I feel a sense of déjà vu that has me pausing mid-autograph. I look up, the cap to someone’s Sharpie between my teeth, searching for what, I don’t know. And that’s when I see her. High, blonde ponytail. Skintight, pale pink dress with jacket tied around her waist—just like the last time I saw her—long, tanned legs, and white tennis shoes. Evan.
