Page 55 of Gin and Bear It

Ash drives my small SUV to the open field where the drive-in is being set up. Usually this is where the annual Jepsen festival and one-off events are held. This time, there’s a booth selling tickets and people to guide us into the right spot.

“I think that’s him,” Ash says, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Two rows back.”

“Can he even see us?” I glance in the rearview mirror, too, and try to casually look behind us. I doubt I’m subtle.

“Probably not, but others can. And he can casually ask about us like he did at Sarah Jane’s.” Ash glances around, then gets out.

He opens my door and helps me out of the car, then takes my hand. The organizer set up a concession stand on the opposite end of the entrance, and we take our time getting there. As with any Jepsen event, I recognize people and say hi. A few people seem to notice Ash and nod in his direction, too.

“Do people actually leave Jepsen?” Ash asks under his breath. “I feel like a quarter of my high school class is here.”

“People do, and they come back.” I shrug. “It’s not perfect, but it’s nice.”

“Yeah, far from perfect.” His eyes follow a couple passing in front of the car. “That guy right there? He told me he wanted to bang my mom unironically, so I dunked his head in a toilet.”

I crane my neck to see the man’s face. “I’m pretty sure he sold me my car.”

“And that woman over there accused me of lacing the shitty weed I sold with LSD when in reality she just ate a bad burger from that old sketchy diner and had to go to the hospital,” he says, nodding toward someone else.

“Wow.” I try to place her in my memory. “I think she teaches with Jeremiah.”

“Fucking hell, she’s responsible for shaping the minds of tomorrow?” Ash raises an eyebrow.

“Surely she’s grown since high school. Everyone has, at least a little.” I laugh, but he shrugs. “What, you don’t believe me?”

He pauses. “It’s just hard reconciling two versions of people. The old version tends to stick if you haven’t really spoken to someone in a while.”

“Oh, like with me?” I say, half teasing but half serious. Even though he apologized, I still can’t get over the fact that he didn’t recognize me. Looking back at the pics from that night, I looked hot, but I think I look pretty good every other day, too.

“Right,” he replies, but with all seriousness. “Not that you weren’t pretty back in high school, but now you’re…”

He trails off as he gestures vaguely to me, and if I’m not imagining it, his cheeks have a tinge of pink to them. The contrast between his usual don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and the blushing has me flustered on top of his admission.

I don’t think I was ugly or anything back in high school, but my fashion was tragic, my skin wasn’t great, and I covered up my body as much as I could I wasn’t exactly getting all the guys.

But that one night, on homecoming, I actually dressed up. We talked like friends for the first time about how terrible the football team was, and why he was even there. And somehow that turned into my first kiss.

The memory makes me cringe less now that he’s apologized.

“Anyway, Jepsen’s kind of frozen in time for me,” he continues.

“Even though you come back for holidays?”

“Yeah. I usually just go straight to my parents’ house or to Nana’s and get out as soon as I can.” He shrugs. “I like wandering around on hiking paths rather than go into town.”

“You’ve never wanted to explore it more?” I ask. “Jepsen’s changed a lot.”

“I know that now. But not really.” He drums his fingers on his leg. “I never liked it growing up. It never felt like I fit.”

I absorb his words. I can see that. Back in high school, part of my crush on him was because he stood out. He wore mostly black, experimented with his hair, and was into music that no one else listened to. He was always writing in a notebook and getting into trouble for cutting class or talking back.

Typical teenage asshole stuff in retrospect, but being a small town, he and his few friends were rare. And my dorky ass was drawn to that, even though I would never, ever get away with that kind of attitude. The rules were—and still are—very different for us.

Thankfully he kept a lot of the look but cut the worst parts of the attitude.

“I noticed you never fit in,” I say. “No offense.”

“None taken at all.” He snorts. “I was a dick back then.”