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smelly too,” I said. “And, hey, she married him. That’s far more humiliating than getting dumped by him, right?”
    “Thank God you’re here.” She looked over at me and smiled. She had the nicest smile. Her eyes sparkled and her dark red lipstick framed her perfectly white teeth. One of her incisors was crooked, but even that looked like a stylistic decision on her part. “I’ll simply be too busy with my dear old friends to bother with John. Even Fish has promised to completely ignore him.”
    “Fish?” I wished I had studied the yearbook pictures in the reception room better. Although I was sure I would have remembered seeing a picture of someone named Fish. It had to be a nickname. I tried to remember if I’d seen Fish written in marker or a drawing of a fish next to any of the pictures, but I couldn’t.
    “Oh my God! He’s going to die when he sees you. I’m not telling him you’re here. I told Heather, of course, but I think we’ll surprise Fish.” She had the hugest grin. “Ah! Thank you so much for being here, Jessie. I mean, I know you’re not here just for me, just so I have the full group to face John with—but what a relief, you know?”
    “It’ll be fine. And you look fantastic,” I said to her, for lack of anything else to say. “Isn’t that the best revenge?”
    “Yes,” Myra said. “Plus, I still have all my hair.” She lifted her arm and sniffed her pit. “And I’m not smelly either.”

M yra parked on a side street. “I can’t wait for you to see this,” she said, beaming from ear to ear as we walked to the corner. “Ta-da!” She held her arms out like a game show hostess when we got to the storefront.
    Over the window was a sign that said “Aberly Cadaberly” in big block letters on a plain white background.
    “Is this yours?” I asked, thankful that I’d noticed Myra’s last name on the reunion posters.
    “Yup,” Myra said, opening the door with a grand “after you” sweep of her arm. “I have my own boutique line, but then I feature other local designers and some vintage stuff too.”
    “You have your own store and your own line?”
    “I do!” Myra said, lowering her eyes modestly and shoving her hands in her pockets. “Hi, Nancy!”
    The girl behind the counter was on the phone and writing something in a notebook, but she smiled, mouthed “hi,” and waved at us. She had dark hair and thick bangs like Myra, and a pretty little blue star tattooed at the outside corner of her left eye. It was hard to keep from staring at it.
    The store was gorgeous. White walls and thick, warped floorboards painted bright teal. The racks of clothes were grouped by color. Black faded into gray, and blue gave way to green and yellow. The reds and pinks packed a big punch of color in the row across from a rack of white and beige. In the back of the store, big mirrors had borders painted with black curling flourishes like picture frames. A gorgeous old chandelier hung from the ceiling, with necklaces and earrings draped where crystals would have been. Myra’s red lipstick was like a carefully chosen accent color in the backdrop of the store. She fit perfectly.
    Even though we weren’t really dear old friends, I was proud of her, like I was already on her team. We were roughly the same age, and she’d already accomplished so much. It was fascinating. It was wonderful. “Myra, this is gorgeous!” I said, my eyes getting just a little bit misty, as if she actually were my long-lost friend.
    “Thank you,” she said, blushing. “Okay,” she pushed me into a changing room. “Let’s get you dressed!”
    I heard the click of hangers being scraped across the rack, and then she threw a thick pile of dresses over the top of the dressing room door.
    The first one was a gorgeous, bright red dress with a spaghetti strap on one side and a wide strap on the other that continued past the neckline and wrapped across the front of the dress. I tried it on. It had a dangerously low