Page 149 of The Revenge Game

I didn’t even think to load him into the app tonight.

I’m talking to Sam Perez, my old vice president, when a figure catches my eye across the room.

He’s here.

I don’t need the app that Andrew built for me to recognize him.

I know the way he walks. I know the exact shade of his hair. I know the way he adjusts his glasses when he’s gathering courage, pushing them up with his index finger like he’s pressing an invisible reset button.

I might not be able to recognize his face, but I knowhim.

Andrew’s message circulates in my brain.

I really hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

It’s so much to forgive. The sabotage, the lies, the deception.

The thing about forgiveness is that it’s not about forgetting. It’s about choosing to build something new on top of the ruins.

I know all about that now.

Because I’ve had a master lesson in forgiveness over the last eight months.

From Andrew Yates.

Chapter Forty

Andrew

Coyote Creek High School still smells exactly the same, the distinct scent combination of floor wax, old textbooks, and teenage anxiety. My footsteps echo against the linoleum as I navigate hallways that feel both smaller and more familiar than they should.

Handy Andy.

The urge to hunch my shoulders hits me with muscle memory that apparently survived a decade and millions of dollars.

But I’m not that scared kid anymore. I’m the guy who is in love with Justin Morris. And that’s worth facing every ghost these halls can throw at me.

The gymnasium has been transformed with fairy lights and what appears to be every party decoration within a fifty-mile radius, as if someone typedhigh school reunion aestheticinto Pinterest and then implemented every single suggestion.

A banner proclaimingWelcome Back Class of 2015!hangs slightly crooked above the stage.

When I hesitantly give my name to Maddie Birwood sitting behind the registration table, her eyes light up. For an instant,I’m reminded of her once announcing, “Eww, it’s here,” when I entered the library during study hall, and I take a step backward.

But it’s not insults Maddie wants to throw my way today.

“Oh my god, Andrew Yates! You have to meet my husband. He’s been dying to pitch you his startup idea.”

Andrew Yates.

My name echoes around the room. My throat closes as conversations halt mid-sentence, heads swiveling toward me like some bizarre synchronized dance routine.

Whispers ripple through the crowd, my name passing from lip to lip like a game of telephone. Only this time, instead of morphing into cruel variations, it’s gaining honorifics with each repetition. Genius. Multi-millionaire. Success story.

And instead of insults, I’m suddenly drowning in business cards and eager smiles. These people who spent four years alternating between ridiculing me and pretending I was invisible are now competing to be my new best friend. Sam Eagleton, who once decided my last name was Gaytes instead of Yates, gushes to me about how his company uses NovaCore software and how amazing it is.

Sarah Chen, who was borderline nerdy and deflected attention from herself by loudly announcing, “Don’t catch the gay!” whenever I walked into AP Chemistry and would then laugh like she’d delivered an Oscar-worthy performance, is now hovering around me and giving me friendly smiles. Apparently, running a successful diversity consulting firm makes her past sins easier to forget.

But I don’t pay much attention to the people clamoring for my attention. I’m too busy scanning the room, looking for our former class president and football captain.