Prologue
Cameron
Present day…
It’s like walking into a time capsule. While I was in high school, I swore I wouldn’t come to these stupid things. Nothing could ever make me want to come back to this place. Though there were things about school I enjoyed, it was suffocating for a million more reasons. One of them being awhorather than awhat. Awhothat will most likely be here tonight. AwhoI am not looking forward to seeing. Yet, here I am…
“Hey, it’s Camden, right?” the girl at the door asks.
“Cameron,” I correct with zero attitude because I haven’t a clue what her name is. Could be Tiffany, could be Glenda.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” She smiles fondly at me, tucking her shiny dark hair behind her ear. “Is your date here with you?” she asks, finger pressed underneath my name on the sheet of paper she’s looking at.
“No. Change of plan.” She smiles suggestively, taking me in and not being shy about it. I ignore her, the same way I ignore everyone else who looks at me that way. It comes with the territory and though most people let it get to their heads, I’m not that person. I never liked being in the spotlight, and have no idea why I chose a career that put me there.
“Here are your drink tickets.” She hands me two red tickets and gestures toward the door that leads to the gymnasium. “You can use them at either bar. There are plenty of people here already. Food will be served in about an hour. I should be done out here by then.”
I give her a polite smile, tucking the tickets into my shirt pocket as I walk by her and into the school gym turneddisco.
You’d think they’d theme our ten year reunion to our own decade and not one from fifty years ago. Had they gone with a grunge theme, maybe I’d play along.
Flashing lights, shining glass balls, and awful music fill the expansive space. There are tables to the left and right, covered in white plastic clothes. There is a temporary stage at the far end, people dancing and singing in front of it like they’re in some kind of club. At least they’re happy to be here, I guess. Half of them are even dressed accordingly, in bell bottoms and platforms.
I shouldn’t have come.
But since I made it, I may as well have a drink—or five. Honestly, I have no idea why I’m here.
Okay, that’s a lie. I know exactly why I’m here. It’s because I’m a glutton for punishment. Because I broke my social media rule and saw a comment beneath the reunion post.
I’ll be there!, it said.
The profile picture was ofhimand his wife, looking happy as ever. Good for him. At least one of us got the life they so desperately wanted.
Yeah, I’m an idiot for coming here. I should fucking leave.
“Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?” the bartender asks, tossing a towel over his shoulder and smiling brightly.
Nowheis more my type, and the way he’s smiling at me tells me maybe he thinks the same about me.
“What kind of whiskey do you have?” I ask.
“Knob Creek and Jameson.”
“Knob Creek it is,” I say.
He nods and adds, “Tickets don’t cover straight up liquor.”
“Of course they don’t.” I roll my eyes, shoving the tickets back into my pocket.
“But,” he begins, and I look up, catching the smirk in his eyes. “If you ordered it with, say, some cranberry juice or something.” He shrugs, the smirk reaching his lips.
“Cranberry juice?” I question.
“People have ordered worse.”
He offers his hand out, gesturing to my pocket.
“I can pay.”
