Page 4 of Change of Course

“Do you want a ride?” I asked again. “I’m driving that direction. I don’t mind.”

“You know where I live?”

“I know the neighborhood.” She didn’t live in the fanciest section of town, but in one of the older subdivisions that were middle-class and nice. “You’d have to tell me which house.”

She looked into my eyes. I looked back. We stayed that way for what seemed like years, my entire self leaning into her like she was true north to my magnet.

It was only when someone else brushed past us, going to the late showing, that the spell was broken. “Okay, then. Let me just…” She started fumbling for her phone, and I realized that she might be worried about her safety.

“Yeah, tell somebody you’re catching a ride with me. That’s a smart idea.”

“I’m not smart,” she muttered toward the floor, texting with one hand.

“Yeah, you are,” I said, and only then did she look up at me again. “Not just book smart. You understand things.” It didn’t matter to me whether she got a perfect score on her SATs or not—but I cared about understanding the way things really were.

I cared about her.

I gave her a ride home and dropped her at the end of her driveway, but that night changed everything.

She didn’t want to worry her parents by letting them know she’d picked a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. She didn’t want to lose her social position as Queen Bee of the Eagles Cheer Squad. She didn’t want…looking back at it, I think she didn’t want to lose herself in me.

That could have happened. I lost myself in her, and it was pretty mutual. We texted every night. Saw each other as often as we could sneak off, which wasn’t often to begin with. Kissed our lips raw when we got time in private.

We did get caught once. Jesse Mills, one of the popular baseball guys, happened to come around the corner of the rarely-used basement corridor by the janitor’s closet and see us—and then we couldn’t miss that he was holding hands with arty Blaine Davidson, who at sixteen was already out of the closet. The four of us stood staring at each other for a long moment, until Cheri spoke up. “I have an idea.”

She thought if she and Jesse pretended to date, that would focus everybody else’s attention away from the truth into a more-acceptable version. Blaine and I exchanged dubious glances, but Jesse jumped on it.

It was stupid, but I didn’t want to lose her. I agreed.

We spent the next few months pretending—or they did, actually. Jesse and Cheri. I don’t know what Blaine thought, but I wound up grinding my teeth a lot every time I saw Jesse hold her hand in the hallway.

But in private? She was mine. All mine, body and soul, and I started thinking about forever.

It wasn’t until she was ready to leave for college that things fell apart.

Now? Fifteen years later and my Cherry is still so beautiful.

I may regret going to the reunion, but I need to see her.

Chapter 3

CHERI

So I’m committed to going to this reunion thing.

God help me.

I’ve got Courtney on my side. We’ve been texting since last week, and we’ve already had lunch together a couple of times. It’s nice to see her happy. She’s engaged to a good guy, a single dad who’s crazy about her, and not, it’s clear, for her replacement wife potential. He likes her. He won’t be coming to the reunion, because his daughter has a dance recital that night, but I think that’s just as well.

I’ve talked to Brittany as well. She was very curious about what my life has been like, but when I asked about the reunion project, trying to invite her to talk about her own life, she got stiff. I asked if there was anything I could do to help, she shut me down fast and pretty much peed a circle around the reunion. “No, no, I’ve got everything under control. It takes a really organized person to get things done like this, and I have a talent for it. Everybody agrees I was the best person to handle it. No, it’s all locked down. Don’t need you.”

Maybe not in specifically those terms. But it was obvious she didn’t want me anywhere near it. Could be she was tired of being second in command all those years ago, and wants to come into her own as the go-to, in-charge person.

Well, okay, she can have it.

I’m still wondering if Jackson Moore will show up. Still hoping he’ll show up, to be honest.

And the whole time that Courtney and I are getting mani-pedis (soft green with daisies for her, blue for me) and blowouts, we’re giggling our heads off and reminiscing about when we were teenagers. I told my mother I planned to go to Courtney’s to get ready, and I’d be taking an overnight case for a sleepover.

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