If there was anything that could give Wickeston’s love of football a fierce competition, it was the love of cars. Classic American muscle was the ideal, but it looked like imports were gathering a strong following, judging by the number of them I saw. I knew next to nothing about engines, but I appreciated the aesthetics of a sleek car.

And I appreciated the speed.

Some of the trucks had been parked in a semi-circle around the massive bonfire, their tailgates open to share coolers of beer. People sat around the fire in folding chairs or milled around in groups, drinking beer, vaping, and smoking their cigarettes. Music was blasting from someone’s sound system, and my excitement rose as the sounds of laughter and conversation permeated my car.

I’d always thrived in front of a crowd. Getting people to like me — or fear me — felt like a game I couldn’t bear to lose. I already knew a few of the people who would be here, but it was likely that everyone already knew me.

That was the funny thing about being the “former popular girl.” You were less a person and more an object of fascination, like the latest reality show on TV. People liked you in the same way they liked their favorite celebrity.

Their idea of you was what mattered. Reputation was everything.

I parked and flipped down my mirror to do a quick face check. I probably should have put on another coat of concealer; my mom had warned me how bad my dark circles were getting.

Whatever.

The night air was crisp, rich with the scent of wood-smoke. The flames cast dancing shadows across the oak trees, smoke rising in curling tendrils toward the night sky. The pop and crackle of distant fireworks inspired some cheers from those who were able to see the explosion from the edge of the trees.

I spotted Danielle on the other side of the bonfire and headed over.

“Yeeesss, I’m so glad you made it, babe!” She got up from her folding chair to hug me, pressing an ice-cold seltzer into my hands. “Let’s get some alcohol in you. It’s time for the real party.”

Nate was seated beside her, and he gave me a friendly nod but said nothing. He wasn’t the only one of my ex’s friends in attendance. Alex McAllister and Matthew Fink were here too.

“Welcome back to good old Wickeston, Jess,” Alex said, pulling me into one of his too-tight hugs. Alex, Matthew, and Nate had all been on the football team with Kyle, and they’d formed a unit that went almost everywhere together.

I knew them well, probably too well. Nate was the son of a local police officer and had gotten away with more illegal shit than anyone I knew. Matthew used to get blacked-out drunk before every game because he said it made him “play better.” And Alex? He’d been Kyle’s best friend, his right-hand man.

Then he tried to make a move on me while Kyle and I were broken up. I turned him down and never mentioned it again, but to judge by his very friendly hug, his interest hadn’t dwindled.