The truck door opened. Manson was a tall, slim guy, and he looked even taller in his tight jeans and lace-up leather boots. He was wearing a black t-shirt that hugged his chest and was criss-crossed with some kind of leather straps - a harness? He’d had a mohawk in high school, but now his light brown hair was slicked back. As he hopped out of the truck and slammed his door shut, he carefully fit a shiny vinyl officer’s hat on his head.
“Oh my god, look down, look down, look down!”
Ashley tried to warn me, but I was too late. Manson walked past our car and locked eyes with me, freezing me in my seat. He had one white contact in, giving an eerie look to his face, his other eye looking almost black in contrast. I gulped as he passed, unable to look away, unable to blink.
He grinned at me - a slow, appraising grin. Then he was gone, down the sidewalk toward the party. I sighed, slumping in my seat. Maybe he hadn't recognized me. Maybe he didn't remember me at all!
But I could remember. I could still picture Manson’s face when he was escorted to the principal’s office. I’d known what Kyle was going to do, and I’d texted Manson the night before, the only text I’d ever sent him, telling him not to come to school. He’d come anyway. When all the boys were finally dragged out of the bathroom, Manson had been the one taken away by the two campus guards. He’d had that big purple bruise on his left cheek, a drip of blood running down his chin from a split lip, and a grim smile on his face.
I felt weird as I thought about it, and squirmed uncomfortably. There was something scary about the way he’d looked, but I couldn’t get his face out of my head. He hadn’t been afraid. He’d come that day knowing what was going to happen, and pulled a knife on six-foot-three Kyle Baggins and his jock friends.
I’d wanted to kiss him again as I saw him escorted off. I’d wanted to text him when I found out he’d been expelled. I wanted to tell him that I was proud he’d defended himself, that Kyle had deserved the scare, that I didn’t blame him for bringing the knife.
I never did. I had a reputation to uphold and Manson Reed didn’t fit into it.
“What. A. Creep.” Ashley said, shoving open her door. “We’re avoiding him like the plague. Hopefully he gets kicked out.”
“Hopefully,” I muttered, as I slid on my heels. The shoes were strappy and tall, with a white filigree pattern that zipped all the way up to my knee. I caught my reflection in the car window and smiled. I loved making an entrance.
The walkway up to the house was lined with jack-o-lanterns, candles flickering inside their wide grinning faces. Plastic skeletons hung from the pillars beside the house's entry doors, and fake gravestones littered the grass across the front yard. The thumping bass of a live DJ pounded through my chest as I pressed the doorbell. It was only seconds before a middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair and a glass of Sangria flung open the door.
“Oh my goooodddd, Jessicaaaaaa!” she screeched, wrapping me in a tight hug that squished me against her fake tits. “And Ashley, oh my god, welcome ladies!”
“Hi, Mrs. Peters,” I gave her a smile as we stepped into the entryway. Mrs. Peters was the literal definition of a “cool mom” - she was always present at her son’s parties, laughing, dancing, and drinking. She was one of those parents who didn’t really seem like a parent - but every now and then would drop some wisdom that could only come from decades of experience on the planet.
The pale cream walls and decorative mahogany table in the entry room had been strewn with fake cobwebs, and the light bulbs in the chandelier overhead switched out for blacklights. Lifelike mannequins of zombie babies were tucked into the corners and stared down at us from the stairway. The house was packed, as I expected. There were dozens of people I knew - some friendly, some not. Being captain of the cheerleading squad and dating the football team’s star quarterback had definitely earned me some enemies, even after graduation. I knew I hadn’t been the nicest person in high school either - but whatever. The past was the past.
Ashley and I poured ourselves some drinks and wandered the party, meeting up with friends and making small-talk, admiring the house’s creepy decor. Daniel had always made sure to go all-out with his party decorations. The sangria was held in a giant witch’s cauldron, the cheese dip had been molded into the shape of a brain, and even the hors d'oeuvres looked like creepy little spiders and severed fingers.
Outside, people dove into the heated pool and played drinking games at the several tables that had been setup to host beer pong and King’s Cup. The DJ played on the cobweb-strewn gazebo, wearing a bright red suit and devil horns. The backyard was large, covered with grass, with rows of bushes lining the stone wall that surrounded it.
Near the beer pong tables we finally found Daniel, shot-gunning a beer before he leaped - fully clothed - into the pool. But he hadn’t been drinking alone. He’d been chugging alongside none other than Manson Reed, who tossed aside his empty beer can with a smile and laughed as Daniel went diving.
I felt like I’d stepped into the Uncanny Valley. I’d been a little out of the loop since I started college, but this was all wrong. Why the hell was Manson drinking with Daniel? Why was he surrounded by people who wouldn’t have looked twice at him in high school? Why -
“Why is he staring at you?” Ashley said, holding her cup up to her mouth to mask her lips. She was right: Manson’s eyes had fallen on me and he had yet to look away. There was recognition in his eyes, and I wondered what memory came up for him first. Was it me glancing at him in silence as I walked through the halls holding Kyle's hand? Or was it my face inches from his own before we kissed, as I whispered, “Promise not to tell?”
WIth a sudden sharp pain in my chest, I wondered if he hated me. Not like I cared about gaining the approval of a weirdo like him, but...the way he was looking at me didn’t feel hateful. He seemed curious, his eyes lingering over my face and then down, over my body. Of course he’d stare. Everyone stared. But somehow I still felt...what was this...guilt?
After all, I'd made-out with him and then immediately got back with the guy who'd been bullying him since freshman year. I’d teased him relentlessly, spread rumors about him, laughed at him. If that didn't make me look like an asshole, I didn't know what would.
“Hey-hey, ladies, welcome!” Daniel ran over, dripping from the pool, offering us hi-fives instead of hugs. Manson’s gaze finally broke as Daniel clasped his hand companionably and said, “Nice job, bro. Just not fast enough!”
“This is so fucking weird,” Ashley whispered. “Since when are they friends?”
I shrugged, trying not to linger on the topic. The more I thought about it, and the more I looked at Manson, the more awkward I felt. And “awkward” wasn’t a normal feeling for me at all.
A round of beer pong had just ended, so Ashley and I stepped up to challenge the winners. I had always been a competitive person - whether it was cheerleading or beer pong, I hated to lose. We sank the opposing team’s cups quickly, taking them down within a few minutes and getting a nice buzz while we were at it. With the game over, I realized that a small crowd had gathered to watch us play. Manson was watching too. Watching me.
Again, the fear that he hated me gripped my chest, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around why I cared. I hadn’t seen or thought of him in years. Our kiss had faded into the background of my memories, as had all our tense interactions, all my cruel words and haughty looks. It had faded - until I saw him tonight. Now it all crashed back into me like a punch to the chest.