I:

These days, it always feels like someone is watching you. I should know that—I'm the one doing the watching, or maybe my coworkers; I don't know quite what they do. I'm fortunate enough that my watcher is my lovely wife, who's currently at my side, in bed, writing in her diary like I am in mine. Diaries are a wonderful thing, aren't they? I remember she tried to convince me once that diaries were the absolute epitome of intellectualism—I disagree, really, but they are a place for my private thoughts. We have a mutual agreement, she and I, not to look in each other's diaries, but we do share so much else that this feels like a breath of fresh air, right?

If you're reading this, you probably want to know what happened to good old Frank the Ineffable after his glorious exit from high school, so I may as well indulge you. If we go way back to the beginning, the day after graduation when I was still coming down from my sugar high, Juliet spent brunch stuffing me with dim sum and convincing me that we had a future together not predicated on the bell schedule. I saw no reason to disagree, really, especially as my relative lack of inhibition then pleased her. Many things pleased her then, and the same things please her now—that's why we have such a good relationship still. You could call that the summer of love: we did all the same things we might have done before, except this time holding hands. And that carried us all the way to college, where we were shunted to opposite sides of the country.

Of course, that was no obstacle to our courtship, helped by our remarkably similar trajectories. Wharton was a disappointment, in many ways, most of all socially: somehow, with only a little encouragement on my end, word got out of my high school adventures. And you know what? That made me, dare I say it, popular. That's when I knew that there would be no future for me there. The meetings began again, first as a joke supplanted by a real projector we found in a classroom somewhere, and then turned into a solid club that had shed many of its cult-like attributes, only becoming more predatory. I also remained in touch with the team still at Heller, who despite their distaste for all reminders of what was, came to look at me as a spiritual grandfather of the movement. Like Karl Marx, if you know what I mean. Juliet, or so I am told, had a similar experience in sunny Los Angeles. It was good to know we still had something in common, besides our love of movie nights over video call, visiting each other's cities on breaks, and becoming universal constants on the level of gravity and electromagnetism.

In today's job market, one can't exactly guarantee two fairly capable, if not extraordinary, university students on opposite sides of the world end up all in the same place. Not without making a deal with the devil, you see. I never mentioned this publicly in high school because I thought it both a sick joke and a mark of shame, but some authority figures whom I've grown to dislike promised us jobs at Google. I certainly liked the idea of a homecoming, more than I liked the idea of living in snow, and there was something distinctly comforting in being sucked into the past. So we made some phone calls, found out that it was not a sick joke but the opportunity of a lifetime, and both of us reunited with sobs at the airport before driving to our new condominium, definitely not sponsored by a friendly recluse living in Indonesia who spent his days urging our old money to be fruitful and multiply, and preparing for a bright future.

You may notice that marriage appeared an afterthought here, and it really was: nobody who knew us believed that not to be an inevitability, as after all, weren't we the modern Romeo and Juliet? We spent about a year testing the waters before we discovered that it was a fruitless exercise, and then content with marital bliss, we settled into our daily routine. We don't keep many friends, not as many as we did in high school, and not those same people beyond the occasional message on Facebook. There's something simple in only having to worry about one other person, someone you know intimately enough to know that their happiness is all but guaranteed. It frees up the mind for more exciting pursuits, none of which I pursue. So with that equilibrium in mind, let's wind the clock back a few weeks and learn what episode briefly threatened to disturb our happy family.

II:

One bright morning, definitely a Saturday because we were going to go to the farmer's market, our doorbell rang far too early for it to be any mailman—and what sort of mailman would come up the elevator? I waited a minute, assuring Juliet, wherever she was, that it was no great disturbance, and opened the door to see one tight envelope left at our doorstep. The only indication of its origin, not even an address or a stamp, was a monogrammed Z. That left only one option, really: John had decided to do his little philosophical thing and create some turbulence.

John might be the most conventionally successful out of all our former band of merry men. He had somehow found time at Heller, without telling any of us, to become a good writer; he's almost like the new Stephen King, now, or famous enough where he charges thousands of dollars in speaker's fees and can afford such luxuries as monogrammed envelopes. We certainly could do the same if we wanted as a prank—we certainly aren't poor—but what makes him more successful is his fame. I briefly perused one of his books once at Barnes & Noble, but I didn't have the patience for what seemed to me like a Stephen King-inspired epic novel or poem or something. It's not like I've even read much of Stephen King, but I know for a fact I prefer the old classics, or at least thriftier novels from the modern day. But anyway, I immediately brought this inside, trusting John enough to know it didn't contain explosives or anthrax. Juliet waited eagerly on the couch, where I sat and opened this presumably portentous note.

Mr. John Zakarian would kindly request your presence at his humble abode tomorrow evening to celebrate the tenth anniversary.

"Tenth anniversary of what?" Juliet needled me in the arm to ask. She spoke with such confidence, assuming that as usual, I'd have some fact to dispense to make the situation all right and satiate her curiosity, and I proved no disappointment:

"Why, this must be the tenth anniversary of our high school graduation!"

"Oh, how delightful! It will be like a high school reunion. Finally, I'll get to see my old friends again!"

I didn't see a need to remind Juliet there was really nothing stopping her over the last however many years from reaching out to those old folks, since that would make her unhappy. We wouldn't argue, and she'd probably find that sort of remark cute and teasing, but I was too busy thinking of what a man like John would want with all of us again. Way back when, there was this movie based on Clue where a ton of seeming strangers were invited to some mansion, all to participate in some sick murder mystery. Or maybe that was a horror movie, I forget. We don't watch many of those. As much as I wanted to see what sort of ritzy mansion John had bought himself with his publishing deals, I was more curious to know who else got those invites. I left Juliet to coo to herself and went to make some phone calls in the relative privacy of our bedroom.

Alan picked up surprisingly quickly, and was a bit disappointed to verify that none of John's notes had crossed the Pacific. I asked if he wanted me to pass along any messages when I went to meet the man himself, but he didn't seem to care. He only wanted me to confirm that he was "doing all right," but I think we both knew that John was never quite all right. Tom, as much as I hated to say it, was next on the list—on the bright side, this acted as a two-for-one deal because he and Regina were married. Tom had resisted the temptation to do something meaningful with his life, like becoming a lawyer, and instead chose to go into venture capitalism. This was a funny coincidence because it drew him and Regina back to Silicon Valley, and they lived not too far from us—right by Stanford's campus—in a bigger house, or so I am told. Tom had the nerve to remind me, the last time we talked however many years ago, of that fact, and I'm inclined to believe him. I also might have looked at his house on Google Street View and checked the price online, but please pardon my brief bit of voyeurism.

He also picked up quickly, and had accurately foreseen why I was calling. With his usual swarthy excitement, the sort that reminded me in the moment of his literary counterpart, he informed me that they were very much delighted to receive an invitation to this mystical tenth anniversary party, and could not wait until we were all together to crack a few beers.

"I don't drink," I informed him deadpan—Juliet and I had promised each other long ago not to drink, do drugs, or to do anything our good person alter-egos would object to, and as with all our other agreements, to this we remained faithful.

"Come on, Frank, why do you need to be so annoying!" He broke out in a guffaw, kindly reminding me that he meant no more by what he said than any other of his empty jokes. "I'll see you then. Oh, also: Beth isn't coming. She didn't receive an invite, not like she really cared."

"Where is she now? New York?"

"You got it, the Big Apple. I don't remember what she does for a career, but I know it's not a disappointment. I wonder how they broke up anyway. Last time I saw them, they were going steady."

"That was ten years ago, Tom. No surprise there."

"We're both married to our high school sweethearts, still. I suppose he'll have some story of heartbreak to deliver us then." Tom hung up without waiting for my reply, and by this time I had wandered back to the couch. I've developed the habit of pacing when I talk, especially on the phone, and often this pacing brings me back to wherever Juliet happens to be.

"Did Tom tell you? We're invited to their house for dinner, tonight. I'm so excited!"

"No, our call was quite brief. The only interesting thing he told me was that Beth will be staying in New York for the time being."

"Aww, what a bummer. I missed her!" Juliet pouted. "We'll have to vacation in New York someday. But we can talk about that another time; the farmer's market awaits."

III:

The nice thing about having a big house, I suppose, is that you get plenty of parking spaces. Tom and Regina lived in a nice, seemingly Tuscan villa, big enough that I could see a tennis court in the back as we drove up. I'm always more impressed by what surrounds people's houses than the houses themselves. That's what tells me how rich you truly are. By that metric, we fail: all of our facilities are communal, except what we've been able to buy ourselves and squirrel away in our good-sized condo. As soon as we rang the doorbell, I heard a brief mutter of shouted voices on the other side, and Regina opened the door maybe ten seconds later, wearing an apron and a smile. She beckoned us to come in, and Tom emerged from the kitchen holding a tiny glass of some cocktail. He was never small, even in high school, but he was certainly an intimidating figure now. I could not tell if his girth was muscle or corpulence, but there had to be a bit of both. Regina appeared tiny in comparison, even though she was fairly tall too.

"I thought you didn't drink?" Tom bellowed, immediately snatching the bottle of wine I had brought from my grip.

"I don't. This had the highest reviews at Draeger's, and Juliet liked the name."

"You really are hilarious," Regina smiled. "I hope you're hungry—we made beef Wellington."

"Oh, I remember Frank made that for us once at Lake Tahoe!" Juliet interjected. "Wasn't that fun?" Tom appeared startled, like we had just caught him doing something illicit, but I didn't comment on it. I don't think any of the others noticed, and it's not like it was my recipe in the first place.

"You're right, we must have! You have a good memory," Regina assured her. Regina went back to the kitchen to finish up, and Tom led us to the parlor. There was enough leather in the room to clothe a band of cowboys. Our attention immediately drifted to the mounted deer's head above the fireplace, which Tom assured us was not his hunting trophy, but that of a friend's. Why said friend generously bequeathed the deer's head to Tom was beyond my comprehension, but it really tied the room together. It felt like we had turned the clock back a few decades to some time when these furnishings and the extensive liquor cabinet were in vogue, but it fit Tom. That's all I can say.

Dinner was thankfully ready quickly, and Tom promised us en route to the dining room that he'd regale us with more stories of his success later.

"Stanford is the most innovative place in the world. Google? They took all their brightest minds from Stanford. They're light years ahead of you, I hope you realize that. That's why I mentor these students, you see. I know you were asking me earlier about how that fit into my job, but it's really a simple system. I butter them up a bit, see what those little code monkeys have to say when off the clock, give them money to drop out of school, and then they come back with even more for me! Education is an investment. That's all it is." I checked my watch. At least Tom had the decency to wait just shy of a minute.

"When I was at Wharton," I said with particular emphasis on the school to make it clear I too had a pedigree, "nobody dropped out of college. Everyone was in it for the long term."

"That's because they weren't innovative. Startup culture, Frank! Your company started in a garage. Apple too. Even right now I have a few people sleeping in the guest house, doing some sort of audio compression music thing something or other. I've never been one for technology, but I can spot a good idea when I see one!"

"So what do you do these days, Regina?" Juliet said politely, after waiting a few seconds to see if Tom would propose something else outlandish.

"Regina is a consultant, in a manner of speaking. Not the real sort of consultant like I am, but she helps high school kids, you know, with getting into good colleges. Sometimes even into Stanford. She's very good at it, or so she tells me, and if you saw how much money she charges the parents, you'd have a heart attack! I can never say no to capitalism, right?" Tom roared again, seemingly oblivious to Regina's awkward silence. I really don't need to say as much, but they clearly had some issues. I guess like us, they had never changed. We were always a model of serenity, while they, you know, never quite could figure it out. It's a miracle they've stayed together so long—not that I shared that at the dinner table. That waited until we were safely back home, ready for bed. We saw no reason to stay long at Tom's house—we politely refused his whiskey and cigars, and found we had nothing in common but some memories of the past and burning anticipation for the following day.

"Regina and I were just thinking that maybe we don't want to go see John tomorrow. It seems like a boy's thing."

"When were you two talking that I didn't notice? Was this while Tom was showing me his man cave?"

"Yeah. Regina has this little theory that John isn't in the happiest of moods, for some reason, and that all of us being there would overwhelm him. She's always known him well, better than any of us. Apparently she and John still talk a bit, like friends, in a manner of speaking. Privately, for sure. Tom doesn't know." This seemed reasonable to me, so we wished each other good night and slept sweet dreams.

IV:

We rendezvoused at Tom's house the following day to complete a little prisoner exchange: Regina went with Juliet to the shopping mall, and Tom took me at breakneck pace in his red Ferrari up 280 and through some winding streets, all not that far from Heller in reality, to John's house. I honestly thought it was unremarkable. Sure, there was a big fountain with a stone Buddha in the center, marble and whatever everywhere, and a garden with remarkably symmetrical flowers, but exactly that: everything felt symmetrical. The outside of the house was, according to my brief inspection, and even Tom thought it was a bit weird when I mentioned it to him. So I think both of us were looking around inside, too, as John escorted us to his own parlor, for more little symmetries. We do a lot of sitting on this adventure, I'm sorry to say, so I hope you weren't expecting any debauchery.

John seemed to have aged more than we did. His hair was flecked with silver, sometimes dots and sometimes tiny streaks, and his eyes were surrounded by wrinkles that gave him the appearance of wisdom. I had to remind myself for a brief second that he was not even thirty.

"Sleepless nights," John explained, somehow knowing exactly what I was wondering. "I find it hard to sleep these days. Sometimes I write all night and sleep during the day, when my schedule allows." That didn't sound healthy at all, but since John was clearly the most successful out of all of us, if his house were any indication, I didn't want to criticize him.

"Juliet and Regina couldn't make it? What a shame. I always thought fondly of them," he continued after a brief moment of silence.

"They're going shopping, I think. Let's not worry too much about what they're doing. How are you, John?" Tom asked after a moment.

"I'm doing well, all things considered. A writer lives a solitary life, but I've made the most of it. Sometimes, though, it's nice to see friendly faces, and I thought this occasion was as good as any." I felt a strange burden then to carry on the conversation, since Tom seemed content with his comfy armchair, and John had such a similar expression that if someone had told me they were communicating telepathically, I'd believe them.

"Do you still play the piano, John? I still play a bit myself. Just like old times," I asked again, not wishing to feel that I had wasted a perfectly good day coming over here.

"I find it's a focus for my creative energy. Do you know any duets? What better way to break bread than that?" Somehow I knew where John was going with this, but against my better judgment, I laughed and said I knew what he was thinking.

"Juliet and I do this all the time," I explained as we jazzed along through "Heart and Soul" once more. John's face turned even more pale than it already was—it only occurred to me then that his nocturnal schedule must not leave too much time for sunlight—and I was tempted to ask him if he was feeling all right. But we finished the song, and this roused Tom to declare that he too had played a bit more since his teenage days, and he launched into something that was probably Chopin—it's not like the exact piece is important, but it was a staple of any good pianist's repertoire, and it conveyed no creativity. We spent probably an hour taking turns at the piano, challenging each other to transpose the classics or do other dares, in something simultaneously boyish and civilized.

This had warmed John up enough to take us on a tour of his property, which was on a hill looming over the Bay and the civilization that I had once held dear. This must be where the gods had lived while we scurried around like ants below. It was a clear day, and a cool breeze somehow wafted through the garden. John brought out a pair of binoculars he had magicked out of thin air and urged us to look exactly where he pointed.

"It's our high school," he said just when I put the dots together between the swimming pool and theater and all my old haunts. If I didn't know any better, I'd have guessed that this peculiar feature of the geography was why John had chosen this property. I did not find the sight too remarkable—for various reasons, mainly my aforementioned position as spiritual grandfather, I had visited the school many times—but I could tell by Tom's eagerness to take my binoculars that he thought more of it.

"The girls will have to see this!" Tom proclaimed again, like he did whenever John showed him something to be envious of. "I wish I could stay, but I have a conference call in an hour. I'm so busy that I have to work on weekends—isn't that remarkable?"

I had no choice but to leave with Tom, so we bid John a quick farewell and raced down into the Valley again. They were waiting for us outside Tom's front door, like we had kept them waiting, but I don't think they cared much. Juliet took us home, and I could tell that she was worried. But the hour grows late, so what exactly this excitement was will have to wait.

V:

Juliet offered me the courtesy of letting me speak first about my time with John, and was a bit disappointed to learn that it seemed unremarkable. I think her two favorite details were our piano duet—she reminded me that the next time we saw them, we simply had to perform—and John's house as a whole. I've seen my fair share of expensive houses, both as a kid performing my leadership duties, and when my coworkers invited us to their parties. Topiaries, ice sculptures, you name it—any luxury which money could buy has passed through my field of vision. Alas, John's garden only had topiaries—I suppose ice tends to melt in the summer. She also didn't find the view of Heller from a bird's eye too interesting, probably because she's been with me to the school. I've tried my hardest to make sure Juliet occupies a special place in their mythology. There's a painting of her in the leadership office, just like there is one of me. While the paintings are relatively new, unless you looked closely you couldn't tell that they weren't done of our high school selves. I suppose we've aged well.

But anyway, when her cross-examination of me ran dry, she said with some urgency that Tom was having an affair with one of his mentees. Regina had shared this suspicion with her while they were eating lunch, and Juliet was quite confident in saying that Tom was the adulterous sort.

"Is this one of the kids they keep in the guest house?"

"Regina thinks so. I forget the name of the kid, but she's apparently as sharp as a tack and a real senator too, if you know what I mean. Apparently she's the spitting image of Regina, or me, or I don't know, someone like us if we were young."

"Regina still looks the same, too!" I said sympathetically, still somehow not surprised that Tom was the sort to take advantage of his position. I wondered if Tom had dropped some hint while we were up at John's house of his infidelity, but he seemed like an honest guy there. I didn't expect Tom to be as open then as he was, or as interested in intellectual rabbit-holes and conspiracy theories like I was—he had declared on the car ride back that there was something wrong with John, and for once I was inclined to agree—but there was barely any talk of our wives. I spoke fondly of Juliet, certainly, so maybe that was the clue: Tom never said anything so nice about Regina.

"I feel so bad for her. I wish there was something we could do to help."

"All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Isn't that how it goes?"

"It really is like that sometimes. So I was thinking, what if we invited John to come socialize with us a bit? Next weekend, we could all go down to Stanford—the mecca of civilization or whatever Tom calls it—and walk around. You know, catch up on everything, have a bit of fun?"

"John didn't strike me as the social sort when we were together. He's always been happy alone, to my knowledge. I was too, for a while, but then we found each other."

"Come on, you know you want to."

"I don't know. I guess the polite thing to do would be to ask."

We called him later that evening, after spending the remainder of our afternoons wondering if Tom and Regina were our problem, and he seemed receptive. I had thought it would be harder to get a famous author to come along for a friendly chat, but it sounded like he had been to Stanford many times and enjoyed it. He made a particular point of mentioning that, like he was telling himself to be excited rather than genuinely being so.

I had few connections to the campus myself, beyond some vague whispers from Heller. There was an enclave of "good people" there, like there was at UPenn, UCLA, or whichever fine institution you could name. The university diaspora talked with each other more than they did with the main campus at Heller, and we mainly acted as a fraternity or a professional network. Legend had it that any club member at Heller who had good enough grades was guaranteed admission to an Ivy League or at the very least a swanky internship somewhere. Once people graduated from high school, the function of everything really shifted from the 1984 aesthetic to something more jovial. Our power stemmed then from brotherhood and sisterhood, us knowing everyone else and always being willing to do a favor or accumulate wealth and power together—it was like the Trojan network at USC, a campus where we explicitly did not have a full office. Partially to spite Tom, I admit, or maybe a middle finger to the old money systems which pervaded the school. But any of our progeny who went to USC could always come to UCLA for a refreshing glass of iced tea, a friendly chat, and whatever else being part of the modern Illuminati afforded.

So I guess if you put it that way, I had connections to Stanford, like being Franklin Barnes and Juliet Wong (we kept our own surnames) afforded in any place where good people could be found. This entire concept always amused my coworkers, some of whom also had the same distinguished pedigree. I hoped John wouldn't find it strange when we next met, and I made a mental note to warn him.

VI:

I forget why we chose to meet at the food court, but John clearly had beaten us there. A few students definitely noticed him, but as far as I could tell, nobody bothered him. I guess he wasn't that big of a celebrity. John and Juliet hugged briefly, both marveling at the statistical impossibility of their being in the same place at the same time, and then we were forced to confront that maybe we had met there because we all wanted lunch. John suggested Panda Express in a surprising bit of humility, but he accepted my counter-offer of the little burger place just across the square. When I was but a wee young lad, I had done some sort of summer program here, and consequently had a vague familiarity with the campus. We had taken a few field trips here while I was still captaining daily operations, so that was it too. As much as I hated to admit it, Stanford truly was the best place for bright new ideas.

The cashier at the burger place was too gobsmacked to say anything beyond a perfunctory greeting to John, but surprisingly enough, someone else in line recognized me. There was no way I was to know everyone currently involved in club operations besides the people at Heller, who despite their youth still occupied positions of senior command, but it was hard for anyone else to not recognize us.

"They recognized you, but not the millionaire author? This really is a strange place!" John laughed, quietly enough that I didn't think anyone else would notice, but he still turned a few heads, who now realized that a minor celebrity with no disguise had ordered a cheeseburger in front of them.

"A brave new world indeed," I laughed, and we proceeded outside to find a sunny spot to eat. The food was good, I'll admit—I could cook a better burger myself, but I was hungry. John related some anecdote about delivering a lecture here in some big auditorium that people paid through the nose for, and when he perceived for some strange reason that we were perturbed by this—I certainly didn't feel offended, and Juliet shares enough of my sensibilities that I don't think she cared either—he promised that if we were ever interested, he could get us into any of his lectures for free. I've never been enough of a writer to go chase after lectures on writing, and I said as much, but Juliet and I agreed then that it could be a fun change of pace someday.

After picking up some refreshments at Jamba Juice, where they recognized only John and insisted we take our drinks for free, we went to walk around a little. It was hot, certainly, but not so hot that a vigorous constitutional was out of the question. I'll spare you the details because there's not really anything to say, at least for the first part of our trip. That's the funny thing about this saga, everything fits together neatly.

At some point, probably as we were beginning to come back to where we had started, we spied Tom in the distance holding hands with someone. They were sitting and admiring a fountain, and from a distance I assumed it was Regina, but Juliet shushed us—she knew better, that it was not Regina but her evil doppelganger that Tom had snared. This spectacle proved fascinating to John, presumably because we had neglected to tell him about the entire affair thing, and he took out his binoculars which inexplicably were in his possession to verify this. He knew what Regina looked like, that was for certain, and after a few seconds of examination declared that Tom was having an affair. It wasn't like this was terribly surprising, at least to me, and Juliet suggested we leave quickly as to not be seen. John took out his phone and took a few pictures, despite our protests, but he promised us that nothing would happen with them. He just wanted some proof he wasn't seeing things, and I found that level of certainty respectable.

John bid us a swift adieu after that, saying he had some other affair (using his exact wording) to take care of. I was quite enjoying my time on campus, and I reasonably assessed that the odds of us running into Tom were low. Juliet agreed with me, and so we went to walk in another direction, taking in more of the fresh air and all that energy. The ultimate goal of our second walk was checking out the resident club office, which was nestled with some other administrative buildings and did not feel out of place at all. It was only a few rooms that had assimilated themselves into the general career offices present. Our portraits hung in the little reception area, which was a nice touch, and we chatted a bit with the kids present before we grew tired. I've always thought that we're quite fortunate to have such a good reputation that in any major city, there are connections we can tap for a good hotel room or an exclusive dinner reservation. Those mainly come from alumni, who still use the university offices as their home bases, but talking with the students is great fun too. They all have a strong desire to be trailblazers that to be honest, I never possessed when I was their age. And perhaps the fact that I took the easy way out with my career says that I still don't possess that same desire. With how they all consistently treat us, you'd never know it. I can't complain much in any case—at least here at Stanford, they know their stuff.

VII:

Regina was waiting in front of our building with two bulky suitcases in tow, on the edge of tears, and it took no great leap of logic to conclude that John had simultaneously done the right thing and the stupid thing. John must have told us her address, or maybe she recalled it from the holiday cards they sent us without any corresponding gesture from our end. Naturally, we escorted her inside the building and up the elevator, promising that we knew nothing more than she did and that John had found out at the same time. I expected her to be mad, if anything, at John, but she could say nothing beyond that it was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for her.

Our condo's plenty big enough for three people, especially when one of those people is fine with sleeping on the couch. In contrast to Tom's house, our furnishings are fairly modern. Lots of glass everywhere, something that Regina remarked on approvingly.

"Don't worry, it's tempered—no danger of shattering," I reassured her.

"You have twin Pelotons? How adorable! Tom has one in his man cave—not that he'd ever let me use it."

"There's nothing more fun than exercising together," Juliet promised her. She was impressed by the grand piano, secondly, which I explained was a wedding gift from Alan.

"How is he, anyway? I don't think we've talked at all since, you know."

"He's doing quite well. He manages all the club's finances, you know, for all the campuses, and our philanthropic efforts too. It's a busy job, but he does it well," I explained.

"That club stuff has always freaked me out a little—Tom took me once to the office at Stanford because I didn't believe it existed. But I'm happy to see that you're all keeping yourselves busy."

"It's trivial, it really is. Are you fine with the couch? We have a sleeping bag somewhere."

"Oh, no, this is fine. Thank you for your hospitality. I promise I'll be out of your hair soon." We were talking like old friends, which was quite remarkable, and we continued for a bit while trying to tactfully avoid what exactly had driven Regina to pack her bags and storm out of Tom's house. By this time, I figured, he had probably come home with his mistress in tow and figured out exactly what had happened. Maybe he'd blame us. Or John. But it wasn't really our problem.

Regina politely inquired about the piano, and Juliet took this as a cue to call me up to perform our by-then classic duet. I really don't consider myself a showman by nature, despite what you probably think. That's part of why I never participated in any of the plays at Heller—I really don't like public speaking unless I'm fully in my element. It's also that I don't like the feeling of being judged, and that's exactly what people do at the theater.

"You both really haven't changed one bit!" Regina exclaimed after some polite applause. "You look the same, you talk the same, it's like you're all still in high school."

"It goes beyond that," Juliet said with a grin. "In the mornings we go to work, you know, at the same place. We work in separate buildings and don't talk during the day, but we always leave at the same time and come home together. Sometimes we stop for dinner downtown, or if we're lazy we eat at work together. It's a bit awkward, I think, everyone knowing that we're married, and so we try to keep it on the down-low, but outside of that time it's just us doing our thing."

When she phrased it that way, it sounded a bit juvenile, but Regina seemed to think it cute. "That's a lot better than how Tom and I work. It's so strange that we ended up together, but I guess I felt like I didn't have any other options. I thought he didn't either, but, well, we all know how that turned out." We could have talked more about depressing things like that, but I proposed instead we watch a movie. It was June, but I suggested we re-watch Groundhog Day, which for some reason felt fitting. They agreed, and I brought out some snacks from the kitchen and we had ourselves a nice time. We reassured Regina that she was free to stick around as long as she liked—she had a job and knew by then how to live unobtrusively—and we bid her goodnight.

I wonder if I picked Groundhog Day because it felt similar to my own life. It still does, in a way. At some point a while back, probably on an actual Groundhog Day when we first were living together, I set my alarm to that same iconic "I Got You Babe" riff. Juliet thought it was a cute idea, and so we kept it—one of those nice things that keeps us together is that we're amused by the same things. And we have the same schedule, too: we go to bed early and wake up early, which Regina told us she enjoyed as well, but not Tom, and with things like food we also share similar tastes. It's no wonder that our parents encouraged our marriage. The coincidental lack of linguistic barriers, although we speak English together unless we think people are eavesdropping, was another factor, and it's why our parents have a weekly brunch that we occasionally join them for. It's good that they get along, my parents and hers; it made things a lot easier. But anyway, simple habits like that build our relationship, and I think that's why we have our alarm set to that. It doesn't bother us at all that nothing ever changes; it's why I'm so verbose now with describing our brief excitement, that it was so unusual. Nothing has changed, but I'll probably have more to say on that later.

VIII:

While the school year at Heller is obviously over by now, in the years since I've left a remarkable summer program has emerged. The campus is always busy, with both students and alumni hosting activities there. The administration obviously doesn't mind at all, especially since these efforts have been student-run; even the less-extreme students have been able to benefit from the summer shows, the career training, and all else that now goes on at the high school that never sleeps. We explained this to Regina not long after she moved in, sometime during the week, who had by then learned not to doubt any tales we told her. Juliet had offhandedly mentioned a theatrical adaptation of The Great Gatsby they were showing that Friday night, and for some reason Regina thought this would be a great activity to do with John. I made my usual joke about repeating the past, and Regina was struck with another unusual idea:

"Speaking of the past, how about we invite Beth?"

"She's in New York, do you really think she has the time? I'm sure she's busy," I pleaded, suddenly having a premonition that this would be too much excitement to handle.

"She'd love to visit!" Regina exclaimed, showing us her phone screen as proof. "She and Tom never got along, but we still talk sometimes. It's quite lucky that she's online now—here, let's call her all together." Before I could voice more objections, Regina announced that Beth was on FaceTime and ready to see us. She, too, looked fairly similar to how she did before. Our call was brief because Beth was in the process of packing her suitcase, but Juliet and Regina insisted we take her on the virtual house tour. She politely complimented our furniture and a beautiful Chinese watercolor of some mandarin ducks we were given as a wedding present, and also did us the favor of not asking why exactly Regina was with us. She probably thought that we were such good friends that this sort of visit was common. And I guess we were becoming friends with Regina, despite our animosity with Tom.

Beth expressed some reservations about being able to get a ticket to San Francisco on such short notice, despite her enthusiasm otherwise, but our connections came in handy once again, and after a few quick messages to the Columbia branch I informed Beth that she could tag along with some rich techie on his private jet. Things really do move quickly in New York. They move quickly here, too, but I never thought I'd be able to book a plane flight in a few minutes flat.

Her plane was scheduled to arrive fairly early in the morning, early enough that we could all get breakfast afterward. Typically, when we go to the airport, we take the same route everyone else does—as much as we could abuse our privileges, I think it's a bit humbling to take economy class like everyone else. But we drove to some remote part of the airport with barbed wire everywhere and picked her up right by the airstrip. The techie assured us that it was really no bother at all—kind of fun, he said, so much that if we ever knew of anyone who needed a ride at the same time he did, he'd love to help—and Beth promised us that the flight was as smooth as could be.

We had considered getting breakfast somewhere close to the airport, but Juliet thought it would be a cute idea to eat at the Googleplex. Sometimes Juliet and I ate there when we didn't feel like cooking ourselves, but that meant we had to eat together, and that made me feel self-conscious (although she didn't mind). But since we still wanted to go to work on time, we decided to bring them along, and it was no issue at all bringing them as guests. Apparently Beth had done some work with Google as part of her job as an advertising executive, so somebody recognized her when we came in. I don't think it was quite company policy to let people bring in guests to commandeer an empty conference room, but I have a habit of finding convenient solutions to problems. We had waffles for breakfast, I believe, and they were surprisingly delicious.

Beth was too independent to have any intentions of staying with us, which was a relief. We could still fit four people, but at that point we were approaching what Tom did with the guest house, and that made us all uncomfortable. So she went to her hotel room after we ate dinner at work, and the rest of us returned to our condo. We still had a few days before the show, and as much as we had enjoyed seeing each other that day, we all had our jobs, so we spent the rest of the week in our ordinary schedules.

IX:

What I think we were most excited to see was how John would react to Beth's sudden arrival. Beth knew that John was around, but it was someone's idea, probably Regina's, to keep John in the dark. Thankfully, he was up for a little theater, claiming it had been months since he had seen a show of any sort. We had this elaborate setup in mind, where we would go meet John at the student parking lot like we always had done, then walk together past the science classrooms to the theater, where somewhere in the lobby Beth would wait and act astonished that we had picked the same day to see a show. The three of them remarked on the similarity to freshman year when they had also pulled a trick on John like that, and they forced me to admit that I had conspired with them then. There was really something poetic about the entire thing.

Juliet wisely declined to let the student valet park her car and chose a reasonable spot squarely in the center of the lot.

"Did we have student valets when we were at Heller?" Beth asked.

"We definitely didn't. This is the first I've heard of them," I responded. "It seems like they've done a good job, at least. Maybe they aren't high school students, but from the community college."

"Oh, have you expanded there too?"

"Well, it was hard not to." We were quite early, but we still wanted to move into position quickly. We had told John the show started later than it actually did, knowing that he'd show up early too. This way it would feel natural. I had not informed anyone at Heller about our plans, and they were quite pleased to see all of us, even Regina and Beth. Mr. Cathcart came out of wherever he was hiding to greet us. It wasn't like this was the first show at Heller we had ever seen, but typically Juliet and I were going as a couple sans entourage. We lingered a bit until we saw John hesitantly step into the theater.

His eyes locked with Beth's immediately, but he showed no signs of flinching. All of us but Beth had dispersed a little, just so it wouldn't feel like we were forming a mob, but we still watched him come closer. They hugged briefly, which was good. No tears were shed.

"I guess you really can repeat the past," I overheard John say. Beth nodded politely, and then we went to our seats. I was really expecting more of a spectacle, but we decided to sit in a different area from John and Beth so they could catch up. They really were happy to see each other. During intermission, we briefly checked in with them, and they were still talking about something or other that didn't really matter to me. What mattered to us was that they seemed happy. Beth stepped away to use the restroom, and John then turned to us with some solemnity.

"I have to win her back," John declared resolutely, and not knowing what else to say, we all nodded politely. "I didn't realize until this moment that her absence wounded me so greatly. I thought I was past this, you know, juvenile stuff. But I have no other choice." John lapsed back into his jovial mode when Beth came back from the restroom.

"You did make sure she was single, right?" Juliet whispered to Regina.

"Of course, Juliet. This is a match made in heaven."

After the show, which really was quite great, the five of us lingered outside the theater, not quite sure what we were supposed to do. Eventually the mood struck us to take a walk through the school while the building was still open and the air was warm, and so we made a little pilgrimage to all the sacred sites. There was Mrs. Huang's classroom, which was empty and locked but still reminded most of us about young love, and what was more impressive was Mr. T's classroom. For some strange reason, the light was on inside, and I took the initiative to knock. Mr. T was the one teacher I still remained in somewhat frequent contact with; he had not yet decided to retire, and somehow managed his duties with both education and the club without complaint. He was happy to see us, and encouraged us all to come in.

"It's been a while since I've seen desks like these," John mumbled to himself, and he peered underneath to find a sticker or label or something, I don't know what.

"Things are largely the same around here, I'll have to admit. Over time, the total number of people with some connection to the club skyrocketed, as you might imagine. We even have guided tours if people call us in advance. It takes the new students a bit to catch onto what their special peers are up to, but everyone has their epiphany at some point. I remember one time we invited Geoffrey Zakarian—of course you know him, he's your uncle—to deliver a talk, and he randomly wandered into the culinary arts class. You could have knocked over the teacher with a feather. But you get used to those surprises. Were you here for the show?"

"Yeah, it was great," John said. "We had a lot of fun." We all concurred, and spent a few minutes together before leaving for the night. I didn't know then if we had any plans to meet as a group again, not until John suggested we attend the concert the following weekend. This proved agreeable to everyone, and so we planned to meet then.

X:

John called me during the week, fortunately during my lunch break, which surprised me greatly. He seemed excited, so I let him talk to his content. I've always fancied myself a good listener. It's a trait I've learned to cultivate, both from my experiences at school and at work. I'm far enough removed from the daily operations at Google that I haven't had to do much math or anything concrete like that in a few years, but I've had to listen to a lot of presentations. It's easy work, really, something I could have done in high school without a problem. It pays handsomely, and that's what matters.

The following day after the play, John had apparently paid Tom a surprise visit. Tom wasn't in a great mood, but John said that his arrival cheered him up a bit. Tom was amazed that Beth had come all the way from New York to say hello, and agreed with John when he said it was the perfect opportunity for romance, to rekindle their relationship. I made the observation that Tom maybe felt a bit bad about the entire incident with Regina and saw this as a chance to pay it forward, in a way, and John agreed. What Tom certainly knew better than any of us, him having been on apparently quite a few first dates, was how to impress a girl. So he told John about all the best spots around Stanford to take someone, and John took Beth to those same spots the following day. John declared quite assertively that Tom seemed nice then, and that it was such a strange thing that someone so nice could ever have an affair, but I urged him to drop the matter.

At first I didn't think it was my concern what exactly was going on between Tom and Regina, but I had warmed up to the idea by then that Regina was a perfectly nice lady betrayed by someone who had never truly loved her. I think some of it was the unfamiliarity of the entire idea—I had not thought for one moment that Juliet would ever be unfaithful, just like she thought the same of me. I certainly had upheld my end of the bargain, and it wasn't even that challenging. It was common knowledge in college that I was off-limits, and this was something that everyone respected. There were a fair share of hookups that I had seen at Wharton, but the good people I tended to associate with never stooped that low, and so my innocence was preserved.

John promised me again that things were going spectacularly well with Beth; after their brief tour of Stanford, John had taken Beth to his house. She had marveled appropriately at everything about it, the gardens, the lawns, the marble, and she was most impressed by the stunning view of the Bay. Apparently in New York, her apartment was squarely in the middle of Manhattan. Expensive, without a doubt, but not quite scenic. It was a nice day, too, and Beth had made an off-hand remark about wanting to go sailing, something she had apparently done in New York on occasion. John had made a quick phone call, and as soon as they arrived at the harbor, a sailboat was waiting for them. I guess that fact isn't too surprising, actually. What impressed me more was how picturesque everything seemed—Juliet had taken me sailing once too, over the summer. Alan hadn't fled the country yet, and he happened to have bought a boat with some of his fortune, so he took us on a rousing tour of the area while we sipped sparkling cider and ate charcuterie. The point was that it was romantic, what they were doing, and that Beth hadn't complained one bit.

From John's phone call alone, it was clear that his spirits were high. From what I had recalled of John's personality, he shifted sometimes abruptly between giant swells of enthusiasm and what some might consider depression. At least over these last few weeks, he had been a bit more mellow than I remembered. Age and fame will do that to you. But on that first day, he had seemed quite wistful, even as he, myself, and Tom caroused like schoolchildren. I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help him on his quest, but he assured me that there was no need for intervention. They had kissed on the sailboat, both of them seized with some giant spark of humanity, and I took that as a sign of something positive. John certainly did.

As much as I would have loved to learn more about John and Beth's second courtship, I had to return to work, so I wished him farewell again until the concert. It had not really hit me until then that John was enough of a celebrity where these casual conversations were remarkable. I think in high school, everyone would have had me pegged as the future celebrity, but I'm not quite at that level. I wondered if any paparazzi, or merely curious onlookers, were at the harbor wondering what such a famous author was doing out there. While John typically had agents take care of his daily activities, which was part of the reason why I had never reached out to him in great depth before, at least where these private matters were concerned, John handled everything himself. It made it all a bit more human, which I appreciated.

XI:

Beth had courteously informed us that she didn't need a ride to Heller, and the three of us knew exactly why. A minute or two after we had arrived, John and Beth arrived in a shiny new convertible, which John proudly exclaimed he had bought the other day. I would love to be rich enough to buy cars casually like that. Juliet and I live thriftily, saving our money for other luxuries. The heat was irritating me slightly, so we walked from the parking lot to the central courtyard, where the musicians had already set up everything. I don't know why exactly we decided to go see high school musicians perform in the middle of the afternoon—or I do know why we chose this sort of activity, but not why we didn't go for something more sensible. Heller's musicians are excellent, and perhaps a wave of collective sentiment drove us all to come here. The others went to go pick a good seat on the lawn, and I went to go wander a bit. I get restless easily, and there's something about seeing everyone recognize you that's disconcerting.

I also had a gut feeling that Tom was around somewhere, a conclusion I had reached in a chain of reasoning remarkable even for me. Recently, in my communications with John—he had taken a fancy to me, viewing me as some sort of co-conspirator in his mission—he had begun talking about Regina and Tom to a mildly worrying degree. Normal for ordinary conversation, I should admit, but he mentioned them enough for them to be a distraction from his otherwise single-minded pursuit of Beth. He was under the distinct impression that somehow they too were star-crossed lovers, citing his own example and that of myself and Juliet. At some point, he said, Tom and Regina would be reunited.

My first assumption was that Tom was feeling guilty about something and wanted to make amends, which was supported when I saw him lurking in the shadows by the entrance to the MPR. He briefly sipped from the water fountain, then waved at me like we were old friends, which I guess we kind of were.

"You never struck me as an arts enthusiast. What brings you here?" I shouted to him across the bridge that formed a backdrop to the pool. I hoped none of the others would notice.

"Something John said to me the other day really got to me, you know. Hearing how splendidly everything's been going with Beth, I thought that maybe it was my time to apologize. It's been a few weeks—I kicked Josephine out of the house—now seems like as good of a time as any."

"Did you bring flowers or something? Chocolate?"

"I forgot the roses at home. Do you think anyone will notice if I trim some of the flowers here?"

"Let's check inside," I proposed, and he followed me inside the building until we found a floral display that appeared unattended. It was one of the ones by a door that nobody ever used, especially during the school day, so I assumed nobody would notice. They wouldn't be able to stop me, anyway.

When we came outside, we saw John standing where I was when I had seen Tom, on the other side of the courtyard. Tom had his roses, and I was starting to worry that the others would notice my absence, so I wished Tom good luck and went back. I was hopeful that he would be able to fix all of this.

I was less hopeful when, a few minutes later, I saw Tom tumble over the railing and into the pool with a gigantic splash. Nobody in the audience moved—I think we were all conditioned by then to think nothing of strange events—but I took the initiative to, with a few students supervising the festivities, go run to check things out. Tom had dragged himself out of the pool, with no visible injury, and understandably was quite irate. I did not see where John had gone, but I assumed they had some disagreement. I directed the orchestra to proceed as planned, and someone had already given Tom a towel and some fresh clothes. It really is remarkable how professional all of the students were. Back in my day, thinking back to our big catastrophe (which coincidentally enough, also involved Tom), we didn't handle these things quite as smoothly. But now, it took only a few moments to make the entire incident disappear. The only reason why I know John was involved was because I checked the security camera footage. I don't recall what they said to each other, but it probably involved Regina.

I explained to the others that John had to take an urgent phone call, which did not bother them at all. John came back a bit later anyway and was willing to borrow my cover story, and we enjoyed the rest of the concert as if Tom was never there.

XII:

The conclusion of this saga followed shortly afterward, and I don't see a need to bother you with the fine details. John invited Beth to stay with him here in California, an arrangement which by yet another miracle did not interfere with her work too much. We live in a digital age, truly, despite all these analog pleasures. I was expecting a mournful goodbye at the airport, but Beth only needed a few days back in New York to pack things up there, and John was with us too to welcome her back the following week. He truly seemed reborn. He was a lot closer to what I think I recall his temperament being at the very end of our time in high school, which did happen to be when he and Beth were dating. This time, of course, it was more serious, and seemingly more harmonious. I considered asking them why they broke up in the first place, but I thought it would ruin the moment.

Whatever had transpired at the concert was not enough to make Tom want to make amends with Regina, so they divorced with what I was told was a remarkably tidy agreement. I think some of this was because Tom invited Josephine back to the house. She was a graduate student anyway—it's not like there was a huge age difference. I still didn't like the idea, but the course of true love never ran smooth, did it? Tom did not harbor any resentment toward us, despite our continuing friendship with John and Beth. He invited us to lunch once at his place again, an offer which we accepted, but we both got, shall I say, creepy vibes from the entire thing. We drifted apart after that, anyway. It was clear that we didn't feel particularly bad for him.

Regina moved down to Los Angeles, supposedly to get some fresh air and a clean start. Work there was fairly lucrative, she said, and she was fortunate enough to be able to maintain the same lifestyle that she had with Tom. She always struck me as more of the independent sort, anyway, and I think it says something about the universe that things worked out for her. She came up here once for John's wedding, and seemed quite happy, but we haven't seen each other since then. I think we'd talk more if she were still in the area.

On that note, John and Beth obviously are getting along quite well. I don't think that needs to be said. I had always known their temperaments to be similar, but while I could maybe see the faint premonitions of conflict back in high school, I think both of them have changed into more compatible people. The other side of that coin is that I doubt we'll have much cause to see them anymore. They're perfectly cordial, still, and sometimes we bump into them out around town. It's just that now that there's no greater purpose behind our actions, we really have nothing in common. There's our attachment to Heller, that's for sure, but I don't think they see anything in our little side projects there.

Personally speaking, of course I'm going to still remain attached to the school. It's the reason why I am who I am, why I'm writing this at Juliet's side, and why I'm able to maintain a healthy work-life balance. I can see strongly the argument against this sort of sentiment, but it feels more like a professional responsibility now than my own personal headache—it's transcended the four years I spent there. The last time I visited the campus, before John had sent out his invitations and started this entire mess, I was meeting with fellow alumni, some of whom had flown in from places like South Africa and Hong Kong to discuss what exactly our duties to future generations were. We could have met anywhere, but there was something quaint about meeting where we had started, so we rented out the MPR one afternoon and did our thing. I didn't think there was anything too strange about it, and I still don't. I remember at my high school graduation, the superintendent's speech quoted Gatsby again, saying something about boats being borne back into the past. That's accurate to me now in more ways than I'd like to admit.

There's something bittersweet in how we've come back to where we started. When I started journaling these thoughts a few weeks ago, it had not quite occurred to me that while everyone else around us changed due to these events, we've remained the same. As far as I'm concerned, we might as well be a few weeks back in time, or even a few years. It's just us, as happy as ever.

I'm keeping my thoughts brief and spur-of-the-moment, but I think the most morally conscionable thing to do is forget any feelings of regret I may have. Every day, I still feel the same youthful joy when I wake up by Juliet's side; it's like Groundhog Day, except happier. Maybe that's not such a bad thing after all. If my journey in high school was for a happy ending, I've found it, this happily ever after.

The fundamental things apply as time goes by.

Discussion Questions:

John is clearly portrayed as a bit of a Gatsby figure here, in a change from the usual; how accurate is it to compare Frank to Nick? Is the fact that he's the narrator enough to justify it?

Are John and Beth a good couple? Has there been any evidence to indicate they aren't made for each other—has any couple been made for each other then?

Are we given any indications that Frank isn't happy with this "happily ever after" that's been seeded through the previous chapters? Why might he feel dissatisfied?