“Okay, next up, our most successful graduate. Now I think we can all guess who this is!” Julie locks eyes with me as she calls my name. “Casey Lee, get up here!”
I look over at Rachel and John. John is whistling and Rachel’s face is frozen until I catch her eye and she quickly composes herself and starts to clap. I walk up to the podium and grab my award, say a hurried thank-you, and head back down as quickly as possible, Rachel’s expressionless face etched in my mind. “It’s nothing,” I say to her when I return, trying to let her know that she wouldn’t have been so upset that I won if she understood how much I’ve given up to get it. She nods silently and looks away.
I look over to my right and watch Patrick Sanders walking dejectedly over to the bar. How the hell did I win this over him? He could buy this hotel if he wanted. Brian has his drink waiting when he walks up and looks over at me with a knowing smile that says I told you so.
Julie’s voice shrills over the microphone again. “And now for our last award, Least Changed!”
John and I exchange a panicked look.
“Rachel Cole!”
CHAPTER 4
* * *
rachel
“Rachel Cole. Where are you? Come on up here and get your award!” Julie is grinning widely, completely unaware that I’d rather give birth to triplets than accept the Least Changed award.
So what if it’s technically an honor for someone who still looks the same—a compliment even. I know what it really means, what everyone’s really thinking: that I’ve done nothing with my life.
I’m not sure if I should collect my award with the dignity of an Academy Award winner or get up there and tell everyone off. The four Belvedere and sodas I’ve downed are pulling for me to give the crowd the finger. With each step toward the stage, I feel my anger mount. I can hear nothing but the sound of my out-of-style high heels on the linoleum floor.
I walk up the stairs to the podium and Julie congratulates me yet again and hands me a plastic award. A trinket I’ve seen at the dollar store. I think of Sophie’s cheap soccer trophies and medals, which she recently relegated to a box in the garage, and I realize they look like Olympic medals compared to this.
I scan the sea of my classmates and see a man holding up his glass to me and cheering and it takes a moment for it to register that it’s Jake Johnson, our senior class president and captain of the volleyball team. He’s got a paunch and a comb-over now, but a huge smile is plastered across his face. He’s obviously having a great time even though he no longer looks like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. He swings his arm over the shoulders of the editor of our high school newspaper, Nancy Myers. She smiles my way, not a care in the world, even though she looks older than her thirty-eight years, gray at the temples and deep lines around her eyes. She’s having fun too—the kind of time I hoped I’d have.
I had been so excited to see my old friends and relive fun memories, never expecting the moment I walked in that I’d become consumed with insecurity, instantly transforming into a gangly fifteen-year-old who never felt she was pretty enough or smart enough or just enough in general. Not for John or for anyone. But somehow, back then, I was able to mask it, only whispering my true feelings to Casey late at night on the cordless phone I sneaked into my bedroom, the darkness giving me the courage to say the words. At school, I became an overachiever, taking on one more extracurricular activity, joining one more club, anything to prove myself. But now, standing here as a grown woman, I’m finding it almost impossible to swallow my tears. I quickly mumble a sarcastic “thanks a lot” into the microphone and stumble down the stairs, leaving a wide-eyed Julie behind, still clasping my trinket in her hand. I head toward the double doors leading out of the ballroom.
“Where are you going? You okay?” Casey calls after me.
I turn around slowly, ready to tell her how I’m feeling, until I see the Most Successful award dangling from her perfectly manicured left hand. Her hair is styled expertly, her makeup was obviously done by the award-winning makeup artist at her studio, and the designer minidress is hugging her in all the right places. Not only has she realized all of her dreams professionally, she looks more gorgeous than ever.
“I need to be alone.” I turn toward the door again so she won’t see my eyes filling with tears.
“Hey, don’t go. Talk to me,” Casey says quietly.
“Talk to you? You have no idea what I’m feeling.”
I ignore the hurt look in Casey’s eyes and snap, “Oh, wait, you probably have people to call for this. A life coach on speed dial, perhaps?”
I see John approaching, a concerned look on his face, but I shake my head to warn him not to get in the middle of this.
“What crawled up your ass? Don’t let some silly award mess with your head. It’s not worth it,” Casey pleads.