My high school bully invited me to our 20-year reunion, so I hired a handsome actor to be my plus-one. “Come to our reunion. All our friends will be there, and even your ex, Mark — now MY fiancé. We’re really looking forward to seeing you. XOXO.” I stared at that message from Miriam for two weeks. It would have seemed sweet, if not for one problem. Miriam made my life unbearable ALL THROUGH HIGH SCHOOL. And then she stole my husband by telling him stories about what a terrible person I was. So yes, I didn’t want to go to the reunion. But the thought of Miriam
waiting for me to get scared and not show up… So I did the only reasonable thing I could think of — I hired an actor to be my plus-one. When Norton arrived to pick me up, I almost died. He was about 15 years younger than me and as handsome as a Greek god. I wanted to back out of the
whole idea until he winked at me. “Isn’t this what you want? To teach them a lesson? Then I’m the best option.” We arrived arm in arm, and I felt my confidence come back with every step. My classmates were staring at us. But Miriam and Mark were staring the most. They came up to us with forced smiles.
“Well,” Miriam said, looking Norton up and down. “Someone’s doing charity work.”
“Jealousy is a sin, ma’am,” he said.
Miriam’s face twisted. For one beautiful hour, I felt untouchable.
Then Miriam tapped her champagne glass and walked up to the microphone.
“I have something to say,” she announced.
The music stopped.
She looked straight at me and smiled at Norton.
“He isn’t her boyfriend. She paid him.”
My face burned so hot I thought I might faint.
But Norton didn’t let me say anything. He squeezed my hand and led me forward, toward Miriam.
Within seconds, the whole gym erupted. Phones were up. People were crying.
And me?
That afternoon, I erased the words ‘Unreliable Narrator’ from the whiteboard as my last literature student filed out of the lecture hall.
“Don’t forget,” I called after them, “the person telling the story isn’t always the person telling the truth.”
A few students laughed, and for one quiet minute, I felt like myself.
Then my phone buzzed.
I glanced down.
“Come to our reunion. All our friends will be there, and even your ex, Mark, now my fiancé. We’re really looking forward to seeing you. XOXO, Miriam.”
Just like that, I was 17 again.
I erased the words ‘Unreliable Narrator’ from the whiteboard.
***
I sat down hard and read the message three times.
The words didn’t change.
Miriam had made my life unbearable all through high school. She mocked my thrift-store sweaters, my library books, and my careful answers in class.
She called me “Miss Perfect” until people stopped using my name.
Years later, she found Mark, my husband, and fed him a new version of me. Cold. Judgmental. Hard to love. The kind of woman who made a man feel small.
The words didn’t change.
Mark believed her.
By the time I understood what was happening, my marriage already had Miriam’s voice in it.
For two weeks, I stared at that reunion message every night.
My friend Claire found me in my office one afternoon.
“Delete it,” she said after reading the message. “You’re not going.”
“If I don’t, she’ll tell everyone I was too scared to show my face.”
“You’re not going.”
“So let her talk.”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “I always did.”
Claire softened. “Then don’t go alone.”
That night, I opened my laptop and did the only thing that made sense to my tired, wounded brain.
I hired an actor to be my plus-one. Not a boyfriend, not an escort.
An actor, through a real talent agency, for a social event. I didn’t need romance. I needed one person beside me who hadn’t already been handed Miriam’s version of me.
“Then don’t go alone.”
His name was Norton, and we met two days before the reunion in a coffee shop near campus.
He arrived in a gray blazer, handsome enough to make me consider fleeing through the back door.
“You’re Daphne?” he asked.
“Unfortunately.”
His mouth twitched. “That bad?”
“I’m hiring a stranger to help me survive a high school reunion. What do you think?”
“Fair.” He sat across from me. “Your booking notes were clear. No fake romance, no kissing, no jealousy act.”
“You’re Daphne?”
“I’m an English lecturer,” I said. “I hate cheap fiction.”
He laughed, and I relaxed a little.
“So what exactly is my role?” he asked.
“A steady witness,” I said. “Miriam bullied me for years. Then she helped end my marriage by telling my ex-husband the same kind of lies. Now she’s invited me to watch her stand beside him.”
Norton’s face changed. It wasn’t pity. It was attention.
“So what exactly is my role?”
“That’s cruel.”
“She’s very good at cruel.”
“Do you want me to pretend we’re together?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want to lie more than we have to. I just want one night where I don’t feel like I’m apologizing for existing.”
Norton nodded. “Then look back when she looks at you like she won.”
My eyes burned. “You make that sound easy.”
“She’s very good at cruel.”
“I didn’t say easy. I said possible.”
He signed the contract.
“Steady witness,” he said. “No grand romance. No lies we can’t walk back from. We have a deal, Daphne.”
***
On Friday night, I changed dresses three times before choosing the navy one with the silhouette that made me feel seen.
When Norton knocked at 7:00, I opened the door before I could lose courage.
In the car, he glanced at my shaking hands. “Want to rehearse?”
“No. If I rehearse, I’ll sound rehearsed. I was horrible at drama.”
“We have a deal, Daphne.”
At the high school, music spilled from the gym. The reunion banner hung over the doors.
My hand tightened around my purse.
“I can’t do this.”
Norton turned off the engine. “You can, but you don’t have to pretend it’s easy.”
I looked at the bright gym doors. “She wants me to walk in small.”
“Then don’t.”
So I got out.
Norton offered his arm.
“I can’t do this.”
I took it.
The second we stepped inside, people turned. A few whispered, and my 17-year-old self reached for the nearest exit.
Then Miriam appeared.
She moved through the crowd like she owned the air. Mark followed half a step behind her, older than I remembered and less sure of himself than I expected.
“Daphne,” Miriam said, spreading her arms. “You actually came.”
The second we stepped inside, people turned.
“I did.”
Her eyes moved to Norton. “Well. You brought someone.”
“This is Norton.”
Norton held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Miriam ignored it and looked him up and down.
“Someone’s doing charity work.”
“Well. You brought someone.”
My face warmed.
Before I could answer, Norton tilted his head. “Jealousy is a sin, ma’am.”
A few people nearby laughed. Miriam’s smile twitched.
Mark cleared his throat. “You look well, Daphne.”
“Thank you, Mark.”
He glanced at Miriam. “I’m glad you came.”
I wanted to ask if he’d ever wondered whether Miriam had lied.
Instead, I said, “It’s good to see familiar faces.”
“Jealousy is a sin, ma’am.”
Miriam laughed softly. “Oh, Daphne. Still so careful.”
There it was. The little needle.
Careful Daphne. Cold Daphne. Difficult Daphne.
But this time, I didn’t shrink.
“Norton and I are going to look at the yearbook table,” I said, and walked away before Miriam could answer.
At the table, our senior album lay open to the drama club page. Miriam smiled from center stage. I was in one corner, holding programs.
Careful Daphne. Cold Daphne. Difficult Daphne.
Norton leaned closer. “You were in theater?”
“No. I wrote the program notes. Miriam said I had the face for backstage.”
A woman beside the table glanced over. “Daphne? I remember those notes. They were funny.”
For the first time that night, my smile came easily.
Norton murmured, “See? Not everyone remembers her version.”
“Daphne? I remember those notes.”
For almost an hour, I moved through the room instead of hiding from it. I spoke to old classmates and even laughed.
Then Miriam tapped a champagne glass.
“Everyone?” she called from the stage. “Can I have your attention?”
My smile faded.
Norton leaned closer. “Stay with me.”
Miriam lifted the microphone. “It’s wonderful seeing familiar faces tonight. Old friends, old memories, old stories.”
“Can I have your attention?”
Mark stepped toward her. “Miriam. Don’t.”
She smiled wider. “And speaking of stories, let’s clear one up.”
My hand tightened around my glass.
“Before everyone starts admiring Daphne’s handsome plus-one, you should know he isn’t her boyfriend. He isn’t even her date.”
People turned.
Miriam raised her glass. “She paid him.”
“And speaking of stories, let’s clear one up.”
The room gasped.
Someone whispered, “Oh my God.”
Miriam laughed. “She hired an actor because nobody would actually choose her.”
Phones lifted.
I looked at Mark.
He stared at the floor.
“Say something,” I whispered, though I knew he couldn’t hear me.
“She hired an actor.”
He didn’t.
I turned toward the exit, but Norton touched my elbow.
“Your choice,” he said softly.
My throat burned. “I can’t stand there while they laugh.”
“Then don’t stand there. Walk.”
I looked at Miriam, glowing under the gym lights like she’d already won.
I refused to let that happen.
I set my glass down.
“I can’t stand there while they laugh.”
“I didn’t come here to run.”
