
"Do we need to give quotes?"
"Just a statement."
Kira thought about that.
Then opened her sketchbook.
She tore out a page — carefully, silently — and handed it over.
A drawing of two figures standing on a rooftop.
Hands almost touching.
Above them: stars.
Below them: a crowd.
She'd written only four words in the corner.
"We didn't disappear. We stayed."