I planned to say more than that, but what happens instead is this bizarre, out-of-character aversion of my eyes, this immediate internal regression where my brain can’t form any other words. And then there’s the awkward silence where I’m still staring at him and he’s still trying to figure me out because it’s so obvious that I’d meant to say more but stopped myself.

Nate nods even though I still haven’t said anything, and glances around for a second. “This is dope. Raising a lot tonight, huh?” He says this as if we have no past. As if we’re strangers, testing the waters, afraid to say the wrong thing, a pair of socially stilted tweens at their first school dance. But he has seen me cry, he has helped me off the floor when I’ve fainted, he’s seen me at my most vulnerable, so it’s odd that he sounds so detached, though I’m happy just to be noticed.

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks for coming. And donating. You look good. You know...like older.”

I hate the way I sound. Nervous. Strained. Shy. I’m never a shy bitch.

“Yeah.” He pauses, quickly looking me over. “You do too. And thank my dad.”

He smiles such a small, earnest smile, and I swear my legs go weak. I can’t move or speak.

But I’ve prepared for this moment. Us being alone together after all this time. I waxed everywhere and I’m not wearing anything underneath this dress. I bought a box of Plan B and a backup one, just in case; they’re both under my bed. I haven’t eaten anything all day, so there’s no chance of any gas or bloating or anything weird. I could say something to him right now. I could be completely honest and tell him how much I miss him, that I think of him all the time, that I’m so happy he reached out. I could tell him that I think we’re meant to be together. That no other guy means anything to me, not compared to him. That I love him. I’ve always loved him.

But I don’t. I don’t say any of that. The moment passes, and I’m too late.

“Gonna get a drink,” Nate says, and I can tell he just needed an excuse to put distance between us, and that shit stings. “Catch you later,” he says, leaning in to rub my arm, and it feels like he’s rubbed my pussy.

He gives me another one of his perfectly crooked smiles, then strides off without another word.

I don’t know what just happened. I don’t know why I froze like that. And now I’m staring at him, watching the crowd swallow him whole, wondering why I ever let him get away the first time.