“You’ve read that invitation every day.”
“I want to know whether I could go.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
I placed it facedown.
“They’ll stare. They’ll ask how much weight I lost. People who never spoke to me will act like they were always kind.”
“Probably.”
His honesty surprised me.
“You’re supposed to tell me I’m imagining things.”
“You’re not. Some people will behave badly.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“But you are not seventeen anymore.”
I looked at the invitation.
“I don’t want my whole life reduced to a before-and-after story.”
“Then don’t let them tell it that way.”
On reunion night, I wore a green dress and stood in the hotel parking lot for nearly ten minutes.
Through the entrance, I could see people hugging, laughing, and pointing at old photographs displayed near the ballroom.
My chest tightened.
Rowan did not tell me to be brave.
He simply waited.
Finally, I opened the car door.
The woman at the registration table found my name on the list.
“Nadine Keller?”
“Yes.”
She looked up and blinked twice.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”
“I expected that.”
Inside, the ballroom looked nothing like our old school. Warm lights hung from the ceiling, and white tablecloths covered the tables.
Still, the moment I heard a group laughing behind me, I felt seventeen again.
The first hour was tiring.
Several people told me I looked amazing.
One woman touched my arm and asked how much weight I had lost before she asked where I lived.
A former football player said, “You must feel like a completely different person.”
“I’m not,” I replied.
He looked confused.
Later, a woman named Cora asked whether I had undergone surgery.
“No.”
“What diet did you use?”
“I worked with doctors and changed my habits over several years.”
“But what was the secret?”
“There wasn’t one.”
She seemed disappointed.
When she asked another question about calories, I smiled.
“I also got promoted twice and learned to repair old furniture. We could talk about one of those things.”
Rowan nearly choked on his drink.
After that, people became more careful.
I began to relax.
I spoke to a former classmate who remembered that I had once helped him pass chemistry. Another admitted she had always liked my drawings but had been too shy to say so.
Not every memory was painful.
For the first time, I realized high school had not belonged only to Tessa.
Then I saw her near the ballroom doors.
Tessa Monroe still had the same bright smile, though her blond hair was shorter now. She wore a red dress and stood with several women from our old class.
I considered avoiding her.
Instead, I walked toward the restroom.
A few minutes later, Tessa entered behind me.
She stood at the mirror and began fixing an earring. We were alone.
She glanced at me through the reflection.
“I love your dress,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Are you someone’s guest?”
“No. I graduated with you.”
She smiled politely.
“I’m Tessa.”
“I remember.”
She laughed.
“Of course. Everyone remembers the prom queen, right?”
I did not answer.
Tessa continued adjusting her earring.
“Tonight is strange. I keep seeing people I almost recognize.”
“Ten years can change a person.”
“Not completely.”
She picked up her lipstick.
“People like to believe they become someone new, but I think we carry our old selves everywhere.”
I met her eyes in the mirror.
“Sometimes we carry what other people did to us too.”
Her hand paused.
Then she noticed the name tag pinned to my dress.
NADINE KELLER.
The earring slipped from her fingers and landed in the sink.
She stared at my name, then at my face.
“Nadine?”
“Yes.”
The color disappeared from her cheeks.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Tessa backed away.
She hurried into the nearest stall, closed the door, and locked it.
I heard her trying to control her breathing.
Then she began to cry.
Ten years earlier, Tessa’s laughter had sent me into restroom stalls.
Now I stood outside one while she cried behind the door.
“Nadine,” she whispered. “Please leave.”
“I was about to.”
“Wait.”
I remained beside the sink.
The lock clicked a moment later.
Tessa stepped out with mascara beneath her eyes.
“My daughter is being bullied,” she said.
I had expected excuses.
That was not one of them.
“She’s ten. Her name is Hallie.”
Tessa gripped the counter.
“Last year, she developed a thyroid condition. She gained weight quickly, and some girls in her class started making comments.”
I watched her face.
“A few days ago, someone edited a photograph of her and sent it to other students. Yesterday, I found her school picture in the trash.”
Tessa’s voice broke.
“She had cut herself out of it.”
For a moment, I remembered standing behind two boys in our senior class photograph, making myself as small as possible.
“What did you tell her?” I asked.
“I told her those girls were jealous.”
“Were you jealous of me?”
Tessa lowered her eyes.
“No.”
“Then don’t lie to Hallie about why people are cruel.”
She wiped her face.
“She asked if I had ever treated anyone that way.”
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
The answer sat heavily between us.
“You want me to forgive you so you can go home and feel honest without actually being honest.”
“No.”
“Then tell your daughter the truth.”
Tessa shook her head.
“She already feels terrible. How will it help her to know her mother was like those girls?”
“It may not help immediately.”
“Then why?”
“Because she asked you a question, and you protected yourself instead of answering her.”
Tessa looked toward the door.
“I never understood how badly I hurt you.”
“You understood enough to wait until people were watching.”
She flinched.
“I was a teenager.”
“So was I.”
“I am sorry.”
“I believe you feel sorry now.”
“That isn’t enough?”
“It doesn’t change what happened.”
Tessa began crying again.
“I want Hallie to speak with someone who understands.”
“First, tell her who you were.”
“And then?”
“If she still wants to meet me, let her decide.”
I left the restroom and found Rowan near our table.
“Do you want to go home?” he asked.
I almost said yes.
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