Now I was reviled.

But what could I do to show everyone I wasn’t that bitch from the show? That I was still the same girl they’d always known, just a little older and wiser—OK maybe not wiser, but at least trying to learn from my mistakes? I’d signed a contract forbidding me to talk about my time on Save a Horse, so it’s not like I could come totally clean. There had to be another way to remind them I was still the girl they were proud to call their own.

Wait a second—that was it! I’d go back to my roots by reaching out to the Cherry Pageant people! All the festivities were coming up in July, and maybe there would be a role for me as a former queen.

I sat up with renewed energy. Yes—this was perfect. I’d repair my reputation by embracing my community, getting involved, doing good deeds. I’d donate my time and energy to needy organizations. I’d work any event at the festival they wanted me to. I’d visit schools, cut ribbons, kiss babies, pick cherries. They probably wouldn’t pay me, but that was OK. My parents would let me move in with them for the summer, and after the festival, my reputation would be repaired, my confidence would be restored, I’d find a new job somewhere, and start saving up for my own place.

I took a deep breath, and the cool, damp air revitalized me. It smelled both earthy and clean, like the woods and the water, like the springs of my childhood. A rebirth. Getting to my feet, I brushed the sand off my skirt and turned around, proud of myself for coming up with a solution, like a real grownup.

To my surprise, I was no longer alone on the beach.

A man sat about twenty feet away, forearms draped over his widespread knees, hands clasped between them. He knew I was there, he must have seen me when he arrived, but he said nothing as I made my way to the steps and never looked away from the water. He had a nice profile, actually. Short dark hair, strong jaw covered with neatly trimmed scruff, nice ears. Sounds weird, I know, but I got the Nixon ears that stick way out, which is why I rarely wear my hair back and always notice ears on other people.

He wore aviator sunglasses, jeans, and a light brown jacket, and when I got closer I noticed he had a thick notebook next to him on the sand, the old fashioned spiral kind with a bright red cover. Intrigued, I nearly said hello, but something about the utter stillness in his pose told me he didn’t want to be bothered, and the greeting stuck in my throat.

Maybe he watches the show, I thought glumly. Maybe he knows exactly who I am and just doesn’t want to talk to me.

My spirits withered a little as I reached the wooden steps, where I realized I hadn’t picked up my heels from where I’d been sitting. I pivoted sharply, but somehow my ankle didn’t get the message and I went down hard on my hands and knees in the sand. A little squeak escaped me as I hit the ground.

Oh God. Please don’t let him be watching me.

A few seconds later I heard his voice.

I saw her. Of course I saw her.

I thought she was crying at first, because she was lying on her back, hands over her face. Although I was disappointed not to have the beach to myself, I felt a tug of sympathy and thought about asking if she was OK. But when I got closer and realized it was Skylar Nixon, I hesitated.

Skylar Nixon.

I hadn’t seen her in ten years, but I knew it was her. That hair—so light blonde it was almost silver against the sand. Her fingers covered her eyes, but I knew they were blue. Not a bright or sharp blue, like a gemstone, but sweeter, softer, like faded denim. I didn’t know this because of any extended time spent gazing into them directly, but from staring at her senior yearbook photo every night for a year while feverishly jerking off to the fantasy of her straddling my body in the dark.

But I’d bet every guy in our graduating class had that fantasy. She was just so beautiful.

We didn’t run with the same crowd back then—mostly because she had a crowd and I did not, which was fine with me. In those days, I preferred solitude. I sought it. Much easier to be alone with my anxiety than have to explain it to anyone.

It was still easier.

But I wasn’t that kid anymore, and here was a chance to prove it. Maybe this was serendipity.

I started walking toward her, and suddenly the voice in my head spoke up. Don’t do it. She’s too lovely, too fragile. You’ll hurt her.

Suddenly the disturbing image of Skylar gasping for air, my hands around her neck, lodged in my brain, along with the question, What if I choked her?

I stood there, paralyzed, desperately trying to push the thought from my head, and then I remembered I wasn’t supposed to do that. I had to talk back.

Stop it. Those fears aren’t rational. I’ve never choked anyone.

I hadn’t, had I? My mind suddenly went into overdrive, sifting through years of memories, trying to find the one where I must have choked someone. That’s why I was thinking about it now, wasn’t it?

Rational thought tried again. No! This is fucking ridiculous. You’ve never fucking choked a person!

But already that gut-gripping unease had me reconsidering my intent to speak to her. Even if I’d never choked anyone in the past, I must want to.

The other voice refused to quiet.

You know what will happen if you go over there and speak to her. So maybe you won’t choke her, but you’ll make a mess of things. Go ahead, start a conversation. If you’re lucky, she’ll remember you as the class freak and run off like a scared rabbit. If she likes you, you’re in even bigger trouble, because that’s how it all starts. And it ends with you ruining her life, just like you ruined Diana’s. You’re poison.

By this time, my heart was pounding furiously and my hair stood on end. The voice was right, he was totally right.

Distressed, I moved away from her, being certain to take an even number of steps, and sat down quietly in the sand, waiting for my heart to quiet down.

But it didn’t, because a moment later, she stood up, brushed herself off, and saw me.

Did she recognize me? I hoped not. I knew I looked different than I did back then, but I still didn’t want to take any chances.

Don’t look at her.

I said it eight times in my head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her walk toward the steps and then hesitate, like she might say hello. I held my breath. Counted to eight.

Suddenly she turned and went down hard in the sand, letting out a little shriek of surprise. Before I could stop myself, I was on my feet, rushing toward her.

“Are you all right?” I asked, taking her by the elbow to help her up.

“Yes,” she said quickly, her cheeks going adorably scarlet. “Just a little sandy and a lot embarrassed. Thank you.”

Once she was on her feet, I dropped her arm and stepped back as the horrible fear of harming her popped back into my mind and stuck there. She looked up at me curiously, like maybe she was trying to place me. If it was possible, she was even more beautiful than I remembered.

“I’m Skylar.”

“I know who you are.” It came out colder than intended. I hadn’t meant it in a bad way, but I was trying so hard not to think about hurting her that my voice was strained, my tone sullen. Fuck, I’m an asshole.

She must have taken offense, because her face fell, her complexion darkening further. “Right. Well, OK then.” Without any kind of goodbye, she brushed past me, scooped up a pair of shoes from the sand and stomped back over to the steps. She quickly slipped her feet into her heels and thumped up each stair with angry clacks.

Part of me wished I would have at least told her my name, reminded her that we’d once known each other, but another part just felt relief that she was gone and I hadn’t harmed her. The thought of choking her stubbornly refused to leave my head, and I walked back over to where I’d been sitting and dropped down onto the sand, hating myself.