Dexter Diamond was certain his classmates would make fun of him at the class reunion. His badgering teetered on the edge of inappropriateness and hurtfulness by pointing out their inadequacies at every chance he had as the top pitcher on the high school baseball team. During graduation, Dexter blustered about his chance to try out for a baseball team in Japan. What they don’t know was, he slipped on the grass, breaking his thumb, which never fully healed, ending his career chances.

At the Dell computer for the third time,— displaying the Texas Ranger gear: a cap turned backward; and a jersey with number four on it--  Dexter refashioned his résumé for another truck driver’s job. After getting fired for not controlling his temper with the dock workers, he withheld the inside story from Jennifer why he couldn’t keep jobs.

The phone rang.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Dexter, what is the matter with you?” Jennifer barked.

“What?”

“Are you trying to get a job?”

He frowned. “Yeah! What are you talking about, Jen?”

“I’m talking about answering the phone saying yeah instead of hello like you want to work.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He shifted in his chair, tapping his feet.

“You get any calls today?”

“No.”

“Now, tell me again how you lost that job?”

Shaking his head, Dexter spoke through his teeth with force restraint. “Damn. Don't you think I’m a good worker? Hell. I drive, Jen. What do you want?”

“I know you’re a good worker, Dexter. I just asked. Anyway, I want you to know that I will change into my clothes before locking up here at the library tonight. I want you ready when I blow the horn from the car. And, Dexter . . . I’ll like to get to the reunion before nine-thirty. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay."

He glanced at the clock, then at the partially eaten sandwich next to the computer as he rubbed the back of his neck. Dexter couldn't face those peeved classmates without a backup plan. He just couldn't think of anything.

He returned to the résumé, biting his lip. Now, this one is fine. Doggone it! Two misspelled words. Oh no! I can’t say that. Sure, they’ll check on that stuff.

Although the chair is adjusted to his height and the height of the table, Dexter is unable to get comfortable because it wobbles from side to side. While sipping from the “World’s Greatest Lover” mug, he intermittently shot glances at the clock. After a backbreaking two hours, Dexter does a bang-up job on the résumé and sends it.

Pushing away from the computer, the events causing hurt to the classmates replayed in Dexter’s mind. He poured another cup of coffee, took a seat at the kitchen table, lifted the note wedged between the salt-n-pepper shaker. It said, “Please, for the hundredth time, sprinkle dirt on the oil spill in the driveway. You know what the neighborhood association said. So, you know we don’t have that kind of money.”

He twisted on his ring, mulling over the stupidity of letting Jennifer pressure him into doing dumb stuff like facing his rivals, when those days are long gone, as well as the pitching days. If it wasn’t for those low life dock workers, he would be at least employed.

Not to mention, Jennifer recognized his coffee drinking makes him anxious. He discovered coffee increased his understanding toward her when she’s broadcasting their personal information to those busybody girlfriends of hers.

The night before, after she got off the phone, he jockeyed for a position to match wits with her—it was an effort to rid some fears he was having about what could happen at the class reunion.

But her flipping through old pictures, stroking the pages of the yearbook, will not hold back the revenge from the classmates. He calculated to hurt and humiliation against them, and they deserved their payback, but he can’t let them have it.

Two short bumps and a long one came from the car’s horn.

Dexter left the house wrapped in his large coat and clinging to his mug of coffee.

“Thank goodness, you’re on time for a change,” Jennifer noted while adjusting the review mirror, putting on lipstick and eyeliner.

Dexter clammed up and sipped from the mug. The scent of Jennifer’s perfume hung in the air. In the past, it shattered quarrels between them, hindering his hope to win one. In the same fashion, he was having a difficult time, dreaming up ideas to stamp out claims for his past behavior.

Dexter accepted that he was going to be put on the spot and unable to control his temper, so he sipped on the coffee.

His inability to control his temper can cripple Jennifer’s image with the girlfriends. She micromanaged the relationships like a broker for the New York stock exchange—not to mention, not having sex with his big booty girlfriend after the scent hinted at night of ecstasy, it practically begged him.

Arriving at their old high school gymnasium, Dexter's uneasiness increased upon Jennifer’s response. The ceiling decorated with hanging decor and light activated her screaming laughter. It was as though another light had been turned on. The expression on her face is what made him fall for her when they first met.

Although the tables were simply arranged and easily accessible, she could not get to one fast enough. For the past two weeks, this night was all she could talk about.

They were impeded by Linda Hines, one of the alumni, equipping them with name tags. She directed them to the assembled coat room. Jennifer smoothed out her emerald green, keen-length evening dress. Dexter relinquished the Texas Ranger baseball cap and revealed his usual outfit of sneakers, jeans and Texas Ranger baseball jersey.

Jennifer sighed with disgust, quickly exiting the coatroom.

“What?” Dexter begged, following her.

Jennifer waved her hand around the crowded gymnasium, allowing her boyfriend to take in the well-dressed, ambitious alumni chatting.

“I can’t believe you came here like that. I should have checked what you had on.”

“I didn’t think there was a dress code.”

“We’re at the fucking ten-year class reunion.”

“It’s just a party, Jen.”

“Really, Dexter? You can be a real embarrassment sometimes.”

Sitting down without saying a word, the silence between them hardened. However, the soft lights created an elegant appearance, promising a dining experience to make a meal of the evening. Already, couples were enjoying their meals, guzzling it as if they were searching for hidden treasure. Gently but firmly, Jennifer made the selection while Dexter focused his attention on the dance floor.

The hyped crowd packed the dance floor, circling Doris Hubert. Wholeheartedly but wickedly, she made it obvious why she was voted high school queen. She encouraged the seated to surrender to her movements. Dexter thought graduation did more for her while he worried about being unemployed and discovered for not being a ballplayer.

He remembered Doris as a straight “A” timid girl, whose cat woman glasses slipped on her perfect nose. As she gyrated, out of the ordinary, on the dance floor, her perfect nose pointed up. For a girl who walked on tip-toes, this was a big deal. Curiously, her ambition was zoology or something. It restricted her dating life, along with her homely dressing style, which did not entice boys as the outgoing type.

Dexter didn’t believe what he was seeing. He should be the center of attention, doing all the celebrating. Instead, he paid heed to who might spot him.

Doris, with her Medusa-like hair, shook, popped her fingers, stopped her feet to the beat of the bass drum, and rallied to the roar of the crowd to give more.

Doris! Doris! Doris! They went. While producing strong hip gyration, her dance motion became more rugged.

Doris! Doris! Doris! Their rallying continued. Still, she delivered more, as if that trip the light fantastic wasn’t good enough.

Bending, touching her toes, shaking her buttock from side to side, she went. The crowds’ roar shot up. Suddenly, without a hint, the music stopped.

The dimly lit room lit up. Standing on stage, in front of the microphone, was Mrs. Shaw, the schools' strict algebra teacher, admonishing, “Young folk . . .  may I remind you that you are adults, now! Act like them!”

With a loud disappointment, a host of classmates simultaneously went, “Ah ...  “

Raising her hand, she asserted, “It’s been ten years since I’ve seen any of you, trumping the hallways and in my classroom.”

“There’s a good reason for that, too.” A voice from one of the tables shouted, then hurled a dinner roll at her, hitting her on the shoulder, causing her to jerk.

Mr. Wesley, the auto mechanic teacher, who owned a wrecking yard, sprang for his seat next to the stage. Baffling stories cropped up about him and Mrs. Shaw, every now and again. He pulled out a revolver from his smokey brown suit coat, yelling, “I will kill you punk. Where you at? I will kill you.”

Mr. Wesley, bolted toward the sound of the offender’s voice, brandishing the revolver.

The sitting and standing crowd exploded into a big gush, erupting like a giant wave, pushing across the room. The tables, chairs, food, and the finest moral arrangement dispersed into rubbish.

The waitpersons, in small white jackets, black tuxedo pants, tossed the trays, as a herd of Lincoln High classmates swallowed them.

While the classmates were jostling for elbow room, to squeeze through the fast increasing small exit, Dexter focused on Mr. Wesley, who stood in front of the offensive alumni with the revolver pointed in the young man’s face.

Positioned several tables over, Dexter stood with a thick bottom glass, recovered from the pile of the scrapped table setting. He angled in a position as if he was on a baseball mound. He rotated his arm as if he was against a batter, who connected a lot of fair hits and let it rip. The revolver went, dislodged from Mr. Wesley hand.

“Dexter!” Jennifer blurted, eye cocked. “You saved that boy.”

Composed Dexter agreed, “Yeah, I know.”

On the way home, Dexter drove. They crossed the bridge and slowed to a stop at the red light. Jennifer curled under Dexter as people in coats and scarves crossed the street, walking past the red DON’T WALK hand, pulling like a silent heartbeat.

Raising her head from his shoulder, she softly caresses chest, circling it with her hand, while kissing Dexter.

“Humm . . . baby,” hummed Dexter.

Suspended in the sky like a shimming king-sized golf ball, the moon brightened. Snowflakes began to fall from the sky but not clinging, making the street wet, safe from ice.

At home, while Jennifer was changing into her galore cheese and hipster panties, Dexter goes to the Dell computer. Regardless of how happy she might feel right now, it won’t hold up. She will be back to her old self in a couple of days.

After opening up the email from Family Dollar, he cocked his head back. It read: Dedicated Truck Drivers Needed. Up to 80, 000 per year; 5,000 sign-on Bonus. If you are interested, Mr. Diamond, please contact us for your appointment. We look forward to hearing from you.

Jennifer called from the bedroom.” Dexter.”