The elegant calligraphy cordially invited her to attend a high school reunion in her hometown of Rochester, Long Island. She allowed the letter to flutter from her fingers and onto the desk, where it rested atop the stack of bills she’d pulled from the mail. Only ten minutes ago she had stepped outside to twittering birds and a cloudless sky, the sun shining down as if to reflect her carefree heart. She had jumped out of bed that morning with a bounce in her step, for some reason feeling as though today was going to be a good day. When she’d spied the invitation, however, she’d promptly forgotten about the plans she’d made for her Saturday off and rushed to her home office to tear it open. The carefree feeling dissolved, to be replaced by a mixture of longing and apprehension. Her high school days were long behind her—it had been nearly ten years since she’d graduated from Rochester High, and she’d seldom looked back. Her experiences hadn’t been necessarily unpleasant—she hadn’t been bullied or disliked by anyone.
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