“I don’t remember,” I say in a jagged whisper.

  Leland releases one of my arms to gently wipe some of the tears from my face. “I figured you didn’t.”

  “It’s nothing personal,” I tell him. “I don’t remember much from the first few months after the accident. My therapist said it was part of the PTSD; my brain’s way of coping with trauma was to block things out.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Thank you for being such a good friend to Wesley,” I say. “And to me now.”

  Some emotion I can’t describe flits across Leland’s face, but it’s gone before I can analyze it. “Of course. I consider myself lucky to have both McGrath siblings in my life.”

  I refrain from telling him we’re the lucky ones. Instead, I root around in my purse until I find the small package of tissues I always carry with me. I swipe at my damp face and angle my body away to blow my nose as discreetly as possible. When I straighten, Leland starts walking again without saying anything, and I fall into step beside him.

  “You really haven’t skated since the accident?”

  I exhale sharply. Leland starts to tell me I don’t have to answer, but I cut him off. “It’s okay. For a long time, I was in too much physical pain to even consider it. My physiotherapist eventually said I could attempt it as part of my rehab, but by then, it was the emotional pain holding me back. I knew I’d never be able to skate the way I used to—partly because the injury left one of my legs slightly shorter than the other—so even the thought of returning to the ice represented all my broken hopes and dreams.”

  Leland nods. “I’m sorry, Stella. It must have been awful.”

  “It really, really was.” There’s no use denying it, although I try to infuse a dash of humor into my voice to lighten the mood. It works enough to make Leland’s lips curve in a half smile, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. An idea suddenly occurs to me, and I verbalize it before I can think twice and back out. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

  “No…”

  “What if we came to the Village for the event? I can’t promise I’d go so far as to actually attempt roller skating, but it’s been ages since I’ve seen Wesley do his DJ thing, and you know how much I love ’90s music. Plus it’d be one final public practice for our fake relationship before the reunion.”

  “You don’t need to convince me, Stella,” Leland says, his smile more genuine now. “I’d love to go with you.”

  “Great. Then it’s a date.”

  “A date to roller skate.” His smile verges on a smirk that reminds me of his ridiculous ramblings the other night at the banquet. They were meant as a distraction then, and I have a feeling that’s what he’s doing now: continuing to help me lighten the mood after the heavy tone our conversation took. He always seems to know exactly what I need.

  He proves that further when he slips his hand into mine as we carry on through the Village. There’s no real reason for him to hold my hand; no one to see us, no one to put on a show for. And yet the contact both comforts and exhilarates me.

  I’m going to miss moments like this after the reunion, so I soak in the warmth of Leland’s hand in mine, and remind myself for the umpteenth time that this is temporary and I’d be wise not to get used to it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Are you absolutely sure other people will be dressing up?” I ask, twisting one way and then the other in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom.

  Felicity comes up behind me and plants her hands on my shoulders, grinning as she takes in our reflections. She called me last night to say Leland had told her we’d decided to go to the roller skating event after all. She suggested the two of us get ready together, asked me a dozen questions about my favorite styles and characters from the ’90s, and then told me she’d handle our outfits.

  “Positive,” she says firmly. “Ivy herself told me it was a theme night and to come wearing my best ’90s outfit, whether it was general fashion of the time or an iconic character.”

  Felicity went the iconic character route and is dressed as Tai Frasier from Clueless. She looks adorable in a high-waisted plaid miniskirt, light blue t-shirt, cropped velvet sweater, and dark tights. Her hair is secured in a high ponytail with a halo of frizzy curls around her head.

  I blow out a slow breath as I take in my outfit once more. I had suggested dressing like Sporty Spice since I’ve done it before. Like many pre-teens and teens of the late ’90s and early 2000s, my friends and I went through a Spice Girls phase (a phase which, if I’m honest, never completely ended; we still love the band and dream of the day they reunite one more time so we can see them again in concert). We agreed to dress as them one year for Halloween and I chose Sporty Spice since I was…well, the sporty one. Evie was Posh, Hollie was Ginger, and Louisa was Baby. I had the costume, simple as it was, all ready, but ended up going out of town for a skating competition. When I returned, the girls insisted we all dress up for a Spice Girls photoshoot, and they even bought one of those life-size cardboard cutouts of Scary Spice from the record store so the group would be complete.

  When Felicity arrived this evening, she said she couldn’t find anything that would work for Sporty Spice, so she’d gone with a popular throwback look: denim overalls. Her concession to my original idea was a Spice Girls t-shirt, glittery eye makeup, and a neon pink scrunchie for me to put my hair in a high ponytail à la Mel C. I have to admit I love the look, and when I asked how she managed to get clothes in my size, she said they were thrift store finds. Apparently I’ve been sleeping on the whole thrifting trend and need to get myself to the nearest charity shop.

  “Now, there’s just one final decision to make,” Felicity says, crossing the room and rooting around in the giant tote bag she brought. She straightens, holding a blue-and-red plaid shirt in one hand and a patterned neon fanny pack in the other.

  “I was thinking one of us could wear the fanny pack and put our stuff in it so we don’t have to bring purses,” she says, holding up the neon monstrosity and wiggling it around. “It would go better with your outfit than mine, but I don’t mind wearing it if you’d rather rock the trend of the plaid shirt tied around your waist. You could do both, but it would probably be cumbersome.”

  I reach for the fanny pack and adjust the belt to fit around my waist. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

  “I love stuff like this.” She returns to the mirror and adjusts the loose curls around her face. “I was a kid who never grew out of playing dress up. Luckily, I’ve met a bunch of people over the years who like to do cosplay, so it gives me an excuse to put together fun outfits and costumes a few times a year.”

  “We could do that as part of the theme nights at the store,” I say. “Cosplay for specific fandoms or themes like tonight’s but with different decades. Maybe even general costumes where people dress up however they want. We could have contests and get people to vote for their favorites. Prizes could be themed merch from the store or gift cards.”

  A slow smile creeps across Felicity’s face until she’s full-on Cheshire Cat grinning. “I love that idea. Also, I couldn’t help noticing you said ‘we’ a lot…” Before I can respond, her phone dings repeatedly from where she’s left it on my dresser. “Saved by the bell,” she says as she dashes across the room. “It’s Leland. He says he’s on his way to the venue and will meet us there. Ready to go party like it’s 1999?”

  I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. My knees are shaking; I’m not sure whether it’s from the thought of donning roller skates or seeing Leland. Maybe both. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  *****

  I can hear the rhythmic thump thump thump of bass as we approach the Village’s events venue. My heart beats along in time to the music, throbbing in my pulse points and banging against my ribs like a kickdrum. My palms are sweating and my face is tingling. My bad leg has been hurting ever since we got into Felicity’s car, although I have to wonder if that’s psychosomatic.

  Felicity loops her arm around my waist as we approach the venue doors. She squeezes me and shoots me a quick smile that doesn’t quite cover the concern in her eyes. She’s so much like her brother: kind, caring, empathetic. Just as I would if it were Leland here offering comfort, I draw strength from Felicity’s presence.

  “I’m okay. Let’s do this.” I suck in a lungful of crisp autumn air, reminding myself I can leave any time I need to, even if it’s just to return outside for some air.

  Felicity releases my waist and offers me a hand. Relief and gratitude surge through me as I slip my hand into hers. Despite my resolve to muster up as much confidence as possible, the shaky feeling persists. Felicity throws open the doors and we stride inside.

  I search for Leland among the people milling around the entrance and coat check area. My eyes go wide as I take in the sea of neon, geometrical shapes, plaid, tie dye, and glitter. Talk about a blast from the past. The feeling of falling through time into my childhood eases some of the persistent knots in my stomach.

  We check our coats and follow the sound of Whigfield’s “Saturday Night” into the main events area. Felicity sings along to the song, bopping beside me as I take in the low-lit room with its starlight effect from the disco ball. The majority of the room is dedicated to the makeshift rink where people are roller skating, with a shoe rental area and bar off to one side, and a small stage at the far end of the room. Wesley is doing his DJ thing, wearing what appears to be some sort of armor that glints in the flashing lights.

  Felicity leans in and speaks loudly so I can hear her over the music. “If you decide not to skate, you could always dance instead.” She points to where a group of women are dancing near the DJ stage. “Look, there’s Lee.” She grabs my hand and leads me across the room.

  I barely recognize my own fake boyfriend. His baggy blue jeans are ripped at the knee, and he’s sporting an INXS t-shirt under a red plaid shirt. His hair is artfully messy and he’s wearing eyeliner. Eyeliner. God help me. He looks like a ’90s grunge fantasy come to life.

  “Someone got the memo,” Felicity says to him in greeting.

  “I aim to please.” The words are meant for his sister, but it’s me he’s grinning at. He takes me in from head to toe, his appreciative gaze leaving shivery tingles in its wake. “I scoured Google for ideas, and landed on a cross between Kurt Cobain, that hilarious slacker kid from Clueless, and Jared Leto’s character in My So-Called Life.”

  “And is that my eyeliner?” Felicity asks, her eyes narrowing playfully on her brother.

  “Perks of sharing a bathroom with your little sister.” Leland laughs when Felicity shoves his shoulder. He waves at someone behind me and I turn, letting out a cry of surprise when I recognize the group of people heading our way.

  I have a second to take in Evie’s long, white dress and glittering white wings before she pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. Wesley’s armor makes more sense now; the pair are dressed as Romeo and Juliet from the iconic masked ball scene in Baz Luhrmann’s movie.

  “We’re so glad you’re here,” Wesley says, leaning over Evie to kiss my forehead. Evie releases me and Hollie takes her place.

  “Hi, Blossom,” I say, admiring her flowery dress, black vest, and floppy-brimmed hat with a large white daisy affixed to it. The four of us watched reruns of Blossom together in the late ’90s, and Hollie and I went through a short phase where we were obsessed with Blossom and Six’s hats. “Is that one of your original hats?”

  Hollie’s expression is a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. “The whole outfit is vintage. When Evie told us about tonight, I went through some old boxes in the attic and found this stuff.” She touches the hat, indicating where it’s slightly squashed on one side.

  Delighted laughter spills past my lips. I reach for Louisa, whose familiar outfit is likely as old as Hollie’s. “Look at you, Baby Spice, adorable as always.” And she is, in her pink dress, white knee-high socks, chunky white sneakers, and pigtails. I send her a sassy wink as I incline my chin over her shoulder and ask, “Who’s your friend?”

  Even in the darkened room, I can see Louisa’s blush. She steps aside and motions wordlessly at Fergus, who comes forward and greets me with a kiss to each cheek. He looks sexy as sin in his all-black outfit of leather jacket, t-shirt, and leather pants. When he lowers the sunglasses that are perched on his head, it hits me: he’s The Fly, one of U2 frontman Bono’s alter egos from the ’90s.

  “I can’t believe you’re all here,” I say to the group at large.

  “You can thank Leland for that,” Hollie says. “Evie and Wes mentioned the event in passing last week, but Lulu and I didn’t plan to come. I ran into Leland at the diner last night, and he convinced me we should all be here.”

  Leland steps up beside me and loops his arm around my shoulders. “It’s more fun to have a group,” he says. Then, just for my ears, he adds, “And I thought you might appreciate the moral support.”

  At a loss for words, I simply shift to embrace Leland. The arm he had around my shoulders slips to my back and his other arm closes around me, pulling me in so he’s holding me flush against his body. I know my friends are watching and I can imagine what they must be thinking. I close my eyes and push away those thoughts, allowing myself a moment to be held by Leland. To pretend his feelings for me match the growing affection I’ve been experiencing since the night we first reunited at the Village.

  I squeeze my eyes tight as Leland loosens his hold, brushing his lips against my cheek as he releases me. There’s a hint of concern in his eyes as they meet mine, but I force a bright smile to assuage his worries. The smile is only fake for a minute before the song playing transitions into “Saturday Night Divas” by the Spice Girls.

  I whip around to see that Wesley has returned to the stage and has his headphones back in place. He waves when he spots me looking.

  “I asked him to play this for us,” Evie says. “I requested a heavy rotation of Spice Girls tonight, and he said he has it covered.”

  I laugh. Of course he does; Wesley knows his girls well. “In that case, let’s go dance.”

  *****

  “Drinking alone?”

  I turn my attention from the shot of vodka sitting on the bartop to Fergus. After nearly an hour of dancing, I excused myself to use the bathroom, and made a side trip to the bar on the way back.

  “Liquid courage.” I pull the shot closer to me without lifting it. “I thought it might help me work up the nerve to finally get out on the rink.”

  I expect Fergus to question that. Instead, he slides onto the stool next to me and flags down the bartender. When he has a glass of scotch in front of him, he angles to face me and lifts the glass in a toast.

  Fergus watches me down the shot, a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth. He sips his drink and shifts more on the stool so he’s facing the room. We sit in silence, watching the skaters loop the rink, their laughter and raised voices audible over the music. I’d normally be antsy sitting in silence with someone I don’t know well, but Fergus’s body language is open and relaxed. He seems comfortable with us simply enjoying each other’s company, and I have a feeling he doesn’t need me to attempt to fill the silence.

  “Nobody expects you to skate if you’re not ready,” Fergus says. “And I guarantee you not a single one of your mates will think less of you if you stick to the dance floor tonight. Although I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.”

  His words confirm my assumption that someone already filled him in on why we’re at a roller skating event and not actually roller skating.

  “I know how trauma can mold you into something you never thought you’d be,” he continues when I don’t say anything. “Something you might not want to be.” The way he says this makes me believe he’s speaking from experience. I don’t think now is the time to dig into Fergus’s personal history, though, as much as I may want to.

  His gaze moves past the rink to sweep the dance floor, and I know he’s seeking out Louisa. I also know when he’s found her by the way his expression shifts just slightly. He may have been referencing the two of us, but his face tells me he’s aware of Louisa’s history too: her mother’s death when we were fourteen, the way her overprotective dad kept her sheltered as his misguided way of keeping her safe, and the anxiety she developed as a result.

  As Fergus watches Louisa, his expression softens into something tender and affectionate. Seeing it almost feels voyeuristic, like I’m witnessing something private. Whenever any of us bring up Fergus as a romantic prospect to Louisa, she dodges the topic or brushes us off, claiming someone like Fergus would never see her that way. And yet it’s obvious to everyone but her that he does, in fact, see her that way.

  Fergus’s attention returns to me. “The thing is, it’s your decision whether to remain in that same old mold or to evolve. And choosing to evolve means you get to decide who you want to be.” He drains the contents of his glass and sets it on the bar, his lips twitching slightly as he meets my eyes once more. “But again, I have a feeling I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

  “Sometimes it helps to have a reminder.” And sometimes, strangely, it helps when that reminder comes from someone you don’t know well. Someone who doesn’t have intimate knowledge of who you used to be and yet, for whatever strange and wonderful reason, believes in you.

  This man is a rare treasure and my sweet little Baby Spice had better scoop him up before someone else does.