Page 24 of The Reunion

He throws me a smile before looking down, abashed, and scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor. I can’t help but laugh, a lightness blooming through my chest to chase away the last of my unease. There’s something so innocent and boyish about both the confession and the shoe-scuff that I can only see him as the boy I fell so madly in love with, not a stranger I haven’t seen in ten years.

Shaun’s grin widens and he shakes his head at me, then turns off to the back stairs beyond the maths rooms. There’s still a strip of tape running down the centre, splitting off the ‘up’ and ‘down’ routes, and, battered and dirty and broken as it is, I know it’s probably been re-laid several times since we were students.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask, wondering if he means to go upstairs to the RE rooms or history department, if there’s some new ‘secret’ he’s learnt from Bryony’s chatter about the school, maybe some new set of benches somewhere … Or there’s the common room up on the second floor; I wonder if it still has the large, sunken brown leather sofa that we all loved so well – even if you did need someone to give you a hand back up, because you’d sink so far into it.

As much as I’m suddenly intrigued to see what the common room is like these days (maybe they finally put some computers in there like Ashleigh petitioned for so hard), the idea of sinking into that battered sofa with Shaun, the shoddy springs and gravity forcing us to sit close together, makes me nervous.

I’m relieved when he continues up the stairs instead of making his way out to the common room. The lights in the second-floor corridor flicker to life, activated by some hidden motion sensor, and I realise only after Shaun heads for one particular door where he’s leading me.

‘The library?’

Fingers resting on the door handle, he glances back over his shoulder at me with a grin. ‘Yeah.’

‘But …’

Doesn’t he remember all the times he’d hide in the stacks and text me to abandon my coursework or friends for a few minutes? And I’d tiptoe around looking for him like a scavenger hunt, to kiss him in front of the outdated encyclopedias?

Doesn’t he remember that copy of Wuthering Heights I mentioned I was going to check out and read, so he hid a note inside it asking if I wanted to go to the cinema with him (the ‘check yes or no’ kind), which I answered and hid inside his locker afterwards? I had to sneak into the boys’ cloakroom to do it, running back to Morgan and Priya and Thea, all of us blushing and giggling over the romance of it all.

But, it’s too late, because he’s already opening the door and walking inside, and I’m already following, smiling to myself at the sweetness of the memory.

Chapter Thirteen

Shaun

‘Most Likely to End Up Together’

The library, like the rest of the school, is exactly the same and totally different all at once.

The shelves and desks are all still exactly like I remember, but the computers are much newer models and the chairs are comfortable, upholstered ones rather than the plastic monstrosities we used to have to suffer on. The middle of the room now boasts a collection of beanbags and a low sofa all arranged around a coffee table, and there are board games on the shelves in front of the librarian’s desk instead of the manky old books he was always trying to encourage us to read.

While I wander towards them for a better look, I’m half expecting Mr Fenchurch to suddenly pop out from behind the desk and try to convince me for the billionth time of the merits of reading something other than mandatory GCSE texts. Steph goes straight for the stacks. There are notices taped up about book-return rules, not eating in the library (some things have not changed at all), the study-buddy clubs available and an after-school board-game club every Thursday, which sounds way cooler than I’d ever have admitted out loud as a teenager. I imagine telling Josh and Hassan we’d go along – just for a laugh, obviously – and the three of us getting really into it. Steph would’ve come along, too, and brought the girls. I wonder if there’s some kid like me doing just that in school now, and using it as an excuse to flirt with the girl he likes.

‘They’ve moved it all around!’ Steph exclaims suddenly, but there’s an excitement to her voice and she giggles. I turn to see her darting along the rows of bookcases, exploring eagerly, and she vanishes down one.

Steph is trailing a finger along the spines of some books and turns to me with a broad, laughing smile, her eyes all lit up and cheeks flushed prettily, and I feel a tug in the pit of my stomach like I’m physically tethered to her, matching each of her steps with one of mine. Her blonde hair catches the light and the way she’s looking at me …

It’s like she hasn’t changed at all.

I think about how much I miss her, missed this, and have visions of her reaching for my tie to tug me the rest of the way in towards her so she can kiss me, going up on her tiptoes to reach, the warmth of her arms around my neck.

‘Look at all these books! Isn’t it amazing? I wish we’d had a collection like this when we were here! All these YA fantasy books – Morgan would’ve gone crazy for these! Oh my gosh, and look, they’ve got all the Angus Thongs books! Remember Ashleigh got in a huge fight with Mr Fenchurch about them because he said they weren’t appropriate for a school library, so she started like, an underground book club and we’d all sit around reading them in the yard instead?’

As she giggles at the recollection, my hand runs down the front of my chest, smoothing down a school tie I’m not wearing, trying to wipe away the mental image of Steph pulling me in for a kiss. The kind of memory she is clearly not thinking about right now and the kind I absolutely should not be.

She crouches down to get a better look and occasionally picking one out to read the blurb, and I stand there watching her, trying to remember any of the things I wanted to say when I suggested we go for a chat.

What comes out of my mouth is, ‘Curtis won’t be mad that you ditched him?’

Steph stills, and I wonder if it’s on purpose that she’s not looking at me. ‘I hardly ditched him. Why would he be mad? It’s not … Well, it’s not like … We’re just catching up, aren’t we?’

That was the plan. But it seems so muddy and far away now, and this feels …

Steph draws a breath and asks, ‘What did you tell – I mean, um … I didn’t see Aisha just now?’

I know the question isn’t an accusation, but it feels like one. Like this – stepping out to chat – is something that warrants an explanation. An excuse. Tracks that need to be covered; secrets held close to our chests.

‘I think she was getting pretty pally with a few of the art girls. They were swapping Instagram handles, so.’

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