Chapter Thirty-Two

Steph

Most Likely to End Up Together

Sweet. I can almost taste the sweetness and warmth of his breath as the two of us lean imperceptibly ever closer, neither one of us seeming to move, and yet, inextricably drawn together, as if this is all - fate. Some greater force in the universe bringing us both together, as if we d never been apart in the first place.

Is this a bad idea? No, that s a trick question; it s a horrible idea and I know that. This isn t me, I m not a cheat, and Shaun s not a cheat, either, except - maybe he is, if he s so willing to kiss me? Maybe he is, and I don t know because I don t actually know everything he s been up to in the last ten years. Maybe he thinks I am the type to cheat, because he doesn t know me, either, not really.

We shouldn t be doing this.

But all those what-ifs. The years of being apart, of wondering, of knowing where our lives would have ended up, had we stayed together. The thousand minuscule decisions that led me to picking up that exact memory stick so many weeks ago, only to discover our old yearbook; all the things that had to go right in order for Bryony to arrange this reunion and for tonight to pan out the way it has Everything that brought us back together tonight

It s too much to ignore, isn t it? Far too much to be merely chance , or coincidence .

This is all it s a sign. A big, flashing neon sign that I m wrong about everything, about myself and my feelings and Curtis, because why else would I be here now? Why else would Shaun s hand be so warm, so heavy, on mine, or my hand be on his knee, and our breaths mingling in the ever-narrowing space between our mouths?

It s Shaun. It always has been Shaun. Always will be.

Right?

I inhale sharply, quietly, and see Shaun s eyes darken in the instant before they close.

And this is it, I realise, in such a cold, stark moment of clarity that it feels as though this entire moment is an out-of-body experience, one I m watching from the sidelines after the fact. This is the moment my life changes forever, erases the ten years of distance and heartache and puts us both right back where we were always meant to be. This is the moment I decide, Shaun Michaels is truly the one-

BEEEEEEEP!

BOOOOOOP!

BEEEEEEEP!

Shaun practically falls backwards into the railing. I hurtle to my feet and stumble down a step, covering my ears.

We stare at each other for the longest time. Another beep-boop sequence sounds in the span it takes us to gawp, and gape, and blink, and let it all settle in: how close we were to kissing each other, that we both wanted that kiss, that it would have involved both of us cheating on our partners

And, that the fire alarm is currently blaring at full volume behind us, more aggressive than I ever remember it being. There s a tinny, artificial layer to the sound that I feel in my teeth, and Shaun looks visibly panicked at the noise.

That s the fire alarm, he shouts over it.

Yes! I shout back. I bend down to pick up my bag, even though you re not supposed to do that. How many fire drills did we go through at school where the teachers told us to leave all our things behind? One time, we ended up shivering in the rain without coats or umbrellas. Morgan got a cold and her mum came in to shout at the Head of Year about it.

But, still, I collect my bag and use the opportunity to turn my face away from Shaun. In fact, I angle my entire body away from him. My heart is in my throat, although I don t believe that has anything to do with the grating noise beep-booping away on the other side of our little stoop, or even worry about a potential fire somewhere in the building. I feel my usual, more pragmatic side returning, as if a layer of ice has been coating it all this time and now melts away. Most likely, one of the rugby lads has slipped out of the party and pulled it for a joke. Hiro did do that once, during a mock GCSE exam. And I can t hear screaming - just distant, firm shouting, that reminds me of a teacher calling a class to order as they re ushered outside.

So my racing pulse, the vice-like grip around my lungs, the acrid taste in my mouth I know that s all down to what almost happened with Shaun.

And

I consider it for a moment, use these few precious seconds alone to weigh the tumult of emotions coursing through me, to see what rises to the surface above everything else. Disappointment? Guilt?

It s relief .

Followed very quickly, of course, by a crushing wave of guilt, and a montage of memories from recent years.

Here, Curtis said, and handed over one of the Starbucks cups from the paper tray balanced carefully in his large, square palms, and it made me blush because I realised how much attention I accidentally paid to his hands whenever I saw him working the office coffee machine. Stunned at the coffee he brought me that I didn t ask for, I took it and said thank you, and that straightforward smile he always had looked so strange. A little bit shy, I thought, if I didn t know better. And didn t he maintain eye contact for just a beat too long, there?

How are you so bad at this? I laughed while a bowling ball clattered - yet again - down the length of the gutter, and all ten pins remained standing. Curtis looked equal parts infuriated and baffled, but it was all carried with a good-natured sigh and a mutter that he was just letting me win and absolutely, categorically, wasn t only just used to bowling with his niece and always having the bumpers up.

Do you like it? he asked, and there it was again: the flicker of nervousness in a face that always looked so sure whenever I saw him around the office. In court, he could deliver closing statements like the course of entire lives didn t depend on how good he was at his job, but here he was, so hopeful and worried over the Valentine s dinner he planned for us in his apartment, with rose petals scattered and white pillar candles lit.

The tickle of a beard and moustache that one time he participated in Movember and the fit of giggles I was in when he finally let me shave it off, and we kept cutting it into funny shapes that ended with a Magnum PI look, and the so-bad-it-was-good impression he did. The warm arms wrapped around me on the sofa in an evening, and the tissue he would silently pass me when he knew I was about to cry at the movie we were watching. The pack of pastel-pink flashcards he ordered online for me when I started studying to gain more qualifications, and the wink he gave me when he produced a set of matching highlighters from his back pocket, and my all-too-childish squeal of delight over something so simple, that meant so much to me.

The giddy bliss. Yes! I screamed, and he laughed, because he hadn t even finished asking me to marry him, hadn t even opened the ring box yet, but I was already launching myself at him to kiss him.

I can t smile over the flood of memories; they come hard and fast, snatching my breath, and leaving me only with the confusion and shame at the idea that just moments ago, I was about to kiss another man.

Is all of that really a mistake? Not real enough? Is it worth throwing away, for the first boy I fell in love with?

Those aren t questions I have time to answer right now, though, because my attention is stolen by Shaun shaking the door with more force than is really necessary to open it, and the sensation of something being wrong settles cold and heavy in the pit of my stomach.

Shit. Shit! He mutters under his breath and heaves on the door handle again. It jostles in the frame, but doesn t give way.

What s happened? What s going on?

He steps back with a sigh, tossing a hand at the offending door in exasperation. It s He groans, bending forward with both hands braced on his knees, and he laughs dryly. Remember they used to have a brick that always propped this door open? Like, always , even when it was freezing cold or bucketing down with rain?

Yes, I say, and my eyes scan automatically over the shadows that now consume us, and I spy the outline of said brick, and Oh. Oh, no. The deadbolt slips.

The deadbolt slips, Shaun confirms, giving the door handle another half-hearted yank as if to demonstrate. The deadbolt he unlocked to get us out here has fallen back into place, firmly locking us out of the school and stopping us from going back the way we came to rejoin the others. Priya must ve knocked it out of the way when she went back inside. We ll have to go back in around the front.

Back

Yes , a clipped voice in the back of my mind says. Back in, to the party, because this catch-up of yours is over; it s time to return to reality and stop living in the what-if.

Is Shaun glad that we didn t kiss? Does he regret the missed opportunity and think he s lost his chance and shouldn t try again? Do I want him to?

No, I don t have time for these questions, either.

I slip my phone out of my bag, thinking that Curtis might worry if there s a fire alarm and he can t find me - I ought to at least let him know that I m okay and will see him in a minute. But the screen has a hideous, brutal crack stretching from the top corner and won t turn on; it must have broken when I dropped my bag earlier. A flutter of panic erupts in my chest. What if Curtis has been looking for me at the party, texting me, and what if my lack of reply has made him worried?

He would have been right, to worry. To be suspicious. I can t believe I ever betrayed his trust like this. I hate the idea that I might have been causing him pain all this time, while I was living in this nostalgic little daydream with Shaun.

We should go back, I say, as much to convince myself as anything else. We ve been gone a while. If the fire alarm s gone off, I don t want anybody to worry.

Saying Curtis s name feels - not like a curse, but like the swing of a weapon. Something violent and bloody, something that will hurt . I m not sure who I m most worried about hurting here, though. Maybe all of us.

Shaun nods, though, and if he notices my clunky phrasing, he s polite enough to ignore it. We make our way down the rest of the steps, gravel crunching underfoot in the silence, giving away the fact that our steps are out of sync. We walk within arm s reach of each other, but with several inches separating us. Shaun s arm swings at his side and I hold my bag in front of me with both hands, just in case we wander too close together and my hand might brush his.

I know that our moment has passed; the kiss that almost was isn t something we could easily return to, and it s for the best.

I feel like I m just waking up with a hangover. Groggy and disconcerted, recent events a messy jumble in my brain where it feels like entire patches are missing that would make it all make sense. My mouth is dry, my limbs shaky.

Does Shaun feel this way, too? What is he thinking right now? I sneak a peek and find a small frown puckered between his eyebrows, but his shoulders aren t hunched up and his posture is normal - maybe he isn t particularly bothered by it? Maybe he s busy thinking up a cover story for Aisha if she asks why he was gone for so long.

Maybe, I don t know Shaun as well as I once did.

I don t dare ask what s going on in his head right now, though. I cannot face that discussion.

The first time Shaun kissed my cheek after walking me home from school one day, I immediately ran inside to open up the Facebook Messenger group chat with Thea, Morgan and Priya, and the four of us dissected and analysed every moment to within an inch of our lives. I described to them in extensive detail how I had to put my schoolbag on my other shoulder so my hand next to him would be free, and how he kept brushing the back of my hand with his then gripping the strap of his cross-body satchel like he couldn t quite work up the nerve to hold my hand, and how it had been a little bit sweaty when he did. Then how romantic and sweet and perfect it had been when he gave my hand a little tug on the porch step so I d turn into him, and he kissed my cheek so fast I blinked and he was already half racing away, but turned back to grin and wave goodbye.

Oh, we d have a field day if we tried to debrief on the almost-kiss, now.

But I cannot, for the life of me, imagine what Shaun would have to say about it.

I m not even sure what I want him to say, or what I d say if he asked me, except the overarching sentiment that it s for the best we didn t.

BEEEEEEEP!

BOOOOOOP!

BEEEEEEEP!

I thought that tonight was leading me back to Shaun, but as the fire alarm continues its relentless screech and we walk out of step around the length of the dark school building, I wonder if fate has intervened after all.

And, if, maybe, Shaun Michaels is not the one after all.

Shaun comes to an abrupt stop, and it takes me a moment to realise why.

Our path is blocked by a very tall, very locked, gate. There s a chain on it, as well as something that looks like a digital pad with a keycode to keep it extra-secure. This never used to be here. It s guarding the narrow, cobblestone path around the side of the school, between the science block and a very thick row of bushes, and blocking our exit completely.

Bryony told us not to go wandering off. I wish we had listened to her.

Oh, shit, Shaun mutters, and starts laughing as he approaches the offending gate. He gives it a tug and a push and the chain rattles, but the gate doesn t budge even a little. He turns back to me with that boyish smile of his. Guess we re stuck - again.

Maybe I m imagining it, but it seems there s a sparkle in his eyes, a cheekiness to it.

I don t have it in me to debate if he s just being himself or if he s being flirtatious right now, because all I can do is think - my phone is broken so I can t call anybody, and if we use Shaun s phone to try to contact somebody to come and unlock the door by the stairs, they ll know we ve been together, and any chance of downplaying this and slipping back into the party undetected will be done for. We especially can t call Bryony to help; she s always been such a terrible gossip that everybody would know that Shaun and I had snuck out to the back of the school within seconds.

I have to talk to Curtis about this, I know that. I owe it to him, right along with an apology he doesn t have to accept, but I can t bear to have this be the subject of gossip and ridicule; he s done nothing to deserve that. This is between us , not my entire cohort of old classmates.

There s only one thing for it.

We ll have to climb over.