So, after Baltar sent me in the wrong direction for the bathroom, I didn’t actually kill him or even really wish him death for that long. That might have just be typical pre-teenage exaggeration.
But when he showed up at Dad’s birthday party two years later, I definitely shunned him. We were fortunately no longer quite as hippie as we had been two years previously (something about Mom’s new job), but the adults running around in the backyard were embarrassing themselves. They seemed oblivious to their poor choices, but far be it from me to let them know. I just sat quietly off on the side, judging. Or at least that’s what Mom said I was doing. I guess she was right.
Anyway, Baltar showed up after things had been going for a while, but he didn’t let that hold him back from diving into the group. I kind of felt sorry for Dad when I saw Baltar, even though Dad was wearing white tube socks with birkenstocks again. Again.