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me to pay for it?”
    Jesse looked wry. “You could have claimed sovereign immunity.”
    A wolf whistle cut through the music. Across the room, a man stood with his hands in his pockets, grinning at me.
    “Here we go,” Jesse said.
    I laughed and waved. “Tommy.”
    He was still a whippet. He was wearing a bowling shirt, the first time since graduation I had seen him in something besides motocross leathers. His brown eyes gleamed from beneath a ridiculous porkpie hat. He tipped it back, cool as ever.
    He sauntered over, chewing gum, and slapped my hand into a soul shake. “Hey, Rocky.”
    “You’re looking smooth,” I said.
    He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a nicotine patch. “Dawning of a new era.”
    “The tobacco companies are going to go bankrupt.” Smiling, I introduced Jesse. “Freedom fighter or my boyfriend, depending on your point of view.”
    Tommy shook his hand. “Cool. What is it you do, exactly?”
    “Take on the Man, mostly. You?”
    “I am the Man.” He chewed his gum. “Detective with the China Lake Police Department.”
    Jesse’s face was worth the drive.
    At the far end of the club Ceci Lezak climbed up on the bandstand, shushed the band, and stepped to the mike. “All righty. Before the festivities get too lively, we have a few awards.”
    Lively meant the football team was drinking Cuervo shots and we had less than an hour before chairs started flying. Ceci smoothed her ruffles into submission.
    “We want to mark some milestones in our lives. All this is in the Dog Days Update , but I want to make special mention of a few people.”
    Tommy leaned toward me. “You punched anybody out tonight?”
    I laughed. Jesse watched, his face enigmatic. He had nothing to be jealous of. Tommy had always been my crush, not vice versa. Homecoming was one of three dates we went on. He never stuck with a girl for more than a few weeks.
    Ceci read from a note card. “Four couples have been married for thirteen years, so we had to get down to anniversary dates.” Her voice sounded tight. “Congratulations to the longest-married graduates, Wally and Abbie Hankins.”
    In the center of the room Abbie whooped and thrust her arms in the air.
    Ceci flipped to the next card. “The award for the grad with the most children goes to Tommy Chang, with five.”
    The football team stomped on the floor and slapped their hands on tables, hooting, “Yeah!” I turned to him in surprise.
    He popped another stick of gum in his mouth. “Two sets of twins. And two ex-wives. You see why I can’t afford to smoke anymore.”
    “The grad who still lives closest to campus is . . . me.” Awkward laughter from the crowd. “And the award for the classmate who’s come the farthest to the reunion?”
    Beside me, I heard, “Oh, shit.”
    “Let’s have a round of applause. All the way from Canada, Jesse Blackburn.”
     
By ten p.m. the pineapple weenies had given way to a cake the size of a sofa, topped with a plastic basset hound and Gone huntin’ written in green icing. Up on the bandstand a quartet of classmates had slung on electric guitars, and Stace Wilkins and Bo Krause were playing increasingly drunken guitar solos. When they launched into “Pissing in the Wind,” Abbie jumped up and pulled Wally onto the dance floor.
    Near the door, Ceci was wrestling a display into place on an easel. My gaze slid past her, but an odd tic of emotion drew my eye back to a woman who had just come in.
    She was by herself, and she was sick. She seemed as frail as paper and carried herself with care, as though the slightest touch would bruise her. Under the disco ball her hair shone brassy brown. It was a wig. Her eyes were hot in an alabaster face. She gazed around the room expectantly, but nobody said hello to her.
    People sometimes treated Jesse the same way, and few things made me angrier. I headed across the club. I might fumble for words, but that was better than ignoring her.
    I extended my hand. “Evan Delaney. You’ll