OLD FRIENDS

CHAPTER TWO

There are moments in every girl's life she'll never forget. Those moments somehow define her, even if only for a brief time, but the feeling sticks with her forever. The jitters from her first date. The butterflies in her stomach after her first kiss. The lingering disappointment of not being asked to prom...by anyone. Starting her period unexpectedly when she's completely unprepared for it. And every other humiliating memory from the hell on earth we call high school.

Then, along comes the reunion and an entirely new level of humiliation with it.

I ignored the first reunion invitation because five years of not seeing the "cruel kids," not cool kids, was not nearly long enough. Emmie forced me to RSVP to our ten-year reunion despite my bitter argument against it. It'll be fun, she said. You'll enjoy it, she promised. Nothing will go wrong, she lied.

Here I stand, my mouth gaping open but no words will come out. My eyes are as big as saucers taking in the orange stain all down the front of Chet's white button down shirt. The horrified expression on my face is mirrored on everyone's face around us. So many versions of apologies fly through my mind, but I can't force a single one of them out.

He's looking down at his wet shirt, but he can't hide the anger that mars his features. When his eyes fly up to meet mine, he scrunches his face up, ready to hurl insults and offensive epithets at me.

"What the fuc—" He suddenly stops and stares at me, trying to decide if he knows me. I pull my left shoulder back toward the crowded bar to hide my nametag from him. His eyes drop lower, and his expression morphs into appreciation and desire as his gaze travels down my body.

"I'm so sorry. I'd just glanced over my shoulder, and no one was behind me a second ago." I finally manage to speak and defend myself before he can tear into me in front of everyone.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "No harm done, sweetheart. Good thing I stopped by the dry cleaners before the reunion, so I just happen to have another shirt in the car. If you don't mind giving me a minute, I'll change then get you another drink. Screwdriver, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but that isn't necessary. I'll grab another drink and get out of the way. With any luck, you won't have to change shirts again anytime soon." Without hesitating, I turn back to the bartender and order another drink.

"Don't run off. I'd love to talk to you more when I get back." Chet's voice in my ear sends shivers down my spine, but not in a good way.

He has no clue who I am.

I nod in reply without turning to look at him. I'm not running off, but I have no intention of spending another second with him. With my second drink in hand, I check behind me before turning then make a beeline to join Emmie and Dana.

Before I'm even in my seat, Emmie gives me a slow clap and throws her head back in laughter. Dana joins in, loving every second of my miserable encounter. "Tell me you did that on purpose, even if you have to lie to me. I really need to hear you say it."

"Oh, my God. No, I didn't do it on purpose. I had no idea he was behind me. Em, he didn't even recognize me. I thought for a minute he would, but he didn't. He just hit on me."

"This is too perfect." Emmie bounces in her seat, giddiness replacing her usual self-control. She reaches across the table and rips my name tag off my dress. "Let's not help him figure it out too soon. You can pretend you're interested, flirt with him, really play it up. Then hit him hard when he's ready to take you home with him for the night."

"You've lost your mind. I'm not doing any of that—I'm staying as far away from him as possible." I lean toward Emmie, stressing my point with both the inflection in my voice and the dare-me glare in my eyes when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Emmie's smile becomes predatory, and I instantly know who it is. "This can't be happening," I mutter under my breath.

"I have a couple of extra clean shirts in my car, in case you want to pour another drink on me." Chet thinks he's so charming, but I know him much better than he realizes.

"One should be plenty for tonight." My stiff smile is meant to deter him, but no such luck for me.

He pulls out the fourth chair and joins us without waiting for an invitation. One that he never would've received. "I thought I knew everyone at Ridgeview High, but I don't know you. As beautiful as you are, I'd certainly remember you."

"She's here with me," Emma pipes in.

"Emma Andrews, I didn't expect to see you here." Chet leans back in his chair, assessing her with his eyes slightly squinted. "How have you been?"

"Never better." I recognized the sparkle in Emma's eyes, but Chet quickly lost interest and turned his attention back to me.

"I have to admit I'm delighted you're not here with some other guy." Chet pours on the charm and tops it off with his best smile. "Gives me hope I may have a chance after all. Where are my manners? My name is Chet Richards. And you are?"

Enter my predicament...

He asked me a straight-forward question, expecting to hear my name as a reply. Once I tell him, I have no doubt he will remember me. There's no way he couldn't. From sixth through twelfth grades, he tormented me daily. He humiliated me in front of all the lost sheep who followed him around as if he were the messiah in flawed human form. Any small amount of attention he deigned to give them was lapped up as quickly as a dog devours a steak.

He harassed me every single day simply because I was overweight.

The more he bullied me, the worse my depression became. The more my depression deepened, the more weight I gained. I was stuck in a vicious cycle for years, dreading school because of a handful of stupid kids who got their rocks off by embarrassing me. He was the ring leader—always the one leading the charge.

In the ten years since graduation, I've changed everything about my life. I moved away from this one-horse Southern town where everyone thinks they know everything about every other person. But in reality, they don't know shit and never have. With this town in my rearview mirror, I worked hard not only to earn my degree but also to whip my body into shape for peak performance. My goal became to help others who'd faced similar hardships, and that goal drove me harder than anything I'd ever felt.

Still, the thought of facing this demon head-on made me nauseous. For days, I thought of nothing more than not showing up at all. Now that I'm sitting beside him, I have a choice to make.

To tell, or not to tell? That is the decision I have to make. I want to lie, I really do. That's the easiest way to avoid the awkwardness that is sure to follow. Scenarios play out in my mind at the speed of light. At some point, the truth will come out, and I'll have no reasonable explanation for lying. But my deciding factor is when the faces of all those I've helped flash before me. All the times I've impressed upon them to have courage, to hold their heads high, and to face those who would belittle them with unwavering directness taunt me.

I can't lie. For the sake of all those I've counseled, I have to face him as myself.

"I know who you are, Chet. I'm surprised you don't know me. I'm Belle Johnson. What? You don't recognize me?"