LHS Class of 01 The Reunion

“I can’t believe they’re actually here,” he whispered to himself, feeling a surge of anticipation that mixed with the faint scent of stale gym mats and fresh rosemary from the catering staff. In that moment, the years melted away, and the teenage versions of himself, Peter and Scott, seemed to be waiting just beyond the rim of the glass.

Peter, meanwhile, was already engaged in a lively conversation with a former chemistry teacher, his hands gesturing animatedly as he recounted the infamous senior prank that had nearly gotten the whole class expelled. He glanced toward the corner where the photo‑board displayed a collage of their high‑school exploits—crushes, football victories, and the infamous “Midnight Marathon” fundraiser—and his smile broadened when he saw Marc’s name highlighted in a glossy frame. “If you’re looking for me, I’ll be by the old bleachers,” Peter called out, his voice ringing with the same unmistakable confidence that had once carried the varsity cheer squad to regional championships. The sight of Marc’s eager face approaching the bleachers sparked a burst of laughter, and Peter felt a warm tide of camaraderie wash over him, as if the years of distance had been erased by a single, shared memory.

Scott arrived a few minutes later, his shoulders still carrying the slight stiffness of a man who had spent the evening rehearsing jokes in his car, hoping they would land as perfectly as they had in the cramped hallway lockers of their youth. He paused at the entrance, taking a deep breath as the low thrum of a late 90s to early 2000s playlist filled the air, and then made his way toward the balcony where Marc and Peter were already swapping stories. “You guys look like you’ve been waiting for this all your lives,” Scott said, his tone laced with mock exaggeration, but his eyes betrayed genuine excitement. As they clasped each other’s shoulders in a tight, brotherly hug, the three friends exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance.

“So is Francis going to show up?” Marc asks his friends but they are not even thinking about him. “I don’t even want to see him here.” Peter replies. “Same” Scott also states, being the one that Francis would mess with almost everyday. “I would be happy to never see that prick ever again,” he says, grabbing a cup. “Even if he does show up tonight, remember you’re doing well for yourself” Marc tells him. “I still can’t believe he and Valerie are still together after eleven years and she hasn’t shown up either. If you think about it, it might be easier” Peter tells them. They suddenly turn around to see Valerie enter the gym all by herself. The doors creaked open with a soft sigh, and Valerie stepped in, her heels clicking against the polished floor as if announcing her arrival to an audience that had long forgotten her name. Scott understandably is shocked to see her arrive, worrying that Francis might walk up behind her. After thirty seconds, the three guys don’t see Francis at all. “Maybe he’s sick of something” Peter says to them.

Megan was staring at the phone when the automatic doors hissed open, a few fewer classmates announcing Valerie’s arrival with a brief gust of winter‑time air that seemed to carry the gym’s fluorescent hum into the hallway. She stared for a heartbeat, noting the way Valerie’s shoulders were squared, the determination in the set of her jaw, and the faint echo of a ringtone still vibrating against her phonescreen. The familiar scent of perfume mingled with the purple, almost satin fabric of the new dress fit Valerie perfectly, and Megan felt a sudden, inexplicable knot tighten in her chest. As Valerie slipped past one of her former classmates, she caught sight of Megan and raised a hand in a quick, practiced greeting, the gesture betraying nothing of the storm that churned beneath the surface of her smile.