He looked at me, calmly, with a steadiness that seemed far older than his eighteen years.

“Mom, I have to.” “They’ll be cruel to you,” I said.

“I know.” “Your classmates will film it.

People will post it everywhere, Julian.

It will follow you.” “I know.” I reached across the table and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly, as though I could physically hold him back from what he was about to walk into.

“Then why?” I asked him.

“Why put yourself through all of that?” And Julian lowered his eyes to the red fabric lying between us, and was quiet for a moment, and then he said, softly, “Because I made a promise.” I wanted to ask him to forget the promise.