You sat at your usual table, the one by the windows where the light was good and you could see everyone coming and going. Your brother Steve was two tables over, holding court with his basketball buddies, completely oblivious.

Then you saw her. Robin Buckley was at the edge of the hot lunch line, tray in hand, shoulders hunched. Tommy H. and Carol were leaning against the wall nearby, not even trying to be subtle as they snickered and pointed.

You felt that familiar, fierce twist in your chest. The one you’d been feeling since Steve first brought his weird, brilliant, band-geek friend home sophomore year and she’d talked your ear off about The Smiths for an hour.