— Well, look who it is! — Greg threw his arms out wide, making a show of trying to pull his old high school classmate into a bear hug. — Vera Page, what brings you to this neck of the woods? I didn’t think a place like this was quite your speed.
— Hello, Greg, — she replied calmly. Vera was a slender woman in a simple brown turtleneck and dark jeans, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail with a velvet clip. She gave him a polite, measured nod.
— We were just wondering where our little “Scarecrow” had gotten to! — called out Al Patterson. A large man with a perpetually flushed face, Al wore the same smug grin that Vera had detested since the tenth grade. And, of course, he couldn’t resist using that old nickname.
Vera had spent years trying to get her peers to stop using that name, but it never stuck. From middle school on, everyone—boys and girls alike—called her nothing else. She’d never found an ally or even a bit of basic sympathy; she was simply the designated target for the local bullies.
It was a classic high school script: the group picks a victim and never lets up. Vera had carried that weight for years. And now, exactly thirty years after graduation, they were all back together.
The former classmates had decided to meet over drinks to “reminisce.” In reality, it had turned into a vanity fair, with everyone eager to show off their tax brackets. The women were dressed to the nines, flashing designer labels and expensive jewelry. Olivia Smith, for instance, was practically glowing with the diamonds in her ears.
— Olivia, you look incredible! It’s like you haven’t aged a day, — Greg said, admiring his old high school crush. — Your husband is a lucky man.
— He certainly thinks so, — Olivia smirked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear to make sure the stones caught the light. — My husband didn’t waste his time, unlike some people. He knows how to take care of a woman. You see that red Audi parked out front? That’s my early anniversary gift.
