Page 154 of The Revenge Game
“Do you want to get out of here?” I murmur in Andrew’s ear as Maddie starts to talk through the reunion itinerary.
“I think I’ve definitely had my quota of old classmates,” he says quietly.
I interlace our fingers. Of course our escape doesn’t go unnoticed, and we have to navigate through a maze of business cards and enthusiastic waves, like we’re diplomatic envoys trying to leave a peace summit.
The heavy gym doors swing shut behind us with a satisfying thunk, sealing away the noise and leaving us alone in the familiar hallway.
“I can’t believe you just outed yourself to the entire graduating class of 2015 via PowerPoint presentation,” Andrew says. His dark hair is ruffled from where my fingers carded through it during our kiss and his glasses are slightly wonky on his face.
“Hey, I’m a sales guy. PowerPoint is my love language.” I squeeze his hand. “Besides, it’s one way to guarantee I’m not asked to do a speech for the twentieth reunion, isn’t it?”
Andrew laughs, and the sound shoots a tidal wave of happiness through me. “I’m slightly worried this sets a dangerous precedent. Will we have to communicate all our major relationship milestones via presentation software?”
I raise my eyebrow. “It could work as long as the PowerPoint doesn’t corrupt unexpectedly.”
Andrew’s smile fades as he comes to a stop, his shoulders curling inwards. “I’m so sorry. For everything I did.”
I stop next to him.
“I’m sorry too,” I say quietly. “I’m so sorry for what we did to you in high school.”
Andrew just stares at me for a long moment. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if I hadn’t forgiven you,” he says finally.
I reach up to adjust his glasses, letting my hand linger on his cheek. His eyes close at my touch.
And I suddenly realize this is what forgiveness for us is going to look like going forward. It won’t be grand gestures or dramatic speeches, but these quiet moments where we choose each other despite everything.
When his eyes flutter open, I can’t help leaning forward to brush my lips over his.
“There is one silver lining about the whole thing,” I say as we start walking again.
His forehead furrows. “What’s that?”
“We get to spend forever making things up to each other.”
Andrew’s smile is back on his face.
Our footsteps echo against the linoleum as we walk and the dim light creates strange shadows that make everything feel slightly surreal. It’s like we’re walking through a memory edited in post-production.
Andrew suddenly stops, his hand tightening in mine.
“This was my locker,” he says quietly. “Number 2187.”
I look at the metal door. It looks identical to all the others lining the hallway, but judging by the way Andrew looks at it, I know it radiates a different energy for him.
“Connor used to wait here sometimes,” Andrew continues, his voice careful like he’s defusing a bomb. “He’d time it perfectly so he could slam the door on my fingers when I was getting my books.”
I remember. I watched it happen, pretending to be absorbed in conversation with Tad while Andrew nursed his bruised fingers, his face carefully blank.
But now? Now, I can do something different.
I move us slowly, deliberately, until Andrew’s back is pressed against his old locker. His eyes widen behind his glasses, dark and questioning.
“What are you doing?”
“Rewriting history,” I say and kiss him.
He makes a soft sound against my mouth, somewhere between surprise and surrender, his hands grabbing my sweater. I pour everything I feel for him into the kiss—every apology, every promise, every ounce of love. His mouth opens under mine, and suddenly, we’re making out against locker 2187 like we’re trying to retroactively scandalize the entire student body.
