“That’s my ID, bro.”

I gave the ID another skeptical glance before returning my gaze to the customer—some skinny ass white boy aiming for street fashion when he really just looked like a whiny rich teenager in pristine Jordans. He was the kind of guy who called me a faggot in school. I was utterly lacking in sympathy for him.

“You’re twenty-one, huh?” I asked. “You go to college?”

“That’s none of your business.”

I slid my finger along the edge of the ID and found a small bubble along the edge. What a fucking idiot. If he’d bought an ID with the money he’d spent on those Jordans, maybe he could have fooled me. Unfortunately, he was face-to-face with someone who had done plenty of dabbling in fake IDs as a teenager.

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do,” I said with a hint of smug satisfaction. “I’m going to look in our ID Checking Guide and see if you’re in there. If you are, you can have your Bud Light.”

I made a show of consulting my cash register, which I suppose looked enough like a computer to fool some dweeb with peach fuzz on his upper lip. With a sigh of frustration, he took back his ID and told me to fuck myself before walking out.

I of course had no access to such a guide; my boss would never spring for that shit. He’d much rather give beer to teens. However, I enjoyed being an asshole, especially to teens who reminded me of myself at that age. They always needed more adults telling them no to irresponsible behavior, and I’d volunteer if no one was going to step up.

The night was pretty dead, so I returned to some shelves of whiskey that needed to be restocked. I was very invested in unboxing some Crown Royal when I spotted a figure at the end of the aisle. She looked like a lot of the young women who came in—leggy and tanned with a few cute tattoos in tasteful places. But when she turned enough so that I could see her profile, I froze in sudden terror.

I dropped a bottle of whiskey, which, thanks to the industrial carpet, did not break. But it made enough of a noise for the woman to notice. She turned to me fully now, and while I had recognized her instantly, it took her a few moments. When she did, her eyes went wide.

“Justin?”

I scrambled to pick up the whiskey and shove it onto the shelf, making all the bottles clank. I winced at the sound, then faced her with a hint of embarrassment. “Hey, Rachel.”

“Holy shit.” She came closer, removing her hands from the coat pockets where they were buried. Beyond some highlights I didn’t remember, she hadn’t changed much. She still had her septum piercing. She still wore harsh eyeliner drawn in sharp points at the corner of each eye. She still had good skin and straight teeth I’d always envied, along with the same piercing blue eyes. She’d done a little modeling as a younger kid, but she’d lost interest by the time we’d become friends in high school. She liked to live life a little more dangerously. “Justin, is that you?”

“Hey,” I said again, quickly wiping my sweaty hands on the ass of my jeans. She hadn’t caught me at a great time, considering I’d rolled out of bed half an hour before my shift started. I wasn’t wearing any of my signature eyeshadow or even my contact lenses. It was a little shocking she’d recognized me so quickly, but she’d seen me in every manner of undress after all the crazy parties we attended, so I suppose she’d recognize me no matter what.

Why did I keep meeting people in this stupid liquor store? Were there no other liquor stores in this city?

“Wow.” She blinked, looking me over a few times. “You look really good!”

“What?” Without thinking, I reached up to touch my hair. Had I even brushed it before coming here?

“I mean, you look so much better than when I saw you last.” She paused. “Not that you didn’t look good then, but… I dunno, you were really… skinny.”

“Yeah. It was the cocaine.”

To my surprise, Rachel snorted a laugh. “Wow, okay, no beating around the bush on that one.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Rachel had such a cute laugh. Boys went crazy for it.

“You’ve put on weight, and you look fantastic.” Rachel reached out to touch my arm, then pulled back last minute. “God, I did not expect to see you again. How are you doing, dude? How long has it been?”

I did some mental calculations. “Five years?”

“Shit, yeah.” She put a hand on her hip. “What’s been going on with you, huh? How have you been?”

“Um… okay I guess.” I shrugged a shoulder. “What about you?”

“I graduated from UC Davis and I’m living back at home with the parents.”

“Oh, cool.” Rachel had always been the most studious among our friend group. I had no idea how she managed an A average when she spent her weekends so trashed. “What’d you major in?”

“Computer science.”

“Really?”

“I mean, I started in biology but that shit was hard, and with this degree I got a job literally two weeks after I graduated.”

“That’s great.” I managed at least half a smile, because I was happy for her and I definitely was not comparing my own sad situation to her success, no siree. “Congratulations.”

“You work here then? You must be like a monkey in a banana tree.”

“What?”

“You know. Monkeys love bananas. You love booze.” She rolled her eyes. “So much for writing my own jokes.”

“Oh, right.” I forced a laugh, but it died too quickly and made things awkward. “I work here, yeah. It’s not too bad. I’m too poor to buy most of this shit, so it’s fine.”

That wasn’t really true. I wasn’t too poor for PBR, and nothing was going to stop me from getting my hands on the cheapest vodka for those nights I could not tolerate reality.

Rachel and I stood in silence a moment, and I hated it. This girl was someone I’d told pretty much everything to from the age of fifteen to eighteen, before I chose my relationship with Dylan (and cocaine) over her and our friendship ended with an unsatisfying sizzle. There had been no fight, no closure. She just stopped talking to me, and at the time, all I thought was good riddance. She’d criticized Dylan and my drug habit, and I guess at some point she decided I was no longer worth it. I didn’t blame her. I’d been very deep in denial and on my way to self-destruction. It was a good thing she’d weaned herself off of me, because without me she’d been able to go to college and get a degree in something that paid. She’d been spared all of the shit that happened with Dylan—and all the shit that happened after him.

“You okay, Justin?” she asked, her forehead wrinkling. “I was really worried about you, you know. I tried checking up on you but all of our friends said you’d stopped talking to them and they didn’t know what was up with you. Your Facebook is private, and I was afraid to friend you because…” She sighed. “I didn’t know if you hated me or something.”

“I don’t hate you. I thought you hated me.”

“I was pissed off at first, yeah. But I graduated from school and you didn’t, and then I never heard about what happened to you. A few weeks after graduation I stopped by your house to talk to you, but you weren’t there. Your mom told me you were in summer school.”

My mother had never told me that. Maybe she thought Rachel was a bad influence and wanted to protect me. I’d been pretty fragile at that point, fresh out of rehab and really struggling to keep it together. Seeing Rachel—and fearing her judgment—might have done more harm than good.

“I don’t do drugs anymore,” I blurted, even though it wasn’t true. I didn’t snort coke anymore, but I didn’t abstain from pot. Pot had never been a problem of mine, not if there was booze in the house instead. “I’m fine though. It was kinda rocky, but I graduated high school, and I’ve been doing odd jobs ever since.”

“That’s good to hear. I mean, about the drugs.” She bit her lip a moment. “You did a lot of coke with Dylan. We both know I was no stranger to blow, but, like, you were… you could barely function without it.”

“Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t eat either. I honestly thought you were anorexic or something.”

I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want to hear about how pathetic and fucked up I was in high school. Maybe Rachel saw that in my face, because she rushed to move the conversation in a different direction.

“Hey, you know what? We should catch up. Like, for real. When are you off tonight? Me and some friends were gonna head over to a club around ten, and you’re welcome to come if you like.”

“A club? I don’t know…”

“A gay club,” she said with an obvious wink.

“For real?”

“Fuck yeah. You think I bother with straight people these days?” She flicked a hand, as if waving away the concept. “Practically all my friends are queer. You’d be amongst your people.”

I didn’t have to think about it much, because after a week of no social interaction and not much drinking, I was really in need of some excitement, even if it came from my ex-high school best friend. I really had missed her, and I wanted to reignite some of the magic we’d had together.

“I’m off at nine, which is in like an hour. You wanna pick me up?”

“Sure thing.” She reached out and rested her hand on my arm with a small, private smile. “I’m really glad to see you again, Justin. I’m so relieved that you’re okay.”

I believed her. I offered her a smile back, and after a brief squeeze, she released me and reached past me for a Crown Royal whiskey.

“Wanna ring me up?” she asked.