Monday I shared a feature for Topher Lydon's Reunion. How many of you went to your school reunion(s)? I don't, but out of the 18 students I graduated with, yeah... I'm good. I am still besties with my "person" who I met on the first day of first grade, and we get chat and get together as regular as possible, but she actually abandoned me for high school when her folks made her move. The nerve! On the other hand, she met her husband and introduced me to his roommate, who is my husband, so the high school tales and love really can come true. What about you? Are any friendships or loves still going strong? Did any part of Topher's story, Reunion, resonate with you? Share below the excerpt I picked out!! 

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Then, simultaneously, a huge, genuine, unguarded smile broke across both of their faces. The armor cracked. Kyle pushed off the cinderblock wall, leaving his peeled bottle behind, and Nile moved toward him through the crowd, navigating the gauntlet of their past with his eyes locked entirely on his destination.

When they collided, the embrace was instant. It was a clash of shoulders and arms, tight and fierce, lingering just a fraction of a heartbeat too long for two guys who supposedly hadn't spoken in a decade. Nile smelled like expensive cologne and nervous sweat. Kyle pulled back first, his hands dropping awkwardly to his sides, his heart hammering an erratic, frantic rhythm against his ribs.

"MacLeod," Kyle breathed out, forcing a casual smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You look great."

"Gallagher. Good to see you," Nile replied, his voice slightly breathless. He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, his knuckles white.

The silence between them stretched, thick with a decade of unspoken words, before the sheer terror of vulnerability kicked in, and the instinct to lie took the wheel.

"So," Nile said, clearing his throat and forcing a bright, painfully artificial enthusiasm into his voice. "Tell me everything. How's the... uh... the architecture firm you were starting? You always had those sketchbooks."

Kyle didn't even blink, defaulting to the rehearsed script he had been feeding his relatives for three years. "Oh, it's... it's amazing. Unbelievable, really. We just landed this massive contract to design the new municipal building downtown. Glass facades, sustainable green roofing. Crazy busy. Non-stop, you know?" He shoved his hands into his pockets, the lie tasting like ash. "What about you? I saw something online. You're like, this big-deal true crime author now, right? The book is blowing up?"

Nile’s eyes darted toward the exit for a fraction of a second, a micro-expression of pure, unadulterated panic. "Yeah! Yeah, it's doing great. The publishers are thrilled. There's even talk of a streaming adaptation. Meetings in LA, casting discussions. It's all a bit mad, honestly."

They stood there, two terrified dorks fiercely protecting their hollow facades, nodding at each other with manic, desperate approval. Kyle was just about to invent a fictional vacation to Tuscany when a high-pitched squeal shattered the air between them.

"Oh my god! Kyle and Nile!"

A woman in a tight sequined dress bounded up to them, sloshing a red plastic cup of wine over her own wrist. She was a former cheerleader—Ashley? Brittany?—though for the life of him, Kyle couldn't summon her actual name.

"I can't believe it!" she beamed, her eyes darting between them with genuine, aggressively perky delight. "You two! You were always the absolute cutest couple in high school! Are you guys still together?"

The silence that followed was absolute, deafening, and completely suffocating.

 

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