Chapter 1
“Hey Dad, did you hear that Hannah and Arden are writing a book about Weijie?” - Emily Lindsey
“Yeah, it’s like the book of Moses - but with more historical significance.” - Laine Lindsey
Arthur Schopenhauer once said, “Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.” Now, I don’t know a thing about death - not more than any other living person, anyway - but I’d like to think I know a bit about resurrection. My first assignment as a full-fledged journalist was to research an elderly man who had been dead for 92 entire minutes on the operating table before popping back into life. My article said that it was the love of his wife of fifty-two years that saved him; my mind said that it was the defibrillator. (The editor didn’t like my version very much.) But regardless of what saved that old man from his cardiac arrest, I know what resurrected me: the people I met in high school. Impossible, some people think. Improbable, maybe. But for me, it’s ridiculous to think otherwise.
I have just settled into the doldrums of freelance journalism when the engraved letter arrives in the mail. I’m staying in some shabby apartment in the French Quarter, and, being a literary major, I find the embossed forest green invitation fairly ironic. Sitting on my coffee-stained kitchen table on top of an ancient MacBook Pro - the pet dinosaur I keep around in a fit of nostalgia for my childhood - it looks so out of place and classy. What I had always expected my life to be, there, in this perfect little envelope with black lettering. “Hannah Lindsey” in Arial font, size 14. Return address: Stratford High School. Houston, TX.
As per the enclosed instructions, I arrive in my hometown ready to spend two weeks indulging in childhood memories. My brother has taken up a job as a docent in San Antonio; my sister is still struggling for her orthodontic license; my mother, of course, is off on her continuous book signings; my father and I sit alone for breakfast at our favorite Denny’s. Some things never change. His main concern is for my housing situation, which, I assure him, is completely stable.
I’m lying, of course. I haven’t actually planned ahead since quitting my one consistent job with National Geographic three months ago. I figure I’ll rent a hotel or something. Can’t really stay in the old folks’ home with Dad, can I? Why make him worry about it.
The only person I’d bothered to contact was David Cremins. An odd choice, considering that he doesn’t live in Houston (or America) anymore and had never attended Stratford High School in the first place. But what the hell, if I’m going to remember my glory days, might as well do it full-force.
He’d agreed to come to Houston after a few bribe attempts and threatening emails, but his plane isn’t due to arrive for another six hours. Now it is unavoidable. I have to make a few calls. Perhaps it is laziness, perhaps fear, perhaps embarrassment, but I have treated my former classmates like the plague. Even Arden and I have slowly drifted apart in the stormy sea of adulthood. Sure, we exchange the erratic phone calls and text messages of estranged best friends for life, but it’s nothing like the daily contact we kept up through college and for some time after.
Ten years is a long time, I think, to be chasing the wind of your childhood dreams.
She picks up after two rings with a loud scream. “I’m in Houston! Are you in Houston!”
“Hi to you too!” Arden Johnson could always make me laugh. I unlock my beat-up BMW (college graduation gift from my mom) and sling out onto Memorial Drive.
“It’s been so long! Let’s meet up somewhere. Where are you right now?”
“Driving down Memorial, the same place I spent all of my Houston-bound life. Want to get some coffee or something?”
Her voice sounds the same on the other line as it always has, so full of energy and inspiration. In less than ten minutes we are sitting across from each other in a nearly-abandoned Starbucks, its sole occupants except for the scrawny lad engaged in the Sisyphean task of cleaning the counter. There are no words for a long minute, only hugs and smiles.
“I missed you,” she says at last. “What’s been going on?”
“Oh, I’ve been here and there,” I mutter, which she interprets to mean that I’ve been doing nothing. She’s right.
“Well, I’m doing the same old thing. Austin still holds all the charm in the world for a person like me.” The Cheshire grin on her face is so natural that I laugh again. “I just picked up a cool premise for a Nature Channel-style documentary, so we’ll see how that goes.”
“Look at you, Miss Director!” She bows in her seat and I applaud. The poor employee brings our drinks and flees the scene. I decide to give him a large tip, just because I feel sorry for the guy.
“So have you heard from anyone?”
I shake my head. She sighs.
“I only know of everyone, but it’s been a long time. I talk to Hannah Kirst, of course, and Olivia and I chat every now and then.”
“How are they?” I don’t want to think about the fact that I haven’t spoken to either of them in over five months now.
“Well, they’re both still living in California. Olivia’s planning weddings for the Hollywood big-shots - she says it’s hilarious - always knew she’d do something like that - and she brought her husband with her, she says he’s a doll...” There’s something behind her face as she says the word doll, and I know there’s more to it than what she’s letting on. “Hannah is some super up-and-coming pediatrician. They’re both living it up over there.”
“As they should!”
“Hannah’s parents are in town for these two weeks, they were over at my house this morning. I guess they wanted to reminisce too, who knows?”
“How about everyone else? John Ryan? Axel?”
Arden throws her head back and laughs. “You’ll never guess what they’re doing.”
“John Ryan is a basketball player and Axel is a monk?”
“Close. Axel’s down in Cozumel doing love counseling.”
There is a serious risk of coffee shooting out of my nose.
“But for real, apparently he’s very good at understanding feelings or whatever. And John Ryan is in Houston... teaching at SHS. Remember Mr. Clancy? He took over his position.”
“No. Way.” It’s hard to get my head around all of this new information. “He always wanted to do biology. Or be a band teacher, I think. But that was... a long time ago.”
“And Reason! How could I forget Reason? Have you ever heard of TheScoop.com? He made that.”
“You’re kidding, that major blogging website? I have an account on that! No way! So he’s like... what... a bajillionaire? Roughly? That’s crazy, I always knew he’d do something amazing.”
“He’s still living in Houston. He’s got his own Wikipedia page and everything.”
“That’s insane.” We both take long drags of our coffee and ponder old acquaintances. It is hard for me to put names with faces. “What about Weijie?” I finally ask. Her face lights up.
“I hadn’t heard from him at all, so I looked him up. He’s literally the epitome of mastermind. He designed some part for oil manufacturing in college, and now he’s got this massive international corporation. Plus he went to med school. And apparently he’s in a band, too.”
Arden hears some subtle cue from the radio on the counter and starts singing at the top of her lungs... some things never change. Everyone’s life sounds so perfect and planned out. I am still trying to find my place, while everyone else is settling down. Olivia will have kids in high school before I outgrow my own high school life. Twirling the coffee around in my mug, I can’t help but feel more than a little lost in my own skin.
