Rosaleigh, NY

Seeing Levi Armstrong at Edison Inc. is just about enough to scare me back to Los Angeles.

After I run away down the hallway to my new office, which is frankly not as swanky as I expected, I sit at my desk with my head pressed to me knees, trying to get a hold of myself. Levi Armstrong, cousin to my only real friend in Rosaleigh Samara, just saw me walking very blatantly down the halls of the company set to destroy our hometown. No one is supposed to know I had taken the job. No one is supposed to know I am even in Rosaleigh.

Not that Levi even recognized me as he plucked my papers off the floor.

Not that I would have even expected him too. In high school, I was virtually invisible. He was always to focused on his perpetual pity party, always too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice much else than Jessica, anyway.

But God, if he had recognized me, it would ruin everything. Word would travel around town faster than lightning, the way it tended to, and soon enough the entire population of Rosaleigh would find me to be the devil. I already hear enough around town about what they think of Levi’s dad.

He comes into my office a few moments later looking a little disgruntled. The resemblance between my new co-worker and his son is kind of uncanny – the Armstrong boys all look similar to me, anyway. He sits in the chair in the corner without any sort of greeting, or even a nod in my direction. Just slumps.

“Can I help you?” I ask, sitting up straight in my chair in an attempt to not look like I’d just been narrowly missed by a speeding bullet train.

He is quiet for a minute, like he’s ruminating on a thought that has been stuck in his mind for a while. And then he looks at me, all seriousness and business. His spine is straight again, like he realized how unprofessional his entrance had been.

“I have a job for you,” he announces, a bit more ceremoniously.

“I probably can do that,” I reply, jokingly but tentatively. I can’t mess up – this project could be huge for my career.

“Tomorrow, there’s a meeting at town hall,” he starts to explain, folding his hands in his lap. “Information has leaked to the public about the plans of Edison Inc., and a protest team has put together an announcement assembly to rile the troops. We need someone to go and watch. No one knows you’re working here, so Joseph and I think you would be the best candidate for the job.”

I balk at the idea. Going to a public place under cover for the agency?

“That wasn’t in the job description,” I state plainly.

“Sometimes,” Mr. Armstrong replies, “our jobs take us outside the description. So are you gonna step up to the plate?”

I decide Mr. Armstrong is kind of an asshole, but agree to go anyway.

I haven’t been to city hall since I received an honor from the city for getting a nearly perfect score on my SAT. News like that is pretty huge in small towns like Rosaleigh.

The room is full of people already as I sneak in the back just before the meeting begins, a pair of large sunglasses shrouding my eyes in an attempt at maintaining anonymity. There are no seats left in the room, just standing room only at the back, which is fine for me. I spot my mom towards the front, talking animatedly to some friends. I scan more and find that I recognize nearly everyone in the room, but no one recognizes me. I had my fifteen minutes of Rosaleigh fame and already I’ve sunk back into the shadows. Fine by me.

I have a strange pang of longing for L.A., which fades almost instantly when I spot Samara and Levi talking towards the outskirts of the room. It’s replaced by the fear of either of them seeing me, of Levi figuring it all out, of being the talk of the town for all the wrong reasons.

But the speaker, the mother of one of my high school classmates, takes the podium and they in turn take their seats, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Friends,” she announces as though she were a doctor announcing the death into a waiting room. “I’m so pleased to have so many of you gathered here today to talk about the fate of our dear Rosaleigh.”

I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses. Public speakers seem to never skimp on the dramatics, layering on as thick of a coat as possible to gain the most sympathy. Though everyone in the room is clearly interested in the subject, she delves deeper – Rosaleigh’s history, our claims to fame (to my cringing misfortune, my name is included), a slideshow of pictures of the scenery. I can tell that people are growing antsy. Most people are here because they want to find out the plans of Edison Inc., and as the speaker drones on they are beginning to get impatient.

Finally, the news comes. “Edison Inc. is planning on tearing down important parts of Rosaleigh history – places like homes, the high school, and the historic nature surrounding the lake – to put up a luxury rehabilitation and spa for the one per-cent.”

A gasp goes through the crowd like a ripple, but I’m unphased. I’ve been in on this news all along, from the very moment I met Joseph Lutz in his L.A. office. I can see Samara looking astonished, Levi next to her ashamed. A few rows back, I spot Jordan Suzuki, who I am surprised to see – after everything that happened all those years ago, I was especially sure he of all people would never come back to this place. But misery does seem to love company.

As the crowd begins to argue for a protest dating next week to stop the evil construction from going forward, I begin to feel guilty. “Our students need a place to learn!” one man urges. “Our lake could be a national park if we wanted it!” argues another. “How could they?” a woman a row in front of me mutters to her elderly mother, her voice disappointed.

It can’t help but feel like she’s disappointed in me.

A small committee is formed of members of the community, including my mother, of people who want to work their damndest to save our town. A clipboard with pages and pages of blank rows is passed around to collect contact information, and by the time it reaches me in the back people are writing in the margins. I’m surprised at the turnout and I’m certain that Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Lutz will be too.

As soon as the meeting is over, I gather myself to go as quickly as possible. No one can see me. But just as I’m reaching the door, that plan is quickly thwarted by a voice I once knew so well.

“Jules,” Samara calls from behind me, unsurprised, like she knew I was there all along. A wave of embarrassment goes up my spine. I kept my arrival in Rosaleigh a secret from her, my only friend left in this town, for both of our sakes, really. But now that I was standing face to face with her, all I can feel is guilt.

“Hey,” I greet, trying to sound as positive as possible. “What’s up? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was in town, I… things just got busy.”

For a moment, she looks like she’s going to press what I’d been doing, a glance of hurt shooting across her features, but instead she gives me a half smile. “A few of us our going to meet later, just to catch up and sort through all this,” she explains. “I thought you’d maybe want to come.”

In reality, I want to go home and forget that all of this is even happening. In reality, I want to hop on a plane back to Los Angeles and let someone else fight against the entirety of my hometown. In reality, I’m afraid to meet with Samara and ‘a few of us’ because Levi is surely included, and what if he recognizes me?

But it’s Samara, and I can’t say no.

“Sure,” I reply with a forced smile. “Of course.”

Reporting back to HQ will have to wait. Memory lane calls, instead.