I spent ten years rebuilding the confidence high school had taken from me. When I finally walked into my reunion, I expected awkward stares and old memories. I never expected the former prom queen to react as though seeing me had uncovered something she had been hiding for years.
Betty stared at my name tag, then dropped her earring into the sink.
“Leah?”
Her voice came out thin.
A moment earlier, she’d been smiling at me through the restroom mirror and telling me she loved my dress. Now, all the color had drained from her face.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Leah. Remember me?”
Betty stared at my name tag.
She took one step back, then another.
Before I could say anything else, Betty turned, rushed into the nearest stall, and locked the door.
A few seconds later, I heard her crying.
I stood beside the sinks and looked at my reflection.
Ten years earlier, Betty had been the reason I avoided mirrors.
Now, she couldn’t look at me.
