Page 65 of Her Alien Neighbor

“You just went for it,” Henry says with a wide smile. “Packed your bags and chased your dreams.”

“Yeah, we’re all a bit jealous, I suppose,” Jenna adds.

I feel Sam nudge me with her elbow, and she gives me a wink when I look over.

“You know, if you’re back in town for a while, a few of us are starting a community theater group. You could join if you want,” Henry offers.

Jenna nods with so much enthusiasm, she’s practically bouncing in her seat. “It’d be great to have a seasoned Thespian to guide us.”

Seasoned Thespian? Me? I’m one of thousands of women my age and shape trying to get a steady acting job in L.A. that pays well. It’s incredibly hard to find, especially when you don’t fit into a size zero. How could they find what I’ve done impressive? Are they messing with me?

I look around the table, and though I’m inclined to dismiss this as a prank because my career doesn’t seem worthy of their praise, their expressions are genuine. These are my old drama club friends. They were, and still seem to be, lovely human beings.

Maybe this night won’t be so bad.

“You know,” I begin, “it’s not all glitz and glam. I mean, I’ve spent over a decade desperately hoping to find a job with a steady paycheck.”

“But at least you’re out there. You’re trying,” Jenna replies. “I loved acting. I still love it, but I’d be terrified to go on a real audition.”

“Yeah, we’ve all settled for boring desk jobs,” Henry says. “We get together once a month to workshop manuscripts or just do improv, and it’s fun. It scratches the itch, you know? But it’s not the real thing.”

My fists unclench, and the muscles in my body start to relax.

“Oh my god, is this Britney?” Emily shouts, then everyone goes silent as we listen to the lyrics. It takes less than a second to determine that yes, it is Britney, and everyone at the table gets up in a hurry to dance to the rest of it.

Sam, Izzy, and I are the only ones who remain.

“See?” Sam says. “Not everyone from high school is a total schmuck.”

“Not everyone, but most,” Izzy adds with a laugh.

I ease back in my chair and sip my whiskey sour, watching people I used to know jump around the dimly lit cafeteria. I can almost smell the French bread pizza and canned green beans that they served us every Tuesday.

Happy memories, ones I haven’t thought of in years, start to fill my mind as I watch the crowd. Then Beth walks in on Trevor’s arm, Caitlyn following behind them, and the breath leaves my body. “Fuck,” I whisper, subtly gesturing over my shoulder when Izzy and Sam shoot me concerned looks.

Sam sighs heavily. “Well, it was fun while it lasted.” She looks down at her watch. “All of twenty minutes.”

Izzy’s eyes dart between us and Beth and Trevor. Then Izzy stands. “I’m gonna hit the restroom.”

I don’t blame Izzy for bailing. This is my battle, and I’m sure there’s enough high school drama at the bar every night.

Sam puts her hand over mine. “We’re just not going to look over there, okay? Their table is on the other side of the room, and as far as we’re concerned, they’re not even here.”

“How do you do it?” I ask, not meaning to, but the words just come tumbling out. “How are you able to block it out? What happened?”

Her gaze drops to her lap, and her voice softens. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” She takes a big swig of her drink, then continues. “I saw him about a month after it happened, and, I don’t know, it’s like, in my mind, I was able to pretend it happened to someone else.”

She begins mindlessly fiddling with her nails, examining the pale pink polish closely. “I don’t break down in front of him. I never have. But it usually hits me the next day.”

“Really?” I ask, putting a hand on her arm.

She barks out a laugh, the sound bitter. “Yeah, usually when I’m in the shower. It’s weird. I’ll step in, the memories and the pain hits, and then a half hour goes by and I’m sitting beneath the spray, shaking from the freezing cold water that’s replaced the hot.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say in a solemn tone. Not that “I’m sorry” feels like enough in this context, but it’s all I can say. I hate that I share this particular trauma with her. Neither one of us deserve to suffer this way, and here we are, twenty years later, still struggling to hold it together. Because ofhim.

Sam and I decide to avoid the dance floor. The last thing we need right now is to end up doing the Macarena next to Trevor and Beth. We remain in our seats, far away from them, just chatting with our table mates for the next hour. When I notice Maggie climbing up on the small stage, my teeth clench.

“Hey, class of 2002! Let me hear you!” she shouts and gets a deflated response from the crowd, but it’s better than nothing. She shakes it off and looks down at the notecards in her hands. “Okay, so in honor of our incredible graduates coming together after two decades, I’ve put together a little slideshow to celebrate how far we’ve come over the years.” She looks at the DJ. “Hit it!”

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