Chapter 22

On the night of the reunion, I looked at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the man staring back.

Was this really me? The tailored navy suit hugged my frame in all the right places, and the tie—Rachel’s gift—somehow brought out the color in my eyes. I ran my tongue across my bottom lip and checked my watch for what felt like the hundredth time. My foot tapped against the hardwood floor like it had a mind of its own.

Then I heard her voice.

“Pete, you look so handsome.”

I turned and forgot how to breathe.

Rachel stood in the doorway wearing a floor-length, pale blue gown covered in a cascade of sequins that shimmered with every movement. Her auburn waves fell over her shoulders like something out of a dream.

“Wow,” I managed, completely winded.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes roaming over me. I held out my arm, and she linked hers with mine. It amazed me how easy it felt to walk beside her, as if we’d done this forever.

The school was exactly how I remembered it, but stepping through those front doors felt like trespassing on old ghosts. I’d worked outside these walls for years without ever setting foot back inside.

The halls smelled faintly of floor polish and disinfectant. Rows of metal lockers lined the walls, and trophy cases showed off forgotten victories. Rachel squeezed my hand, as we made our way to the gym.

Facing my old demons at a school reunion wasn’t easy. My brain was spinning, running through every worst-case scenario on a loop. What if I froze? What if Bradley made a scene? What if people made Rachel feel uncomfortable?

Rachel’s hand squeezed mine gently, as we approached the gym.

Outside the gym doors, clusters of people stood around, nursing plastic cups of punch and summoning the courage to go in. I didn’t recognize anyone yet, but they all turned to stare at me, and more pointedly, at the woman on my arm.

When we stepped into the gym, it was like entering another world.

Twinkle lights and silver streamers crisscrossed the ceiling. Balloons in school colors clustered at the corners of the dance floor. A DJ booth was set up near the old scoreboard, and a banner read—Middletown High School All-Class Reunion!

A disco ball spun lazy circles of light over the polished floor.

Rachel and I stepped in just as the DJ transitioned into a nostalgic early nineties hit. Heads turned. A few mouths hung open.

The bass from the speakers vibrated through the polished wood floor, and colored lights swept across the crowd in slow arcs.

It took a moment to adjust to the crowd. A few old classmates had flown in for the occasion, some going bald, others proudly sporting dad bods. A few wallflowers sat at tables nursing drinks, while their spouses made conversation.