Free The Right Equation by Tracy Krimmer Page B

me sound any lamer than I already was. "I didn't have anything other plans." Way to make myself still sound like the loser I was in high school. "Do you want to come sit with me and Tammy?"
    He peeked behind me. "I see a few people I want to say hello to first. Catch up in a bit?"
    I watched as Will walked away, kicking myself for such a high school reaction. Being back in this school was like nothing had changed.

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER TWO
     
     
    Twenty minutes later, I sat at table seven with Tammy, Matt, and someone I didn't recognize, even with the name tag. Many of my high school years I spent thinking I was invisible, and never stopped to think maybe I missed noticing a few people, too. I said hello and played my senility off, but the woman, with the name tag Krissy Willis, offered no conversation, and didn't try too hard at her princess outfit, in only a long gown and tiara.
    "So, Matt, what are you doing now? Tammy said you have three daughters."
    Matt wore a dark brown pair of sweatpants, a matching sweatshirt, with a hat with yellow strings hanging out of small cut out holes. "We do. Gladys, Vivienne, and Antoinette. They're five, three, and one, and a handful." He swiped through a few pictures on his phone. All three girls boasted blond hair, all long, except for Antoinette who's hair stood stick straight. "I'm a stay at home dad."
    Wow. I knew plenty of stay at home moms, and did taxes for a lot of those moms who sold things like Mary Kay or Thirty-One to supplement income, but never met a man who stayed home with the kids. I secretly wondered if he'd whip out a Partylite business card, or better yet, Pure Romance . I imagined him with his surfer boy hair and broad body pulling out a dildo for housewives.
    "What?" Matt said as I let out a snicker.
    "Nothing. I think it's awesome. So, what is your costume, anyway?" I figured he couldn't be a turd, though he could pass for one with all the brown covering his body.
    "A broom. Take it as Tammy's ride, or part of my stay-at-home accessories."
    A little too much information, if you asked me. I'd rather think of Matt sweeping up the kitchen than Tammy riding him. Shiver. "How about you, Tammy?"
    She hooked a chip with salsa. "Lawyer. Divorce. I actually handled Will's divorce."
    "Oh?" There it was. At least there wasn't a wife. This still didn't mean a girlfriend didn't exist. Or a boyfriend? Nah. Could Tammy give me any information on it? Did a lawyer - client privilege exist for divorces? More than likely. Why the divorce? Did he leave her? Did one of them cheat? Gambling problem? Did Will sleep naked with only socks on and his ex couldn't handle it? Okay, my mind went off in a different direction than it should have. "How long since he got divorced?"
    "Who, me? Four years." Will sneaked up behind me, and I pressed my hand to my chest as I jumped. "She got the house, I got the dog." He sat and straightened his tie. "Anything else I can answer for you?"
    If his response was serious, yes, quite a few questions. I couldn't read his face, and he might have been telling me to screw off and stay out of his business. I stumbled to find the words, panicking I blew any chance to connect romantically with him. Thankful for the first time to the jocks who approached our table, I relaxed.
    "Hey! Will! What's up, man? You didn't come last time. We had a blast!" The name tag on Zombie boy read Keith Barringer, and once I forced myself to remove the pale white makeup from his face, I could see it was, in fact, Keith. My heart leaped into my throat as I recalled our few interactions, all consisting of him referring to my braces and making sexual innuendos. No one made me feel more uncomfortable over the years than him.
    Two other guys Will conversed with on a pretty regular basis in high school joined him. How many of these people did he still talk to? Did a lot of these past friendships withstand the test of time? My only real friend from high school was Melissa Hansen, and