I sit in my car, staring at the sprawling building in front of me. Though it was an extremely small school, with class sizes typically down to around 60 by graduation, it always felt like the kind of place that went on forever. I had never seen all of it. I doubted I ever would.

Getting out and walking up to the door felt like a reflex, one I’d forgotten I had- like when the doctor taps your knee with a hammer and your leg twitches all on its own.

The girl at the front desk is familiar. If I dig deep, I’d find vague memories of the two of us sitting in class together, discussing answers. I don’t remember her name on my own, but the cheap nametag she wears saves me the trouble.

I watch her pick out the correct nametag for the woman in front of me with a grin and a warm greeting. I think they might’ve been friends, half a lifetime ago.

She turns back to me and her face falls. She’s cold. I’m unrecognizable. I see the nametag meant for me. It reads a name I haven’t heard in years.

“Is there a problem?” She purses her lips.

“No.” I pick it up. There’s a pen in my pocket.

I was prepared for this.

She stares at me curiously. I step past the desk and into the bowel of the school.

I was prepared for this.

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