PART I
You are invited to
the Class of 2015 Reunion Party
at the Rose Palace *
Friday, October 24, 2025 at 7:30 p.m.
following the homecoming game
at the Aubergine High School field
Come cheer on Aubergine’s Fighting Farmers as they take on Mount Cedar’s Tigers!
* Hosted by Savilla Finch
ONE
Less than an hour before one of my former classmates dropped dead on the dance floor, I was counting down the minutes until I could leave my ten-year high school reunion.
Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” sounded through the speakers in the Primrose Ballroom at the Rose Palace as I took another sip of my carbonated water with lime. The singer wasn’t Swift though; it was Jemma Jenkins, in between off-off-Broadway productions. She’d been hired this evening as the lead for the live band at the Aubergine High School Reunion.
Former beauty pageant contestant Jemma Jenkins was impressive up there, belting out the decade-old song while my classmates danced and colorful lights flashed in time to the beat, transforming the stately ballroom into something that looked more like a school gym. I had the sense of worlds colliding: twenty-eight-year-old me merging with my eighteen-year-old self.
For the décor, my best friend Lacy had leaned into the rose motif of the estate as well as the Halloween season. A strange combo, but she’d delivered—and on a budget. I’d been surprised that Savilla Finch, now the official owner of the sprawling Rose Palace, knew the word “budget,” but the end result was gourdsand pumpkins at every table and giant paper-mache marigolds, roses, and tulips hanging from the vaulted ceiling until they hovered nine feet off the ground. Branches and autumn leaves lined the stage, and swaths of dark green tulle were interspersed with white lights, creating the effect of a field of wildflowers filled with fireflies.
Seventy-two of us had graduated ten years ago, and I would estimate, based on the ratio of people on the dance floor to the number of spiked punch bowls, about fifty of us had returned for the reunion party at the Rose Palace.
“Wine?” A man’s voice spoke beside me, and I looked up from where I was seated to see Joe Larson.
Joe was the guy who’d dropped out of college after one semester—or been kicked out, it was unclear—and he made a living by doing odd jobs around town. He’d been a security guard at the pageant this summer, though that hadn’t prevented a dead body from turning up, and he was catering the shindig tonight. After the centennial pageant had been put on hiatus, Aunt DeeDee, former queen and long-time coordinator, had flailed, wondering what to do with her life for all of a week before deciding to give her time to helping young Aubergine entrepreneurs. As one of her projects, she’d taken security guard Joe under her wing, and she was teaching him the ropes of small business ownership.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the kitchen?” I asked, looking around for Aunt DeeDee.He’d better not be shirking his duties and making her do all the grunt work.
“Nice to see you too,” he said, with a tight grin. “The bartender called in sick last minute, so after working in the kitchen all day with your aunt, I’m on duty.” He extended the tray of drinks he was holding. “Wine? Or the featured drink? It’s called an Aubergine Thresher. One part vodka, one part gin, two parts grape soda, and a sprig of rhubarb.”
“That sounds disgusting.”
Joe shrugged as if it wasn’t his decision and kept the tray steady in front of me. I relented and selected the red wine.
I held up the plastic cup. “No crystal goblet?”
“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” Joe leaned forward, conspiratorially. “Brett’s footing half the bill for this party, and he’s cheap, that son of a bitch. Wouldn’t even spring for name-brand Fanta.”
Joe wasn’t wrong to call him that, but I couldn’t tell if he meant it as a term of endearment or condemnation. His eyes trailed to Brett Brinkley, the man of the hour who was laughing and flirting and dancing like a man who’d fulfilled his senior class prediction of Mr. Most Likely to Succeed. There was something in Joe’s expression that I couldn’t quite read. Bitterness? Envy? Disdain? Brett had become a household name after winning a reality dating show, and I did recall hearing someone say at a graduation party ages ago that Joe wanted to be an actor. Perhaps he was jealous of our former classmate’s success.
He raised an eyebrow before continuing to circulate.
I leaned forward, perching my chin on the base of my palm. One hour, that’s what I’d promised Lacy. Then, I could flee the ballroom and meet Charlie after his shift. I only had three days in town, hardly enough time to see the people I loved, attend Mr. Finch’s will reading, and figure out what I would do after finishing vet school. This reunion was the lowest priority on my list.
My watch’s second hand was barely moving—forty-one minutes to go. I looked around the room and noticed a sign hanging above the stage. It readLet’s Hear You Scream,Class of 2015and featured a caricature of our school’s farmer mascot. Decades ago the mascot had been an actual eggplant—the crop from which Aubergine once got its name—so, all thingsconsidered, an agricultural icon holding a pitchfork was a move in the less phallic direction.
Surveying my half-drunk peers on the dance floor was a good distraction at first, but it made me realize that, even after ten years, I still cared what the people here tonight thought about me. I could almost hear former Homecoming Queen Becky Jones asking me what I was doing now and me responding,Sometimes I get to express a dog’s anal gland.
A few yards in front of me was Lacy, rocking out with her high school sweetheart while a professional camera crew captured them from various angles. I’d heard that Brett was trying to sell a new show about life with the woman he’d wooed in front of a national audience—but that’s not what the cameras were currently filming.
Lacy’s boyfriend Anton stood at the edge of the dance floor watching her dance far too close to Brett Brinkley.
