Page 151 of The Revenge Game
The crowd obeys her instructions and migrates toward the stage, everyone doing that awkward side-step shuffle while protecting their drinks with the same fierce dedication they once reserved for protecting their spot in the lunch line.
Maddie gives a giant smile that I’m pretty sure is the same one she used to flash right before announcing mandatory spirit-week participation.
“To begin tonight’s walk down memory lane, we’ve got a very special speech from our former class president, who’s flown all the way from London to be with us tonight. Justin, the stage is yours.”
There’s a loud applause punctuated by whoops and whistles that sound exactly like they did at pep rallies when Justin could make the whole school worship him with just a smile.
Justin’s confident stride takes him up the stairs to the podium on the stage. He’s carrying a tablet that he plugs into the projector screen before turning to the microphone.
“Hey, everyone,” he starts, and his voice still carries that warm confidence that used to make my stomach flip even when I was supposed to hate him. “It’s so great to see y’all tonight.”
Yeah, I’m not sure if great is my go-to word for how it feels to see him. Heartbreaking and nauseating is more appropriate for how I’m feeling right now.
“I had this whole speech prepared about how we’ve all grown and changed since high school, but then I saw Connor still trying to copy off Tad’s name tag, so maybe some things stay exactly the same.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
Tears prickle my eyelids as I watch Justin command the room with his easy charm. I had him. This amazing man loved me, and then I lost him.
And I don’t know how I will ever recover from that.
The stage lights catch on his hair, perfectly styled despite the Texas humidity that makes my hair revolt.
“But most things do change, which is good, right? Because I don’t think any of us wants to still be the same people who thought stealing someone’s inhaler during gym class was peak comedy.
“And do you know what’s funny about high school?” Justin continues. “We spend so much time trying to be who everyone expects us to be that we sometimes forget to figure out who we actually are.”
The mood in the room seems to have shifted. All muted conversation has stopped and people are giving Justin their full attention.
“And no one was better at playing their assigned role than I was,” Justin continues, his voice carrying a hint of self-deprecation that would have been unthinkable back then. “Star quarterback, class president, votedMost Likely to Peak in High School—okay, that last one wasn’t official, but let’s be honest, the odds weren’t exactly in my favor.”
There are a few smiles, but the gymnasium has gone so quiet you could hear a class ring drop, every former classmate hanging on Justin’s words.
“Sometimes life has this way of completely rewriting your script,” Justin says. His usual salesperson polish seems to fade,his stance becoming more relaxed. “Sometimes you find yourself in London of all places, learning that authenticity tastes better than perfection. Even if it comes with questionable British food choices.”
He looks directly at me, and I can’t look anywhere else.
My heart thuds like it’s attempting to match the speed of my racing thoughts.
Does Justin referencing London mean anything?
He breaks his gaze from mine, looking back at the crowd.
“In the spirit of this theme, I thought it would be interesting to go over the predictions we made ten years ago.”
He presses something on his laptop, and the projector screen behind him flickers to life. It’s displaying theMost Likely Topage from the yearbook.
My hands grip my thighs, fingers pressing into the fabric of my pants.
“Most Likely to Never Leave Texas: Amy Rodriguez,’” Justin reads, his lips quirking upward. “Amy unfortunately couldn’t make it tonight, but last time I checked, she was teaching English in Tokyo and married to a professional sumo wrestler. I guess sometimes the universe has a better imagination than we do.”
A laugh ripples through the crowd. I fold my arms over my chest, trying to contain the way my heart seems determined to escape my ribcage.
“Most Likely to Win a Nobel Prize: Kevin Lai,’” Justin gestures to where Kevin is standing. “While Kevin hasn’t quite achieved Nobel status yet, I saw on social media he did recently win first place in the National Air Guitar Championships. I’d say that’s basically the same level of prestige, right, Kevin?”
“Totally,” Kevin calls back.
I watch as Justin talks through some more of the predictions with his usual charm and humor.
