I paged through the rest of the senior class to see if Diana had destroyed anyone else. But while I saw the usual sweet notes in the margins, everyone else’s photos were undisturbed.

Determined now, I continued to turn pages. Sports took up a large section. While she might not have been a cheerleader, my sister had been right on the front row of the pep squad. I came to music and found Wendy with her flute in band. I didn’t see another photo of Diana. High school had not been her moment to shine.

Finally I arrived at drama club.

The first few pages showed scenes from two plays the club had staged that year. The first was unfamiliar, and I didn’t see Wendy’s photo or name. The second was a one-act adaptation of Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, and Wendy wasn’t listed there, either.

I turned the page and this time I spotted my sister immediately, but then, she would have been impossible to miss. Along with the music department, the drama club had staged L’il Abner as their big show. The entire left page was devoted to a profile photo of Wendy as the ravishing Daisy Mae. She stood on stage with her breasts thrust out. Daisy Mae’s off-the-shoulder polka-dotted top and tight shorts covered just enough flesh. Had one additional inch been exposed, the administration would never have allowed the play to go forward.

I wondered if this photo was the reason my parents had chosen a private Catholic girls’ academy for me. Even in high school, Wendy had managed to exude both sensuality and class.

On the right page, L’il Abner faced Daisy Mae. I studied him next. The young man was neither slight nor bulked up, with an athletic body that was probably still filling out. His curly hair was black or almost, which was perfect for the role, and his wistful expression, in a ruggedly handsome face, was engaging.

I wondered if the drama teacher had taken one look at both Wendy and this boy—Sean Riley—and planned the musical around them. They were striking together and perfect for their roles.

For some reason Sean looked familiar, but I didn’t know why. When Daisy Mae and L’il Abner were cavorting around the Seabank High stage, I hadn’t even been born.

The next pages showed half a dozen scenes from the production. I paged through to the last one. The finale, again a full page, was a love scene, a close-up between L’il Abner and Daisy Mae. The two were entwined, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Sean was someone I knew. Or maybe I’d even seen the older Sean, working at our bank or managing a local restaurant. I noted dimples, deep enough to be seen in this more intimate pose.

Then, as my eyes began to lose focus from staring so hard, I knew exactly why he seemed so familiar.

Sean Riley looked like me, or rather, I looked like Sean Riley. In fact the resemblance was so striking, I was stunned I hadn’t seen it immediately. But some part of me had denied the truth, even refused to see it, because the answer seemed so impossible.