The Penalty Box Read Free

turtlenecks, chinos, and practical shoes for running across campus. Rarely did she wear her long blond hair up, or even loose; she usually pulled it back in a ponytail. But not tonight. Tonight it was up, soft golden tendrils falling around her oval face. She’d poured herself into the tightest little black dress she could find, showing off every firm curve of the body she killed herself to maintain. When Tuck had said, “Wow, Aunt Katie, you look hot !” she’d blushed furiously because it was true: She did look hot.
    Eyeing the dashboard, Katie checked the time. Eight thirty. A few people were still arriving, but most had to be inside by now. She could picture them standing in small clusters laughing, the ice in their drinks tinkling as their lips moved nonstop: Remember this, remember that? Panic seized her. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. She popped an Altoid in her mouth and took a deep breath. The cruelties of the past can’t hurt me now. Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names can lead to years of therapy. No! Think positive! You can do this. You’re attractive and successful. Remember: you’re here as a sociologist observing group behavior.
    Head held high, Katie slid out of the car and headed for Tivoli Gardens.
    Â 
    Â 
    The minute Katie spotted the pert hostess in the red peasant skirt and green velvet bodice standing outside the banquet room, she wanted to bolt. But Katie wasn’t a quitter: She made herself put one foot in front of the other until she and Heidi were face-to-face.
    â€œGuten Tag!” the woman said brightly. “Here for the reunion?”
    Katie nodded.
    â€œAnd you are—?”
    Katie cleared her throat. “Katie Fisher.”
    The woman skimmed her list of attendees. “Ja, here you are.” She handed Katie a name tag. “Would you like to fill out the ‘All About Me!’ form?”
    â€œForm?”
    â€œJust to tell people a little about yourself and what you’re up to now. At the end of the night, awards are given out. You know: ‘Least Changed,’ ‘Most Children,’ things like that.”
    Katie discreetly backed away from the woman. “No, thank you.”
    Heidi pointed to the door behind her. “The reunion is being held right here in the Rhineland Banquet Room.” She flashed Katie a retina-burning smile. “Have a great time!”
    â€œI’ll try,” Katie mumbled, affixing the name tag to her dress. She toyed with the idea of not wearing it just to be rebellious, but that seemed kind of dumb. Besides, how rebellious could you be in a place named the Rhineland Banquet Room?
    The pounding undercurrent of a bass guitar coming from within made the ground beneath her feet shake as her hand lingered on the door. Do I really want to do this?
    Steeling herself, Katie slipped inside. Her eardrums were immediately assaulted by a DJ blasting Toni Braxton’s “Un-break My Heart,” a song that had been popular the year she graduated. The evening would be filled with all the songs of 1996, good and bad. A banner hung from the far end of the banquet room proclaiming, “Welcome Back Didsbury High School Class of ’96! I Believe I Can Fly!”, the latter line a reference to the R. Kelly song that had been her graduating class’s anthem. Katie had always thought the Beatles’s “Free As a Bird,” also a hit that year, would have been more apropos. At least, that was how she’d felt on graduation day.
    She had to hand it to the reunion committee: The tables ringing the room looked great. Each had burning crimson tapers and a centerpiece of red roses and white carnations—their school colors. She could have done without the tacky napkins and glasses with “I Believe I Can Fly!” printed on them, though. A small dance floor had been set up in front of the DJ. Cocktail hour was in full swing. Just as she’d imagined, her former