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We drive a little farther, and as we pass Laketon Academy, it takes me a moment to realize that we’re not actually stopping at our alma mater.

I’ve spent such little time here as an adult that it barely even occurred to me that we were going to a bar in town. Any time I come home, I usually just sleep over at Frankie’s apartment in the city, and we stay up all night talking and reminiscing.

This is something I have never done before.

I don’t know what it is about being home that makes me feel like a teenager who’s about to get caught, get in trouble. I am twenty-six years old. I am perfectly welcome at an establishment that serves alcohol. I don’t know why I fumble with my ID.

As we walk into the dimly lit bar that Frankie has rented out for our former classmates, I immediately want to turn around and get the fuck out of there. We weren’t exactly cool in high school. Didn’t have a huge group of friends.

Frankie can read everything I’m thinking right off of my face.

“Nope. Uh-uh. I see you wanting to slink right back out those double doors and I simply won’t allow it.” Frankie takes the tray of latkes from my arms, and I follow her over to a table on the side of the room, where there are warming pans set up.

“Now listen to me, Norah Abigail Gold,” Frankie says, pulling back the foil and using tongs to transport my latkes onto the proper serving tray. “This is our one night together. Plus,” she says, pointing at me with the tongs, “we look fucking hot. Let’s make all the boys who didn’t like us in high school regret their entire lives. Starting with Henry Cole, who was absolutely eye-fucking you back at your house.”

“Oh my God, Frankie, shut up. I promise you he was not. If the last few days have reminded me of anything, it’s that that boy absolutely despises me.”

“Yeah, okay,” my best friend snorts.

“It’s bad enough that our moms are so flipping cute together that they’re probably going to get married and we’ll be forced to spend every holiday together for the rest of eternity. But now I’m going to be stuck in a car with him for like, four hours tomorrow.”

“Great Blue Lodge?” Frankie asks, mouth already full of latke.

I nod.

“It’ll probably be more like six.”

“Six hours?” I screech. I thought it would be bad, but I did not anticipate six hours trapped in a car with Henry. “He’s done nothing but make me feel like an absolute idiot ever since we got on the same plane, and I…” I trail off when I feel a warm hand lightly touch my back.

“Norah Gold? Back in the 847?” I hear, and I spin around. Trevor Hayes, a sea of strawberry blonde waves that graze muscular shoulders, stands behind me.

“Trevor!” I exclaim, and he wraps me up in a huge hug, lifting me a foot into the air. I swat at him a little, and he puts me down.

“Never thought I’d see the day.” He smiles, his perfect teeth gleaming, even in the dim light of the bar.

“Trevor Hayes! All those years of braces finally paid off. Look at you!” I touch his cheek, and his eyes dip for half a second.

“Thirty-eight months,” he says, almost unconsciously running his tongue along his teeth. “Francesca,” he adds, nodding to acknowledge Frankie.

She somehow manages to frown at him with her mouth still full, and keeps her priorities—namely, devouring her latke—in order.

“How are you?” I ask, trying to think if I’ve seen Trevor since we graduated. He was the class treasurer to my class secretary for all four years of high school, so we spent a lot of time together, and it’s honestly really nice to see his face after all this time.

“Well, I’m working with my dad, running the business side of his construction company. Bought a house about a year ago, been fixing that up slowly. But who cares how I am? Nothing too interesting to report. How are you, Miss Big Apple?”

I would roll my eyes if literally any other person said that to me, but Trevor is so genuine and cheery that I have to let it slide and not fall prey to the jaded New Yorker I’ve become.

I start to open my mouth when I see two hands clasp Trevor’s shoulders. Trevor looks at me apologetically, but my eyes are fixated on the face behind his.

“Henry motherfucking Cole!” Trevor exclaims.

He grabs Henry and wraps him into a hug. None of that handshake/shoulder-bump/one-pat nonsense. This is a full, sincere, arms-wrapped-diagonally-around-each-other hug that reeks of familiarity and fondness.

Of course they’re hugging. Trevor is Henry’s Frankie. His best friend. Has been since Trevor moved to Laketon in eighth grade.

A best friendship that long outlasted ours.

The only updates I’ve seen of Henry since high school are from Trevor’s Instagram. They seem to hang out a few times a year, presumably whenever Henry is in town. I’ve seen them cheersing at a distillery in the city, dressed up at a fundraiser for our high school’s baseball team, faces pressed together in the close way you only have with people from your youth.