said, interrupting her. “I’m sorry. I have to go get this thing . . . in my room. My . . . inhaler. I need my inhaler.”
“You have asthma now? I told you not to smoke in high school. God, you and Robbie! I finally got him to quit three years ago, but I told you guys not to start in the first place! Didn’t I? Remember, Jess?”
“Yes, you did, Heather,” I said quickly. “And I didn’t listen, and I need to go upstairs to get my inhaler. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay. Do you need help?” she asked, looking me over with concern.
“No, I’m good. You stay here.” Kyle was getting closer, so I just started walking.
I ran down the stairs and got as far as the big stone fireplace before Kyle yelled, “Jenny!” across the lobby. Luckily no one else was there to hear it. I contemplated running for the elevator, pretending I hadn’t heard him, but he called out, “Hey, Jenny!” again, and I worried about being rude and then having to see him at the conference in the morning. More importantly, I worried if he yelled again, someone else might hear him do it. So I turned around and said, “Oh, hey!” like maybe I hadn’t heard him the first time.
“Wow,” he said, “You look . . .”
“Thanks,” I said, before he could even say how I looked. I watched the door to the bar nervously, hoping that none of Jessie’s friends would come out to the lobby.
“Hey, I just stopped up for a drink, but a bunch of us are grabbing dinner over in the dining room.” He pointed across the lobby. “And then we’re going to hit the city and head to a club. Come with?”
“I can’t,” I said, “but thanks.”
“Come on. I’ll even let you take the piss out of my bar stories like you did with my PowerPoint.” He rubbed his head and gave me a smile—the kind that was meant to look shy and awkward but wasn’t. There was nothing shy about him.
I fell for this kind of act with Deagan. Fool me once: shame on the smiling guy. Fool me twice: not going to happen. I gestured back to the door of the bar. “I’m having drinks with some friends.”
“Are you from around here?”
“Sort of,” I said. “Something like that. There’s a . . . history.” I willed myself to shut up. The fewer the details, the more believable the lie—the words
cycled in my head like a mantra.
The door to the bar opened. I held my breath and tilted my chin down so my hair fell to cover my face.
“History was always my worst subject,” Kyle said, smiling again. Some guy who looked like a total meathead walked out of the bar and headed outside, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. I’m sure he was there for the reunion, but he looked like he’d probably been a jock in high school. Jessie Morgan’s friends were not jocks. They were the kind of motley group that can only form when people become friends way before puberty sets in. Their history is stronger than high school cliques. Without that, Jessie would have probably gone to the mean girls, Myra to the art-room kids, Heather to the nerdy girls who liked horses, Robbie to the out-back smokers, and Fish—I couldn’t figure out where Fish would have fit. But none of them would have hung out with the jock in the lobby.
“Well, uh . . .” I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just . . .” I met Kyle’s eyes. He had really nice eyes. And even if the shy smile thing was an act, for a split second I thought about just going with him. Hanging out with the PR people. Going into Seattle. It would be easier. I would know what to expect. I wouldn’t be lying. Or at least I’d be lying to myself, which is inherently easier than lying to other people. But I really wanted to be there when Myra’s ex showed up. I wanted to hear what Heather and Robbie had been doing since high school, because they were sweet and funny. And Fish. I had guys like Kyle figured out, but I didn’t get Fish at all, and I
“You have asthma now? I told you not to smoke in high school. God, you and Robbie! I finally got him to quit three years ago, but I told you guys not to start in the first place! Didn’t I? Remember, Jess?”
“Yes, you did, Heather,” I said quickly. “And I didn’t listen, and I need to go upstairs to get my inhaler. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay. Do you need help?” she asked, looking me over with concern.
“No, I’m good. You stay here.” Kyle was getting closer, so I just started walking.
I ran down the stairs and got as far as the big stone fireplace before Kyle yelled, “Jenny!” across the lobby. Luckily no one else was there to hear it. I contemplated running for the elevator, pretending I hadn’t heard him, but he called out, “Hey, Jenny!” again, and I worried about being rude and then having to see him at the conference in the morning. More importantly, I worried if he yelled again, someone else might hear him do it. So I turned around and said, “Oh, hey!” like maybe I hadn’t heard him the first time.
“Wow,” he said, “You look . . .”
“Thanks,” I said, before he could even say how I looked. I watched the door to the bar nervously, hoping that none of Jessie’s friends would come out to the lobby.
“Hey, I just stopped up for a drink, but a bunch of us are grabbing dinner over in the dining room.” He pointed across the lobby. “And then we’re going to hit the city and head to a club. Come with?”
“I can’t,” I said, “but thanks.”
“Come on. I’ll even let you take the piss out of my bar stories like you did with my PowerPoint.” He rubbed his head and gave me a smile—the kind that was meant to look shy and awkward but wasn’t. There was nothing shy about him.
I fell for this kind of act with Deagan. Fool me once: shame on the smiling guy. Fool me twice: not going to happen. I gestured back to the door of the bar. “I’m having drinks with some friends.”
“Are you from around here?”
“Sort of,” I said. “Something like that. There’s a . . . history.” I willed myself to shut up. The fewer the details, the more believable the lie—the words
cycled in my head like a mantra.
The door to the bar opened. I held my breath and tilted my chin down so my hair fell to cover my face.
“History was always my worst subject,” Kyle said, smiling again. Some guy who looked like a total meathead walked out of the bar and headed outside, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. I’m sure he was there for the reunion, but he looked like he’d probably been a jock in high school. Jessie Morgan’s friends were not jocks. They were the kind of motley group that can only form when people become friends way before puberty sets in. Their history is stronger than high school cliques. Without that, Jessie would have probably gone to the mean girls, Myra to the art-room kids, Heather to the nerdy girls who liked horses, Robbie to the out-back smokers, and Fish—I couldn’t figure out where Fish would have fit. But none of them would have hung out with the jock in the lobby.
“Well, uh . . .” I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just . . .” I met Kyle’s eyes. He had really nice eyes. And even if the shy smile thing was an act, for a split second I thought about just going with him. Hanging out with the PR people. Going into Seattle. It would be easier. I would know what to expect. I wouldn’t be lying. Or at least I’d be lying to myself, which is inherently easier than lying to other people. But I really wanted to be there when Myra’s ex showed up. I wanted to hear what Heather and Robbie had been doing since high school, because they were sweet and funny. And Fish. I had guys like Kyle figured out, but I didn’t get Fish at all, and I
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