Page 35 of The Reunion

‘No! Answer me. What do you mean, I always made sure you looked bad? Don’t you dare try to act like I was some petty, nasty little bully when you swanned around like you ruled this place, and when you did the exact same thing to me. I had to put up with you putting me down for years. You’re not better than me, Ryan, you’re—’

‘Yeah, and don’t I know it. Didn’t you make sure I knew it, every damned day?’

I stop, but only to turn on her so she can feel the full brunt of my words like I had to feel hers. Ashleigh collides with me and I snatch her arm to haul her back upright. I don’t let it go.

‘You want to know why I’m in politics? Why I’m gunning for PM? So that you’ll have to suck it up and realise once and for all that you’re not better than me.’

Ashleigh recoils, flinching, and stares with wide eyes for a moment before wrenching her arm out of my grip. A muscle ticks in her jaw, eyebrows furrowing, and …

Fuck. She’s about to cry.

I’ve never seen Ashleigh Easton cry. Not once. I didn’t think she was capable of it.

She shoves me away with both hands, the clasp on her clutch bag digging into my shoulder. I fall back, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she’s on the verge of tears. The stony, ruthless bitch, flesh and blood after all.

‘Go to hell, Ryan,’ she spits, and storms out of the library before I can register what just happened.

And – that’s it, I think. Fucking checkmate. I’ve finally won. Not just the battle, but the entire damn war between the two of us. It’s over, she’s conceded, and I can emerge victorious.

I forgot, though, that both sides suffer casualties in a rivalry as bitter as this.

Chapter Seventeen

Bryony

‘Most Likely to Become Famous’

The party’s really kicked off now and if I do say so myself, it’s a bloody good party. Everyone’s got full bellies from the pizza, most people are a bit tipsy off the spiked punch but nobody’s verging into messy drunk to make it a problem, and spirits are high. They’re all mingling and dancing and laughing and everybody is having the absolute best time of their lives.

Which, like, they’re totally welcome for.

I kind of want to brag about it to Steph because she always used to arrange get-togethers and have a hand in organising house parties or prom, but I can’t see her anywhere. Her fiancé is still hanging about though, so she must be here somewhere.

Pride simmers through me, bubbling up around the tips of my ears and threatening to spill over in joyful peals of laughter and smug smiles. It feels like those nights on stage where everything just goes right – no issues with lighting cues or people flubbing lines or costume mishaps, performing to a sold-out theatre that ends in a standing ovation. That’s a high I can ride for days; this will be, too. I wonder if I can get away with making some sort of closing speech and take a bow, or if too many people will try to leave before the end of the night and make the whole thing not worth it.

Not to mention, nobody suspected a thing when I had to wrangle Freddie away from the staff photos in a totally non-subtle way. I haven’t seen Ashleigh since, thinking about it, but she’ll get over it. I mean, this is Freddie, it’s not like she actually fancied him. I think.

Anyway, all that matters is that his hand is no longer crumpling up my yearbook print-out covering up the damning evidence of my current reality, threatening to reveal it to the world at any moment, so I’m chalking that up as another win. Gone are the mental images of the gasps all around the hall, the stunned faces of my old classmates as my façade is ripped from me before their very eyes, leaving me to flee in tears, humiliated beyond belief.

Still … if Freddie could almost accidentally unveil my photo on the staff board, so could someone else. I keep glancing over at that corner of the room every few seconds, just in case some other idiot decides to stand too close for comfort over there. The adrenaline rush I’m experiencing is all to do with how great the party is, though, and definitely not almost being outed as a liar and #cancelled.

I’m too busy watching a couple of women almost drift in the direction of the staff photos that I’m not really listening to whatever Mardy Mara With The Lipliner is saying until Elise nudges me in the arm.

‘Huh?’

‘I said’ – gosh, she really does look so much better for having figured out how to wear lipliner, kudos to whatever YouTube or TikTok tutorial finally got through to her – ‘I thought you were in that Hugh Grant movie? You know, the one on Prime? The guy from Game of Thrones was in it … You posted all about it on your Instagram. There was that selfie of you and Hugh Grant from the cast party?’

I mean, they don’t need to know the selfie was from set, and I got cussed out by one of the producers for it and made to delete the photo, which obviously I resurrected from my deleted folder immediately afterwards.

‘Mm-hmm. Oh my gosh, it was so lit, you would not believe.’

‘Is he really cool? I can’t believe you met him.’ Elise’s eyes light up and everybody else in our little circle leans in, intrigued, hanging off my every word before I can even speak, and I bask in their attention. ‘He seems so awesome; I think I’d die!’

‘Did you film much with him?’ someone else asks. I think she was one of the geeky kids Ashleigh and Hayden were friendly with. I think we maybe did a history project together in Year Eight.

‘We had a really great scene together, actually. Hardly took any takes, but of course, he’s a pro, and he told me I take direction really well—’

Or, you know. He would’ve, if I’d been able to show off my acting talents properly. I’d stake money on it.

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