“I am not hungry,” Derek said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Derek. This is your graduation dinner.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, a long, continuous vibration.

I pulled it out again.

It was a text from Sam, my co-founder, with a photo of the team at the local dive bar down the street.

They were holding up a cheap plastic trophy with “Solar Reach” written on it in black marker.

“We are waiting for you, boss,” the message read.

I looked from the screen to my mother, whose face was set in a hard, expectant mask.

“I have somewhere else to be,” I said.

“Sarah, please,” Father muttered. “Just this once, let us have a normal family meal.”

“We have never had a normal family meal, Dad,” I said.

I adjusted the strap of my shoulder bag, turning my body toward the path that led away from the main quad.

“Sarah,” Mother called out, her voice sharp enough to make a passing student turn and look.

I stopped, but I did not turn back to face her completely.