Page 19 of The Reunion

Here, now, I’m not annoying and square and a drag. I am intimidating, impressive.

Incandescent.

It burns hot and angry in my chest, this tight ball of flame that licks at my lungs and makes my breath come fast and shallow, spiking my adrenaline and heating my skin. Barely contained, pressurised enough that I want to burst with how good it feels to come out standing on top when so many of my classmates got used to walking all over me. This must be how Bryony used to feel all the time in school.

I almost can’t believe it’s actually happening now. I’d think they were all in on it together as some cruel joke in one last righteous ‘fuck you’ to me, if not for Ryan.

As grating as his mere presence is, he is the one thing about tonight that feels – normal. Sort of … right. Slotting right back into place, like we never went away.

And, God, I hate him.

He’s been impossible to avoid in the last ten years. At one point, it seemed like there was no escape from him; I’d turn on the news or open Twitter or see someone reading a newspaper on the Tube and – there he was. His quick rise to fame on the England rugby team. His brief, sterling stint there scoring tries and then the injury that knocked him out of the game for good.

I remember seeing that on the news and some horrible, nasty part of me that only reared its head when he was around thought, that’ll show him. So it was probably karmic retribution that he started using his newfound fame and influence to get in with politicians and prominent CEOs, lending his name to projects and campaigns that mainly involved helping schools or underprivileged kids to get access to better resources and after-school programmes. He started a damned book club, for God’s sake. Ryan Lawal! A book club! This coming from the boy who stole my course notes on Of Mice and Men to study for the GCSE because he ‘couldn’t be arsed’ to read the book.

Not, of course, that he mentioned that in any of the interviews he did about it.

Not that I watched them. Or went looking for them. Or trawled the comments on trending Twitter threads, smirking to myself at the mean replies from trolls. Obviously not – what a colossal waste of time that would’ve been. How jarringly unsatisfying and agitated it would’ve left me feeling. So, obviously, I didn’t.

Not … that often, anyway.

Bryony giggles and pushes a hand into my shoulder, and I try to scrub my head clean of any and all thoughts pertaining to Ryan Lawal. Easier said than done.

She smirks at me, a mischievous glint in her green eyes. ‘It’s cracking me up that you two still want to one-up each other. I thought you both would’ve grown out of it by now.’

‘I guess not,’ I mumble, then correct myself quickly to say, ‘I’m not trying to one-up him.’

‘Please. We all know what your stupid rivalry looks like. Hey, Hayden, you wanna take bets on how long it’ll be before the pair of them have it out in the middle of the hall for everybody to see?’

Hayden shuffles from one foot to the other. ‘That only happened a few times.’

Bryony’s face lights up with a laugh that carries so well, heads turn to see what the fun’s all about. ‘Oh, man, do you remember when they used to get called in to the Head of Year’s office because they kept ‘disrupting class’, or whatever, because they’d get into such an argument with each other?’

I roll my eyes. ‘It’s not my fault nobody else would call him out for acting like a prat, or tell him when he was wrong. I mean, trying to organise a sit-in to get them to sell pizza again at lunch? That was in direct opposition to how I’d got everyone signing a petition for healthier lunches. He was too impulsive and downright silly, and there was no reasoning with him. Not when he had his head in the clouds and didn’t do an ounce of real work. Someone had to put him in his place.’

Even Hayden gives me a look over Bryony’s shoulder that suggests it wasn’t always Ryan’s fault. He even pulls a face that I’ve seen him give Skye when she’s being bloody-minded and refusing to do something like eat her vegetables or clean her teeth, and I have to look away.

Fine. So it wasn’t always Ryan’s fault. But what was I supposed to do – lie down and roll over, let him carry on unchallenged and thinking he’d won? If we hadn’t both held our own so well – me at the practicalities and important things, and Ryan at being so bloody likeable – there’s no way they would’ve let us carry on as Head Girl and Head Boy, and we would’ve been in actual trouble half the time, too.

But it’s – it’s not fair. Ryan wasn’t supposed to be … this. Wasn’t supposed to do well for himself after school. He was supposed to be an unthinking, laddish boy, the glory days of being the school’s rugby captain long behind him, now stuck in some dry, boring job that made him grey and worn out, with the physique he boasted as a teenager turned pot-bellied and weak. He was supposed to fit the exact stereotype I’d crafted in my mind for him.

Oh, but that’s just like him, isn’t it? To be so damned good-looking ten years later and with the stellar career, his smug face constantly grinning out at me from the TV or my news app. Of course he’s still flying high on that charisma that everyone else seems to find so endearing, held aloft by them, and probably all while still taking the credit for someone else’s hard work.

He is the person in a group project who contributes nothing except a well-timed joke ad-libbed in the one slide he has to present, and is lauded for all his (supposed) efforts afterwards.

His A* for our chemistry project at A level can attest to that.

Yes, I bet he is exactly that same person now.

I just … I wish that this time, for once, I could have won. I wish that his life was a little sorrier than it is, so he has to concede that every time he tried to tear me down and undermine me and make me feel ashamed of myself at school, he was wrong.

He always made it so clear that it was his school. There was only room for one of us at the top, and nobody ever wanted it to be me.

It … would’ve been nice if it finally had been, that’s all.

Chapter Eleven

Bryony

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