Page 51 of The Reunion

But Ryan falters, because he knows I’m right. Because I am right. Whatever he thinks he remembers, it’s warped by popularity and everybody fawning all over him, and the glossy sheen of a good time.

‘I was just making a joke.’

‘It wasn’t very funny from where I was standing.’

He falls quiet again and I can’t even relish the win; I just feel angry, and sad, and sick to my stomach. Some of the fight leaves me and I sag against the locked door, which is the only thing holding me upright.

I forgot how much it used to hurt. How much I buried that so deep down it stopped existing anymore.

‘Ashleigh,’ he starts. ‘I’m—’

‘Save it. Don’t … It doesn’t matter anymore, alright? But don’t act like such a martyr, like I was the only villain in this story, okay? I’m not saying the way I acted or responded was right, but – we were both shitty people. Are, both shitty people. Even if I’m the only person who’ll acknowledge that about you.’

For a second, I think he’s going to argue. Reflexively, if for no other reason, because this is what we do. The only way we’ve ever been able to talk to each other. Sniping back and forth.

But Ryan breaks our rules again. He lets out a quiet breath of laughter and mutters, as if to himself, ‘Only around you, Easton. Only you.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ryan

‘Most Likely to Kill Each Other’

She doesn’t move for a long time, just keeps huddling against the damn door. I liked it better when she was arguing with me. I liked it better when she was saying anything at all, because this quiet – this silence, this stillness – it’s unnerving, coming from her.

I’d almost think she was busy plotting her next move, and my demise, if she weren’t all hunched up and sad-looking like that.

Which … I guess, I can’t really blame her for, if that’s how she remembers things from school. It’s not like I set out to embarrass her, but she’d act so high and mighty and so goddamn annoying all the time, I was constantly itching to take her down a peg or two.

I don’t know how I ever thought it didn’t get to her. It got to me badly enough that she’s still nagging in the back of my mind ten years later, my career shaped around the things I think she’d have to say about it – so why did I ever think she was above such normal things as caring what I said to her?

Because she was. She did a good job at pretending to be, anyway. Ashleigh Easton wasn’t human, in the way other people were. She was – above all that. Beyond it. We used to say she was such a square, a real bitch, because she was too mature for our childish bullshit. Sure, you’d know when she was pissed off or feeling especially self-righteous or exasperated, but she never got sad.

Right now, I don’t know what she is. The emptiness of it seems to roar in the space between us, and the chemistry classroom feels suddenly claustrophobic – something that has nothing to do with the locked door, and everything to do with her. Like she’s sucked all the air out of the room and hugged it tight to her, because my chest feels tight and my mouth is dry and my breathing is too hard, too loud.

I swing my leg back down from the stool my ankle is propped up on, standing cautiously back onto it and relieved when there’s no twinge of pain.

Ashleigh doesn’t so much as twitch as I make my way slowly towards her. And, in the absolute silence that surrounds us now, I know she hears me coming. My hand is reaching for her shoulder and, at the last second, I change course to set it against one of those ridiculous puffy sleeves instead of her bare skin. As if she might burn if I get too close.

Her breath sounds like a car stalling, all sharp, uneven judders as she inhales.

‘I know you don’t want to hear it, but – I’m sorry, anyway. I never, sort of … I never realised how it looked from your side. Stuff like that – with the party, I mean – I didn’t do it to pick on you, or whatever. I spent a lot of time at school trying to get you to like me, you know?’ I admit, and it’s punctuated with a self-deprecating laugh. I take my hand from her shoulder to run it through my hair agitatedly, the confession making me feel weirdly nervous.

I can go on national TV, debate over bills and laws and campaigns, tell my superiors when they’re making reckless decisions, collaborate in the shadows with my so-called rivals on the other side of the bench, and I don’t bat an eye.

But when it comes to Ashleigh Easton …

She’s something else.

And now, she peels herself slightly away from the locked door she’s been treating as some kind of sanctuary and stands a little straighter as she turns around to face me. Her arms cross and her chin ticks up in challenge, but the frown that twists her dark eyebrows is quizzical and sceptical, not scathing.

I cut off whatever she’s about to say. ‘What, you don’t believe me? Hand on heart.’ I hold it up to demonstrate. ‘It drove me nuts that you didn’t like me. Everybody liked me. Everybody still likes me, but I knew – fuck, I knew that coming here tonight, nothing would’ve changed, you still wouldn’t like me, and it still bugs me.’

A smirk flits across her face, making her look more like herself. More like the version I know, anyway, and it ignites something in my chest that makes me push on.

‘I’ve always been good with people. Connecting with them. Winning them round to my side. Getting them to like me. But you … You never liked me. You fought me tooth and nail every step of the way, and it fucking killed me. I just couldn’t get my head around the fact that you didn’t, so of course I tried to get you to like me. That’s why I used to invite you to parties. I flirted with you like I did with all the other girls, but that just used to piss you off. I tried to banter with you like the guys, but you never responded to that either.’

Probably, because to her, it seemed like I was only ever taking the piss. I’m starting to understand that now.

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