“Hi,” I muttered. I knew he could hear me.

“Hi,” he replied. The silence was as oppressive as the heat.

“So it’s… been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Ten years. Prom.”

“Yeah.” As if I would forget.

“What have you been up to?”

“Being a mother.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. His name’s John. Good kid.”

He doesn’t reply. Suddenly I can’t stop talking.

“I’m not married though, which is kinda hard sometimes. Luckily my hours are pretty flexible so I don’t need a sitter. But him being a boy is gonna be hard, I mean, what am I gonna do when he goes through puberty? That’s pretty soon actually. He’s turning ten.”

He stiffens. I stiffen. I turn and dash toward the restroom through the crowd under the “Welcome Back Class ’00!” banner, fumbling for my cellphone.