Then I walked out.
Andrew was waiting near the ballroom doors.
“You look ready to leave,” he said.
“Would you speak to her?”
“I am.”
“I can get the car.”
Through the glass doors, I saw Betty return to the room. She stood near the back, alone.
I loosened my grip on my purse.
“No, wait. I’m tired of leaving rooms so other people can stay comfortable.”
We went back inside.
“I’m tired of leaving rooms.”
Minutes later, the host tapped the microphone.
“We asked a few people to share one thing they wish they’d understood at 18.”
A man joked about his haircut, and a woman mentioned ignoring her mother’s advice.
Then Betty crossed the room and took the microphone.
“I wish I’d understood that popular people can be insecure too.”
A man joked about his haircut.
Her eyes found mine.
She waited for me to rescue the sentence.
I didn’t.
Betty inhaled.
“No. That isn’t honest.”
The room quieted.
“I was crowned prom queen ten years ago. Some of you remember me as confident, perhaps even kind.”
Her eyes found mine.
