Bryony ?shrugged. “She doesn’t say.” She nodded toward the stage. “You think they’ll be any good?”
“I mean, probably not,” I admitted. From the pictures, it kind of seemed like this band was a One Direction knockoff. But hopefully they’d be fun, at least. There was a countdown clock above the stage, letting us know the show would start in ten minutes.
There was nobody on stage yet, but it looked like the stagehands had finished their work—there were two mic stands, a drum kit in the back, and speakers placed all around.
The crowd started to grow, with more people arriving from what seemed like all corners of the park, and you could practically feel the anticipation in the air. I glanced around, looking for the mysterious celebrity that was allegedly here. But the only slightly fancy person I saw I didn’t recognize. She was a woman who looked to be in her late twenties, dressed in an all-black outfit and heels, which made me think she wasn’t a teacher. She also sported a designer cross-body bag that I wasn’t sure would be in the budget of any faculty chaperones. I turned to Bryony to mention this just as Emma R. crossed toward us, waving.
“Hey, guys!” she called, maneuvering her way through the crowd. She smiled, but it looked a little strained. “Have you been having fun?”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing behind her to Emma J. and Emma Z., who were standing next to each other with their arms folded. You could practically feel the tension zinging off them, the way the air feels just before a thunderstorm. “Is everything okay?” I asked, lowering my voice. I remembered they’d been a little bit strange when we’d first gotten to the park, too—and it seemed like things had gotten worse.
Emma R. glanced back at her friends, her expression clouding. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, the band should be fun, anyway,” Bryony said, clearly trying to change the subject. She grinned at me. “Cass has a crush on one of the musicians.”
Emma R. clapped her hands together. “You do?”
I could feel my cheeks get hot. I’d barely interacted with Freddie, so why was I so excited to see him onstage soon? I shook my head, trying to clear it. “I mean, I just think he’s cute. He spilled orange soda on me.”
Emma R. gasped. “A meet-cute!”
Bryony nodded wisely, but I shook my head. “I really don’t think that qualifies.”
“It totally does.”
“But want to know the etymology of the term?” I asked, pleased as always to have a fact to fit the situation. “Meet-cutecomes from the thirties, the director Ernst Lubitsch coined it, and—”
“—didn’t evenwantto!” I heard Emma J. hiss before Emma Z. pulled her away a few steps.
I turned back to Emma R., who just shrugged unhappily. “Don’t ask me.”
A group jostled past me, and I stepped aside for them, then stopped short when I realized I recognized the logo on the back of one of their sweatshirts.
It was a silhouette of a horse, done in green, with green letters underneath spelling outEvergreen High—Home of the Mustangs.
I could feel cold sweat starting to bead on the back of my neck. Even as I was staring at the sweatshirt in front of me, I tried to tell myself it wasn’t possible. That it was just a coincidence. That alotof schools were probably called Evergreen High, and there were only a limited number of potential mascots, that was all. And who didn’t like a mustang? It didn’t necessarily mean it wasthatEvergreen High….
“Cass?”
I looked up and felt my heart sink like a stone.
Bruce Preston was standing in front of me.
I’d met Bruce when we’d moved to Evergreen, a suburb of Seattle. We stayed in the back house—the ADU—while Oscar and Angelo did a gut renovation of the main house. Bruce lived next door with his family; we’d met the very first night we arrived. We’d ordered a pizza, and I’d come out to see Bruce arguing with the delivery girl. He was convinced it was a prank, since he hadn’t realized anyone was living in the house. He hadn’t been expecting me—and I hadn’t been expecting him.
We became fast friends—our bedroom windows faced each other, like something out of a Taylor Swift music video. I quickly developed a crush on him, and while I sometimes got that vibe from him, too, nothing had ever happened between us. We’d agreed to go to the prom together but just as friends. Which made sense, since by that point, I knew that we were moving on again.
But when prom night rolled around, I hadn’t felt well enough to go. I’d texted him and then had turned my phone off. We’d left the next day, but the feeling that I hadn’t handled things well had followed me to San Luis Obispo. And it hadn’t ended there. A week later, a letter had shown up in our mailbox, forwarded by the house’s owners. I’d only read it through once—Bruce was upset, asking me what had happened?, what he’d done. I had immediately stuffed it back in the envelope. And though I’d thought about it, I hadn’t been able to throw it away. But I’d never responded—and I had never seen Bruce again.
Until this moment.
Right here, at Grad Nite.
“Hi,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “I…Wow. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
Bruce just looked at me for a moment. He looked pretty much the same—tall, with light brown hair and dark green eyes. His hair was a little longer now, and it curled up slightly at the nape of his neck. There was something else that was different about him, but it took me a moment longer to figure out what it was—it was that he wasn’t smiling. In fact, he didnotlook happy to see me.
“That makes two of us,” he said.
