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You’re out of the house now, said a voice like Grandma’s. Doing your best. That’s something.
I took some comfort in that and was rewarded with the picture-postcard sight of downtown Harmony. Garlands of Christmas lights were still strung along the Victorian-era buildings, their large facades fronting more than one shop. We passed a laundromat, the five-and-dime, Daisy’s Coffeehouse and a beauty parlor. The neon sign of Bill’s Hardware blared red beside the marquee of a one-screen movie theater. Snow had been shoveled into neat piles and a few people strolled along the sidewalks.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured.
“Yeah?” Angie craned over her dash as we waited for the town’s one and only light to change. “Yeah, I guess it is. Have you seen much of Harmony? I know it’s buried under snow but we’ve got some cool stuff here for being a speck on the map.”
“Like?”
“There’s a cool hedge maze just north of us.”
“A hedge maze?”
“It’s not tall or complicated enough to lose a tourist in, but at the center is a cozy little shack with a windmill. Purely decorative.”
Or romantic, whispered a thought.
“West of town, there’s a really cool cemetery that dates back to the Civil War. And we have an outdoor amphitheater where town events and festivals are held. If you need outlet stores or fast food, Braxton is ten minutes north. And if you need a real city, Indy’s twenty minutes beyond Braxton.”
She pulled her car to the curb, alongside a building with a sign reading The Scoop.
“Here’s your typical, John-Hughes-style, high school hangout,” Angie said, shutting off the engine. “Be warned: it’s a burgers, fries and ice cream place. In case you’re a salad-and-sprouts kind of gal. I am not, if that wasn’t readily apparent.” She slapped her rounded hip with a laugh.
I followed her inside the restaurant. It was bustling with what looked like George Mason students, plus a few families
with small children.
“Ah yes, I see the cliques—such as they are—have taken up their usual posts.” With her chin, Angie indicated various groups clustered around tables or crammed into booths.
“There’s my tribe,” Angie said. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited them.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, scrambling to recall the names of people Angie had introduced me to at lunch this afternoon. Her boyfriend, Nash Argawal—a sweet-faced guy of Indian descent. Caroline West, a petite brunette. And Jocelyn James, the towering blonde, captain of the basketball team.
“If I had to Mean Girls-classify us, we are the Greatest People You Will Ever Meet,” Angie said. “The quirky, diverse science geeks and persons of undeclared sexuality.” She leaned into me as we neared the booth. “We’re all straight on paper, but Caroline once kissed Jocelyn at a party and in the immortal words of Ms. Perry, they both liked it.”
I’d already classified Angie’s crew as effortlessly likeable and Nice with a capital N. The kind of people it’d be really damn easy to get close to. The kind whom if you told certain ugly secrets, they wouldn’t brand you a slut or ask you why on earth you sent a topless photo to an older guy. Or why you let that same guy into your bedroom. They’d even be horrified to find out you didn’t remember allowing him in, in the first place.
“Hey all, you remember Willow,” Angie said as she slid into the booth next to Nash. Caroline scooted closer to Jocelyn to make room for me. “I’m claiming her as ours before the cheerleaders grab her.” She looked at me uncertainly. “Unless you want to be a cheerleader?”
She nodded at a table where a bunch of pretty girls with long hair and sparkling lip gloss talked at each other over their phones. Guys in letterman jackets sat at the next table, their eyes on the game blaring from a TV in the corner.
“No, I’m not a cheerleader,” I said.
Not anymore.
In my old life, I’d not only been a cheerleader, but co-chair of the Junior Prom Committee, Class Treasurer and a member of the debate team. A whirlwind roster of activities that now all seemed like faded memories belonging to someone else.
“It’s okay if you are,” Angie said. “Our Plastics aren’t all that Plastic.”
“Everyone’s pretty nice, actually,” Jocelyn said, waving at a girl across the restaurant. “When you grow up with the same people since pre-school, it’s pretty hard to be bitchy.”
Nash smiled at me. “If you know the Homecoming Queen used to eat paste, she doesn’t exactly have a lot of leverage.”
“Still, they might try to steal you from us,” Angie said. “You’re so shiny and new.”
“Steal me from what?” I asked.
Angie exchanged glances with Nash. “I may have ulterior motives for calling the gang together. Motives that have nothing to do with Greek tragedy.”
