Chapter Fourteen

Hayden

Most Likely to Succeed

The party seems to have turned into one giant echo chamber telling me how underwhelming my life has become, and by the twelve-hundredth time I hear that sentiment, I realise that - it s starting to ring true.

This is not some doom-scrolling that I can dip out of and immediately forget when faced with a distraction in the form of Skye spilling a cup of squash or Margot demanding to watch Encanto for the billionth time, and getting the words wrong no matter how patiently I try to teach her the correct Spanish. This is not out of sight, out of mind.

And how can it be, I wonder, when this is my entire life ? It s never out of sight, nor out of mind - yet, somehow, I ve been absolutely blind and ignorant to it for the last ten years.

I used to want things. I used to aspire to be more, to do something, to build things.

It s not exactly news to me that that attitude is all in the past, or that I ve become a different person to the one I was supposed to be. None of my old classmates are alone in thinking that this , the stay-at-home dad with a part-time job he does remotely from the desk in the corner of the living room while keeping an eye on the girls, doesn t match up to the quiet, studious kid they pictured as the next Steve Jobs one day. I agree with them.

But I thought I was okay with that. I thought this life was one I ve not just made my peace with and come to accept, but one that I actively liked having.

Somewhere between Noodles Greg smacking my shoulder and saying, Sucks, man, and Thea s sympathetic smile as she told me there s still time to make it all happen, I think I started to question it, too.

The presentation is still on the projector up on the stage, circulating through the old yearbook and the new additions of where are they now photos. I catch a glimpse of my own teenage face up on the screen, and

I see it, too.

I think, Sorry, kid. I m sorry it didn t work out like we wanted it to and I messed it all up .

Life had seemed simple, then. Another equation to be balanced and solved; a problem to analyse based on previous, similar case studies and accounting for the variables of my own interests and personality. I applied for engineering degrees at top universities, had a spreadsheet balancing up the cost of halls to figure out if it would be more cost-effective to stay catered or not, applied for part-time jobs before I even officially moved to campus. I figured out which modules I wanted to take over the entire four years. I knew which graduate-scheme programmes would be top of my list to apply for. What the trajectory of my career path would look like from that first role where I d be little more than a trainee, to the ultimate dream job where I would have freedom and authority to create and design, being challenged while experiencing the absolute exhilaration of sinking my teeth into something I loved.

It had all looked so clear. Precise and straightforward and - inevitable.

I can pinpoint the exact moment it changed. I haven t thought about it much for a while, but remembering the way Lucy came to my room, ashen and tearful and too scared to go buy a pregnancy test by herself God, the memory hits me with such vivid clarity it s like I m there - fidgeting with the doorknob and watching the seconds tick down on my phone s timer, so sure that one night which we both ultimately agreed was probably a mistake and we were better off as friends anyway That couldn t be it . This sort of thing didn t just happen like that, not to people like us.

Except it did, and all I could think was that we should make a spreadsheet to weigh up our options. The world shifted beneath my feet, but Lucy had been so close to crumbling and so I did what I do best. Lists, and logic. I was the anchor, if only because I didn t know how to get swept away.

I never gave myself a chance to mourn what I lost, or panic about how quickly everything was changing. I just made new plans. Had something else to study for and read up on.

Was it a mistake, to not have let myself feel bad about everything I was giving up? Would I be somewhere different now, if I had?

Maybe it s the effect of the echo chamber everybody has created tonight, a whirlpool made up of empty pity and thoughtless sympathies that sucks me round and under and over, scrambles my brain and leaves me struggling in the centre of it all. Maybe it s just being back here at school, and a bitter twist on the nostalgia.

Or maybe It s simply that it s true, and I haven t let myself see it for a while.

Whatever conversation I m currently part of (which is a generous term for standing by and pretending to listen while doing the bare minimum to actively participate ) moves on, and I take the opportunity to slip quietly away, making some excuse about getting another drink. I ve lost Ashleigh; she disappeared into the crowd not long after we did our routine to Taylor Swift s Shake It Off (which Margot helped coordinate a couple of years ago, and is just silly enough that it borders on entertaining rather than straight-up embarrassing when performed in public like this). I can t even see Shaun anywhere, which means that I m left alone, sinking further into my thought spiral.

Did I really do the best I could with my situation? Should I have been pushing myself more in the last few years - gotten my degree part time and not been such a pushover when it came to Lucy wanting me to have custody because it made more sense with my job? Have I skewed my entire worldview so badly that I can t even tell that I m not happy, deep down?

Is everybody else right?

I mean, it d be a turn-up for the books for people like Freddie Loughton or Morgan or even bloody Noodles Greg to know things I don t, but

You ve still got that face on you, then.

I jerk up at the voice so close beside me that I spill the Fanta I was pouring into my cup. A large hand reaches to pick up some napkins from a nearby pile, pressing them into the spill.

Ryan. Hello, I say, knowing that Ashleigh is going to grill me about whatever this conversation is, no end. She won t be able to help herself. What face?

Ryan leaves the napkins to soak up the spilled pop, then gets himself some punch, and contorts his face in what I think is supposed to be an exaggerated mimic of my own expression. Eyebrows knotted together, mouth twisted into a diagonal line, one eye squinting.

I want to say I don t look like that , but then he cocks his head almost comically to one side and I have to admit, I probably do look like that.

You used to do it at school all the time, he says. We had a name for it, didn t you know? Used to say Hayden s going haywire again , because you d end up scribbling away some doodle about your robots or whatever, and you d be so distracted you wouldn t notice anything. I remember I balanced six Biros on top of your head one time in the common room without you knowing, till they all fell off.

He grins, but it s self-effacing, a bit apologetic. I wait for him to laugh at my expense, but he just hands me my forgotten cup of Fanta and leans against the table next to me as if this isn t the first exchange we ve had in about ten years. I m so taken aback by the simple amicability of this that I don t say anything at all.

So, he asks. What re you thinking so hard about?

N-nothing. I don t think so, anyway.

Ryan scoffs, but even that sounds cheery. He cuts me a sidelong glance as if we re good enough buddies for me to understand what that look means. Counting down the minutes until you can get home? I don t remember you being one for parties very much. Didn t Ashleigh have to drag you to prom?

Er, not quite. My mum shoved me out of the door for that one, too. Apparently, it was a rite of passage I shouldn t miss.

Was it?

Thanks to someone , it was the first time I got drunk, so I suppose it was in its way.

Ryan gives a soft chuckle and inclines his head. He takes a swig of his spiked punch. Everyone expected it. I didn t want to let them down.

I don t quite know what to say to that, either. But there s such an odd vulnerability in his comment that I find myself saying, I was thinking about if I ve let being a dad hold me back. If it s made me give up.

On what?

Everything. Anything.

I shrug.

Ryan nods.

You ve got two now, haven t you? Kids, I mean.

Yeah. I m surprised he knows; I would ve thought he was too busy to bother to look anybody up ahead of tonight, let alone a quiet kid he rarely spoke to at school like me. I refrain from reaching for my phone, not wanting to be the annoying parent who can t stop showing off their children and shoving photos under everybody s nose.

Still tinkering about with things? Or is that what you ve given up on?

Um, no, I ve Well Sort of. I clear my throat, rubbing the back of my neck, wishing Ryan was enough of a prat to talk solely about himself, to spare me having to say anything. Only a little bit - it tends to be side-projects at work, or stuff for the kids.

Oh, yeah? He nods, and when I don t volunteer any more information, remembering how uninterested the last two groups I spoke to were about the Roomba I modified to be an AI-supported walking aid for Skye when she was first toddling about the house, he continues, You know, one of my old teammates retired not long ago, and he s gotten big into educational apps for kids, syncing them up with books and toys and stuff like that. He just got approved for some government funding, actually - nothing to do with me, before Easton asks, he adds with a wink and a wry smile. It s doing pretty well, though. He s always looking for brainiacs to help build it out.

That s interesting. It s a great niche - huge potential.

Ryan tosses me a grin. Yeah . If you wanted, I could put you guys in touch. Sounds like it could be up your street.

Oh. Um Something seizes in the pit of my chest, discomfort prickling all over my skin enough to bring me out in a cold sweat. Er, thanks for the offer, but that s alright. I m okay.

Happy with where you re at?

It s not accusatory, like most people have sounded tonight, or even sceptical. It s - just a question, simple as that. (And I owe Ashleigh an apology for even thinking this, but Ryan might be one of the most decent conversations I ve had all evening.)

Maybe that s why I give him a more honest reply than I ve offered anybody so far tonight.

It s not what I saw for myself. Being a stay-at-home dad, I mean. But I smile a little, saying, I wouldn t change that. I just - I guess I started thinking that maybe there are other things in my life I should be changing. To be who I was supposed to be.

Most likely to succeed.

I nod, and Ryan nods, and I think this must be the longest, oddest interaction we ve ever had. I had to work with him in chemistry in Year Ten because we sat next to each other, but even then, we never had anything resembling an actual conversation . We stand quietly for a moment, observing the room. Or rather, I look at the crinkle in my paper cup and pick at the worn, soggy rim, and Ryan looks out at his crowd of adoring fans and friends. I wonder if he s also looking for an excuse to leave this chat without looking rude.

But then, he claps me on the shoulder - a bit too roughly, and if not for the firm clasp of his hand on my shirt, I d stumble forward, and he says, Success is bullshit anyway. Make it what you want. Nobody can tell you you re not enough unless you let them, got that?

Uh

Is Ryan Lawal giving me a pep talk? Is this some comment he plucked from a cheesy #motivationalmonday post from a personal trainer or something, recycled in his public speeches? Something his rugby coaches told him once?

I expect him to drop that pearl of wisdom, down his drink and jump back into the fray, only he doesn t. Instead, he looks at me, almost insistent - staring me down. His eyes fix on mine, or would if I weren t busy looking anywhere else all of a sudden, and I squirm under the intensity of it. I ve never liked being the centre of attention, and guys like Ryan are popular if only for their ability to make you feel like you ve been gifted their full and complete attention.

With Margot and Skye, I am the centre of their whole world. With my friends, eye contact is easy; I am at ease.

This is so far out of my comfort zone that I m sixteen years old, waiting to be picked last as usual for cricket in a PE lesson while everybody watches, and wishing the ground would open up to swallow me whole.

Got that? he presses, and I can t work out why it matters so much to him either way.

But I say, Y-yes. I think so, in the hopes it will get me out of this hellscape.

Ryan s hand gives my shoulder a friendly rattle before he lets me go. Nobody, Hayden. Nobody.

Learn that the hard way? I ask.

His eyes track across the hall, distant, and that intense, overconfident demeanour slips for a moment. For just a fraction of a second, I d say he looks as insecure as I feel, harangued by ghosts of his past and what-ifs.

It s gone in the blink of an eye, because then he s grinning at me again and accents it with a wink. Nah, mate. But you hang out with so-called success stories enough and you start to see the try-hard amateur behind the curtain. Try not to go haywire too hard, huh? Enjoy the party. Maybe avoid the punch.

I nod, lifting my drink slightly in farewell as he walks away - and leaves me thinking that it s easy for someone like him to say that success is bullshit; however positively I want to look at my career and my ambitions and passions, I have nothing to show for it. Ten years of squandered opportunities and forgotten dreams, brushed so far aside they may as well no longer exist.

I abandon the cup of Fanta, and down a glass of punch instead.