“I remember,” I said as I forced another smile. “But I wasn’t talking about anyone. I was just making it up. We do that sometimes for the show.”
The guys had told me to tell my classmates that I had lied if I got too uncomfortable with their questions after our segment, but I somehow felt like I was betraying the integrity of the show.
“You guys make stuff up? Nuh-uh. Really?” Her head tilted to the side, and she looked genuinely confused.
“Only sometimes,” I said, trying to convince her. I didn’t want her to think what she listened to each morning was completely made up or fake, although most people would never believe how much of it was actually scripted and how many calls were planned. That was my secret to keep.
“So you didn’t have a crush on anyone?” She frowned, seeming almost sad as she stuck out her bottom lip.
“Sorry.”
“Darn. I was really curious about that!”
Getting Jenna to jump to a new topic was as easy as introducing one to her. Thank God Kristy asked her what she did for work, which launched Jenna into disclosing the fact that she was a hair stylist and that she would love to do our hair—not that we needed it, of course—but if we ever wanted. When two new couples joined our table, the conversation started again. Introductions were made, catching up was easy, and we all started sharing memories.
That was the thing about high school and the people from it—being around them was usually pleasant and comfortable. Whenever I was in social settings, usually for work, I was guarded. The people I met were strangers, people I knew nothing about and who knew nothing about me. They knew only what I chose to tell them and vice versa.
But if I ever ran into anyone from high school, it was a completely different story. My walls immediately came crashing down, and a blanket of comfort and familiarity enveloped me as I opened up. Even if I didn’t really associate with the person during those high school years, it didn’t matter. I still felt like we knew things about each other that others didn’t, that we were connected in some way by this invisible cord of memories. It wasn’t logical, but it was how I tended to feel.
Maybe it was because I didn’t have to pretend like I was perfect, or that my life had always been filled with sunshine and rainbows. Anyone who went to school with me knew the truth, whether I wanted them to or not. They had all watched me fall apart my junior year, a year that ripped apart my stable world and replaced it with something unbalanced, like the way a top starts to teeter violently to each side before it falls down completely. That had been me. I had been a top, waiting to fall. But Dalton came along and caught me.
I found my gaze pulled to the entrance each time someone new walked through it, even as those newcomers became fewer and further between with each passing minute. Dalton still hadn’t arrived, as far as I could tell. Maybe he really wasn’t coming.
Servers in black suits began to make their way through the room, delivering food to each table, and my focus was momentarily diverted from the door to my plate. I was starved.
“This salad is so good. I know it’s just salad, but my God.” Kristy moaned as she bit into another forkful.
I took a small bite and stifled my own moan of satisfaction. “It’s the dressing. Holy shit, it’s amazing.”
Before long, family-style dishes of various pastas were added to the table, and we all dug in like we hadn’t eaten in weeks. Maybe some of us hadn’t.
“Remember the night of the senior dinner?” Jenna said open-mouthed as she chewed and my heart stopped beating, fell out of my chest, and rolled onto the floor until it crashed into a balloon.
“What about it?” Kristy eyed me as she tried to act nonchalant. She was the only other person on earth who knew how much that night changed everything for me.
“This food reminds me of it, that’s all,” Jenna said before forking another bite of pasta into her mouth as my mind raced backward to that night . . .
• • •
Senior dinner had been a tradition at our school for as long as anyone could remember. Each year on this night, the seniors were served a three-course dinner by parents who volunteered. Really, how was this different from any other night—our own mothers feeding us dinner? How original.
After dinner, the lights were dimmed and a slideshow clicked on, flipping through pictures of the seniors as it moved through each captured moment in perfectly timed precision. There were photos of pep rallies, class games on the quad, groups of friends smiling, senior night, Football for Seniors, etc.
I’d been staring up at the photos as Kristy’s voice broke through. “The eagle has landed,” she’d whispered to me.
I turned to look at her. “The eagle has . . . what?”
“The eagle has landed. I’m going to say that every time Dalton looks at you,” she said seriously in a low voice.
“He’s looking at me?” I sat up straighter and fought the urge to search him out.
“He’s been looking at you all night.”
I nudged her shoulder. “Well, that’s weird, right?”
She nodded. “Kinda.”
“Why do you think he’s looking at me?” I whispered, feeling that familiar tingling in my spine.
“’Cause he wants to have hot monkey sex with you, duh.” She smiled before elbowing me. “I don’t know. Maybe he actually likes you.”
“You think?” The possibility made my heart do somersaults in my chest, even if I didn’t truly believe her.