Page 3 of The Revenge Game

Our eyes remain locked for one heartbeat. Two. Three.

And there’s nothing. Not even a vague flicker of recognition or a slight squinting of the eyes, ayou look slightly familiartilt of his head.

Instead, his eyes remain as empty as a stranger’s.

Then his gaze brushes past me with the same attention you’d give to brushing off dandruff.

He weaves around me with the fluid grace he’s always possessed, treating me with the same consideration as the bar stools and tables he has to maneuver past.

He disappears into the restroom, the door closing behind him with a definitive click.

The implications of our encounter sink in, hitting me like the Titanic colliding with the iceberg.

My knees go weak.

He didn’t even recognize me.

Chapter Two

Andrew

He didn’t even recognize me.

My mind can’t let go of that fact. It lodges in my brain like a corrupted file that keeps trying to load. How is it possible that someone who starred in my nightmares for four years, who shaped every decision I made from which hallway to take to which college to choose, doesn’t even remember my face?

There was that time in gym class when we played volleyball, and Justin and his friends decided that instead of spiking the ball over the net, they would aim for me.

And one of them struck the ball so perfectly that it hit my stomach with a loud thunk, winding me.

I still recall that dizzy breathlessness, my panic when I couldn’t draw oxygen into my body, the struggle to make my lungs recover from fright and remember what their job actually was.

That’s exactly how I feel now.

How could he not recognize me? How? How?

Okay, due to my late growth spurt, I’m a few inches taller than I was in high school, rounding out to a decent five foot eleven. Back then, my dark hair was a floppy mess, whereas now, it’s been carefully cut in a style my barber assures me is the latestfashion. And my face has slimmed down since high school, along with my standard-issue nerd glasses being replaced by a trendier pair.

But I’m still recognizable. I haven’t changed that much.

In all the time I’ve spent thinking about this moment, I never considered the idea he might not recognize me.

How did I miss that possibility?

But then, why would he recognize me? I’m a tiny blip in his life.

Justin Morris is woven so intricately into the tapestry of my teenage years, one of the main antagonists in my story. Meanwhile, I was simply some mild entertainment to amuse him when he was bored.

My features are not etched into his consciousness. He has not spent years scripting our reunion. I’m nothing to him. A nobody.

The unevenness leaves me breathless.

But then the phrase repeats in my head in a different voice. Less defeated. More…intrigued.

He doesn’t recognize me.

According to technology sector analysts, I’m the guy who sees gaps in the market, problems that have yet to be solved. And while it makes me sound like a superhero coding ninja rather than simply a guy who spends countless hours hunched over my laptop muttering to myself, there is some truth to it.

While at MIT, I developed a system that revolutionized how computers share information, basically creating digital traffic lights to improve efficiency.