The whispers started immediately. That's Daniel. What is HE doing here. Who let him in.
A few of the old ringleaders — grown men and women now, but you'd never have known it — actually laughed. One of them, a man named Grant who'd led most of the worst of it, called out across the room, loud enough for everyone: "Wrong party, buddy. This one's invite-only."
The room laughed.
Ten years, and they laughed at my son exactly the way they had at fourteen.
Daniel didn't flinch.
He walked to the small stage at the front — the one set up for the reunion's toasts — and he picked up the microphone, and before anyone could stop him, the lights dimmed, and a screen came down behind him.
Because Daniel had arranged all of it with the center's staff, who knew exactly who he was.
"Good evening," Daniel said. "For those who don't remember me — and I can see from the name tags that some of you had to check — my name is Daniel. We graduated together. I sat alone at most of these people's lunch tables for four years."
