How much courtesy do I owe the people who treated me badly in high school?

It’s been eight years since I graduated from high school, but it’s hard to forget girls like Kelly, who found a notebook I’d dropped and read my girlish poetry aloud to the very boy featured in my verse, or girls like Julie, who spread a rumor that my religion was a cult.

I live on the other side of the country now, but every time I visit my parents in our small town, I run into these Kellys and Julies. And they always want to chat.

It’s like they’ve forgotten all of the nastiness of our high school encounters. Like they assume I’m happy to talk to them now—to answer indirect questions about my salary to coo over their engagement rings. But I’m not.

What’s the best way to handle these unwelcome reunions? I don’t want to be rude, but I have no desire to share my life with these people.