She laughed, the sound a little shaky. “Yes, it does. It fucking sucks.” Her chest rose and fell as she drew in a deep breath. “But you know what? We’re not going to talk about that anymore. We’re here to remember the good times and catch up with old friends. You know the theme is Glory Days, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I saw that. I don’t look back on high school as the best days of my life, though. I didn’t even want to come this weekend. I just—” I wasn’t going to share my mission of cornering Jared Brady with anyone since I didn’t want to tip my hand. “I just decided at the last minute that I might as well.”
“I’m glad you did, Nash. Really glad.” Sheri took my hand in both of hers. “I know why high school wasn’t fun for you. If I had any part in making you miserable, I want to say that I’m sorry.” She managed a tremulous smile. “I’ve had a lot of time for self-reflection, you know, and I regret many things I did or didn’t do.”
“You never did anything to me.” It was the truth even though I would have assured her regardless. “We just didn’t move in the same circles.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She dropped my hand and clasped hers beneath her chin. “Maybe we didn’t know each other so well. And maybe that’s why it’s easier to talk to you now.” She darted a glance up at me. “I’m standing here right now because I’m scared to go out there. When I got my last test results back and realized that I don’t have very long left, I did something kind of impulsive. I wrote to all of my old friends who I haven’t seen since high school, and I played the dying woman card to beg them to come to the reunion this weekend. I didn’t stop and think how much I really don’t want to see anyone else but those girls, you know? I’m going to walk into the lobby and all of our classmates are going to see me—not the old fun Sheri who made people laugh and was always up for a good time, but the broken, dying Sheri.”
“Hey.” I reached for her hand. “Listen. Anyone who sees you as anything but brave—and –and wonderful is an idiot.” I paused. “Like I said, I don’t exactly want to be here, either, and I’m dreading seeing everyone. So let’s walk out together, okay? We can help each other to be brave.”
“Okay. Thanks, Nash.” Sheri squared her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
We held hands as we slowly meandered into the lobby teaming with people. But we’d barely moved into the crowd before someone hurried over, wrapping Sheri in a hug.
“Oh, my God. Sheri!” This woman I did remember. Emmy Carter’s red hair was still as bright as it had been thirty-five years ago, even if I did spy a few streaks of silver. She held on tight to Sheri, tears leaking from her closed eyes.
“Emmy.” Sheri pulled back and shook a finger at her friend. “None of that. This weekend isn’t about being sad, so don’t you start, you hear?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry.” Emmy swiped at her face and spared me a glance. “Oh . . . um, Nash, right? Hi, I don’t know if you remember me?—”
“Emmy.” I held out a hand to shake hers. “Good to see you again.”
Emmy’s brow crinkled. “Um, I don’t mean to pry, but are you two—” She pointed at Sheri and then at me.
“No,” Sheri chuckled. “We just ran into each other on the way to check in. I haven’t seen Nash since the day we graduated.”
I nodded. “Yep. But it was good to catch up a little.” I shot Sheri an inquiring eyebrow lift.
“Yeah, I’m fine now. Seeing Emmy makes me feel much better.” Sheri hesitated. “What about you?”
“Oh, I’ll be great. I’m just going to check in and then maybe wander over to the bar.”
“Okay. Well—good luck. I’ll see you around this weekend.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “And thanks, Nash.”
I squeezed her shoulder, easing away as I heard her ask Emmy, “Are the rest of the girls here yet? Have you seen Delilah or?—”
The last name was lost to the noise surrounding us, but I had to wonder if Sheri had sent what she had termed herdying womanrequest to any of her other friends. And if she had, wouldshebe here after all?
Pushing away that thought, I focused on finding the line to the check-in table. All around me, people were greeting each other with squeals and hugs, and that old familiar bitterness rose in my throat. The pain of being left out and ignored—feelings I was certain I’d gotten over decades before—roared back to life with a vengeance.
Once I finally reached the table, I recognized Amy Leonard, one of the committee members, sitting in front of me with an opened laptop. She gazed at me without recognition before consulting the list on her screen.
“Name under which you registered?” she chirped.
“Nash Sampson.” I waited, wondering if that might jog her memory.
“Uh-huh. And are you the guest of a classmate?”
“No, Amy.” I couldn’t keep the aggravation out of my voice. “I went to school with you from kindergarten through twelfth grade. In middle school, I helped you pass social studies.”
Amy frowned. “I don’t think I ever . . .” And then a knowing expression filtered over her face. “Ohmigod, Nash the nerd? Is thatyou?”
Thirty-five years. Thirty-five years since I’d been called that, and yet the anger didn’t burn any less now.
“Can you just give me my name tag and shit, please?” I thrust out my hand.
“Ooooh, touchy, touchy,” she chided. “Hold on. I gotta grab your Fun Packet.”
