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.

Oh! That s nice. Is she quite artistic, too?

I mean, I wouldn t say some of those art girls were exactly masters of the craft, I deadpan, remembering the showcase they did in Year Thirteen that me and the boys were harangued into attending after school one day, because a couple of Steph s friends were involved, and Josh had a crush on one of them. Steph smiles politely, not quite laughing at their expense but not disagreeing, either. Aisha works in PR. She did a fine art degree, too.

Wow! Gosh, isn t that fab? She works for a makeup brand, doesn t she?

Yeah. Always coming home with freebies. She s even got me into a skincare routine, and now I don t know how I ever coped without it.

Steph laughs. That s a far cry from when you used to trail around the shops with me and no matter how many times you asked, you never quite understood why I needed cleanser or how moisturiser was different from makeup remover.

I ve received a pretty thorough education since then.

Does she enjoy it there, then? Is that what she wants to do? Not that she shouldn t want to, I mean, it s just that she s a couple of years older than us, isn t she? So I thought maybe this was, you know, her big plan, but that s a bit unfair of me to assume

To save Steph from herself, I say gently, Yeah, she likes it. She s happy there for now, but she s not especially attached to the company or the industry. If the right role came up somewhere else

Oh, that makes sense. How did you two meet?

It s on the tip of my tongue to say, I don t want to talk about Aisha , but I choke back the words and swallow them, hating myself for even thinking them. But this whole party feels so confined, so surreal, a piece of nostalgia carved out for one night and one night only, and I know that when we leave, Steph and I will default back to polite comments on the other s life updates we bother to share on Facebook, and something about that feels like it would rob us of

I don t know. Maybe not more , but

After everything we were to each other, after the way tonight has already proven that connection is still there, it feels like we owe it to our younger selves to have a proper, real conversation. We were so respectful of giving the other space after our break-up, there must be so much left unsaid.

And I know we can t hide out in the library all night long, but it feels too blunt to treat this like a meeting with a set agenda. And we re not hiding , per se, or anything else, so voicing the fact that it feels like there s a time limit on this will only add to the feeling that something about this is seedy.

Which it isn t, so I just say, Dating app, actually. And here we are. How about Curtis? You guys met at work, right?

Steph stands up straight, shoulders squared, giving off the impression that she s in a job interview. We didn t get to know each other properly for ages. For months it was just a case of saying hello if we walked past each other or smiling if we were in the lift at the same time, or a bit of small talk if we were both getting coffee

Since when do you drink coffee? I blurt, and immediately cringe. Sorry. Just, uh You always used to say the smell made you feel sick. Gave you a headache.

I used to think olives were gross, too, she says with a smile, though her eyes are downcast. And now I always order them for the table when I m out with people.

I want to ask her when she discovered that she liked coffee. If it was out of necessity for the caffeine to see her through early commutes and less a liking than a habit, or if it grew on her gradually until she dared herself to try a cup and realised her tastes had changed. I want to know the ins and outs of the story, the way I used to know every scrap of arbitrary information about what made her Steph.

But it s not my place, and we don t owe each other that anymore.

Then I notice her bite the inside of her cheek and see the little wriggle she does, like it s a story and explanation she s talking herself out of telling me. I wish she wouldn t. I don t know how to tell her I want to hear it.

Anyway, she says, before I can prompt her about her newfound liking for coffee, one day the machine in the office wasn t working and he did a Starbucks run for a few people, and brought me one even though I hadn t asked. We just started talking more after that, and It just happened, I suppose.

That s nice.

God, what a paltry bloody response. Nice. It sounds hollow and empty, even if I mean it sincerely. Even if it s hard to imagine Steph falling for some guy who bought her a Starbucks, because I m so stuck on the image of her pulling a face, nauseated, from the mere mention of the brand.

We lapse into quiet and I know she must be thinking about how disingenuous I sound, what a crappy thing it was to say. I bet it s made me come across as some sort of weird, bitter ex, but if I try to address that , I ll probably just dig myself a deeper hole.

This was probably a bad idea all around. Maybe she doesn t have anything left unsaid, nothing she wants to talk about, and I m not sure what to say now I m faced with the opportunity, the silence and the privacy. I want to apologise but I m not sure what for, since we re both happy and have moved on with our lives, and I worry that whatever comes out of my mouth next will sound false and shallow in the wake of that s nice .

But then she looks at me, eyes sparkling, and says, I got a job in the campus coffee shop in my second year, doing a few hours a week. I thought it would be a nice way to make some more friends, and Her face screws up tightly and her laugh is embarrassed and hearty. Oh, it was so silly. Me and my best friend I d made from halls in first year, we both got jobs there because we thought it d be a good way to find a boyfriend. Not that we ever had the nerve to write our number on a cup if we did serve a cute guy. But it seemed like a really good fantasy at the time. I think I d gotten accustomed to the smell a bit more from generally being on campus and stuff, so it didn t seem so awful when I got the job. Anyway, I only really got into drinking it after a bad night out.

How do you mean?

Steph winces, pulling a face at me that smacks of sticky nightclub floors and day-long hangovers. Too many J gerbombs. And I mean, way too many. I don t even remember what we were celebrating, but I know two of my friends had to basically carry me home because I was in such a state that none of the taxis would take me. I couldn t face a Red Bull when it got to exam season and at that point, a cappuccino seemed like the lesser of two evils. It was a lot nicer than I thought; I remember being very pleasantly surprised.

A grin splits my face. I can t imagine you getting into such a state. You d barely touch a cider if we went to a party.

It was very much a one-time thing, believe me. I m still not a very big drinker even now.

I nod, remembering her reaction to the spiked punch earlier, and that fits more with the Steph I know.

And with the coffee story, the floodgates open. I have a craving to know everything, to build on the idea of Steph as I remember her against who she is now, to tell her the most inane stories of my life from the last ten years.

She s looking at me like she wants to tell me everything, and my heart thuds hard and fierce inside my chest.

Steph s free hand reaches across to settle on my arm and I realise how close to her my feet have carried me without even realising it.

Tell me all about you, she says. What ve you been up to for the last ten years? Tell me everything.

I know I should be thinking about the party and all the friends we left in the hall, and that I should be making my way back to Aisha in case her new friends split off and she s at a loose end, but whatever I want to tell myself, I know, deep down, that this is exactly the way I saw this conversation going, and that this is the only place I can imagine myself being right now.

So I lean back against the bookcase opposite hers and spill every mundane detail of my life that I can think of, pausing when I know she ll laugh or adding in more information when I know she s about to ask a question, and it s like nothing else exists.

It s like I m eighteen, and everything is exactly the way it should be.