Sellersville is about what I expected, but also entirely different.

It’s a short flight from Philly. We land in the Birmingham-Shuttlesworth airport and head through the crowds, a dolly loaded up with equipment cases, until we find the rental car place. The guys stack all the stuff into the back of a white van before we head out, a little cramped, but on our way.

The drive is a little awkward. I keep thinking about that short conversation I had with Henry before we got on the plane. I basically ignored him during the flight, not sure what the hell I’m doing with him at all. But for a minute back there, I forgot that he’s the guy who broke my heart, and for a second we were just those two little kids again, clinging onto each other in a shitty, dying town.

I have to admit, he’s impressive. He’s done a lot in his short career, a hell of a lot more than I have. So much for my degree from Harvard. He may not be the one that’s writing the stories and speaking in front of the camera, but we both know how important the producer’s job is.

He’s basically the fixer. He’s the all-around guy, the one that gets things done. He does the scheduling, arranges the shoots, helps with storyboarding and flow, and fixes any problems that arise. He’ll even do some editing on the fly as we put the story together. At the end of the day, it’ll be my name on this story, but Henry is going to be incredibly important to what happens here.

Which makes me nervous. He’s been around this more than I have, and I suddenly feel a lot of pressure to impress him. I don’t know why, because I should hate him, but instead I want to show him that I haven’t wasted my promise.

He was the one that encouraged me to go to Harvard. I didn’t want to, though Harvard was for rich kids and assholes, but he freaked when I told him I wasn’t going to go. Practically yelled at me, told me I’d be wasting an incredible opportunity if I didn’t immediately accept. Back then, all I wanted was to go to school with him, plan my life with him, but he wasn’t having it.

Didn’t matter much, though. He broke up with me a couple months later. In the end, I went to Harvard just to escape our town and to get as far away from Henry as possible. I’m glad I went, it changed my whole life, helped me meet people I never thought I’d meet, really opened up my eyes to the way the world works. But I’ve always had that bruise on my heart, left there by Henry all those years ago.

Sellersville itself appears out of nowhere. At first glance, it looks like a cliché small town: lovely houses lined with graceful white picket fences, large, old trees sending dappled sunlight all over the sidewalks, people out walking their dogs and smiling, that sort of thing. But as we got into the center of town, things… changed.

Boarded-up buildings. Glass in the street. There are more homeless people here than I expected, and a lot of them are young. Shockingly young, actually.

And then there are the groups of young men, white kids with their pickup trucks, bandannas wrapped around their heads. I keep spotting them as we head toward our hotel, gathered around trucks, passing things between them, giving us suspicious looks as we pass. I can’t help but notice that we don’t see a single cop car anywhere in the area, although I spot at least three guys standing on street corners.

“Nice place,” Henry murmurs as we make a left and head west.

I can’t help but agree. We arrive at the hotel, a pretty standard Holiday Inn, and I check everyone in while the guys unload the gear.

My room is on the third floor, number 321, right in the middle of the hall. As I slide my card through the lock and the door clicks open, I spot Henry coming toward me, lugging a single duffle bag over his shoulder.

“Hey, neighbor,” he calls out.

I hesitate before going in. “Neighbor?”

He grins at me and stops at the door next to mine, number 323. “Right next door. In case you need anything.”

I think he winks, but I’m not sure. “Uh, sure, whatever.”

“We’re going to be working some long nights, you know,” he says. “I know shit’s a little… weird between us.”

I take a sharp breath. I do not want to be having this conversation. “It’s fine,” I say.

“Look, Viv, I just want to say that you’re without a doubt the most talented journalist I’ve worked with.”

I hesitate. “How do you know that?”

“I read your stuff. Your article about water contamination from firefighting foams was absolutely fantastic.”

I turn a little red. That was the second thing I wrote for the Times. It went basically unnoticed, but I poured my heart into that thing. “Thanks,” I say. “You’d be surprised how hard it is to get firefighters to open up.”

He grins at me. “I’m not surprised. They protect their own, right?”

“Right,” I say, nodding. “I had to work this one guy, kid named Jonny. I think he had a crush on me.”

Henry leans up against the wall. “Can you blame him? I doubt there are women like you in his little shithole town.”

I glance away. “Quit trying to flatter me.”

“Just speaking the truth. And trying to lighten the mood between us.”

“There’s no mood between us.” I step back toward my door.

“Come on, Viv. All that shit, it all happened between us. But it’s time to put it all behind us and at least try to work together. Try and make it bearable.”

I turn back to him and look into his gorgeous eyes, and I want to tell him the truth. I want to tell him how broken I was back then and how I never quite healed, not really anyway. I’m like a bone that never set properly, always slightly out of alignment, always slightly hurting. Maybe that’s dramatic, maybe I was just a girl back then, and that’s probably true. I moved on, I got over it, and I lived my life. I haven’t been pining for him.

But I did learn to hold my emotions closer to my chest. I learned that people can break my heart if I let them, but they can’t if I don’t. I learned to be careful, learned to love slowly, learned to give only as much of myself as I have to. Say what you will about teenage romance, it taught me something, and I never let that lesson go.

But I don’t say it. Instead, Trace appears, grinning his goofy boy grin. “Hi, guys,” he says as he unlocks his door. “I hope there’s porn on this thing.”

“Don’t order anything, damn it, Trace,” Henry says, turning away, and the moment is gone.

Trace grins as the door shuts and Henry sighs. “Idiot kid,” he mutters.

“I’ll see you later,” I say. “I’m going to get settled.”

“Yeah, sure. And hey, don’t you be ordering any porn either.”

I laugh and roll my eyes at him as I head into my room.

Once the door shuts and I’m alone on my lumpy economy queen-sized bed, I can’t help but wonder why the hell Henry is even here. He had to know that I was going to be assigned to this. He clearly has some clout in the company. I saw him in with Greg almost every day, sometimes in there for a couple hours. I don’t know what they were talking about, but Greg clearly values him, especially if he’s been producer on some of the best reporting WBN has done.

So why take this assignment? It’s an important topic, one of the most important topics in America today, but it’s not glamorous or exciting. I’m sure there are jobs overseas that would be more suited to him, that would be more taxing and more popular.

I don’t get why he’s here, babysitting Trace and the other crew guys, and flirting with me. If he’s so important and successful, then maybe he should be out doing something more exciting.

Maybe it’s because of me. I hate having that thought, I know how self-centered it is, but I can’t help it. It makes no sense for Henry to be assigned to this, unless he wanted to be assigned with me.

Which just opens up a million more questions and makes my head spin. I can’t let myself fall down that rabbit hole. I put my suitcase on the bed and start to unpack. Since we’ll be there for a couple weeks at least, I’m going to at least make this room a little bearable and not live out of a suitcase.

Meanwhile, I keep thinking about Henry, about him right on the other side of that wall, wondering what he’s doing and thinking and why the hell he’s here.