Wish You Weren't Here (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter Sixteen

"Were we ever okay, really?"

His parting line sticks with me. It haunts me when I wake up in the early hours of the morning, visited by the ghosts of a much younger Ruby and Lewis. They've finally broken out of the metaphorical haunted mansion and slipped through that open gate, bringing along bittersweet memories to rub in my face.

Lewis is right. The adult versions of us have never really been okay.

But, once upon a time, a long time ago, Ruby and Lewis had the briefest of potential for the shortest of moments. Or so I believed, anyway.

So I guess it's time I let you in on my little secret.

Let's journey back to the spring of 2009 . . . I was 16 years old and had just joined the St Patrick's school debate team. I'd mainly made this decision as teachers were starting to put pressure on us about our university applications, and I thought debating might make me seem like a more well-rounded individual. I also quite liked arguing, so I figured I'd be pretty good at it.

An added benefit to this was that we got to attend a debate competition 50 miles away in the capital. Two days away from regular school and a cheeky wee overnight stay in Edinburgh seemed like the dream. (Apparently, I've never been able to turn down a nice hotel!)

They loaded my team into a coach put on for us by the organisers, picking up from several other Glaswegian schools en route. And when we stopped outside St Stephen's, we were in for a nice surprise . . .

"Ooh, look . . . boys!" My "friend" Rachel pointed out the window excitedly, wriggling around like it was her first time seeing a male. The reason I put "friend" in inverted commas is because she wasn't a particularly good one. We were only really on speaking terms at all because we were both on this team, friends of convenience. Otherwise, we had pretty much nothing in common.

Despite myself, I leaned over to peer out the window, too. Our school debate team consisted entirely of females, and most of the others already on the bus had a similar issue. The St Stephen's team, however, was mixed, with three boys and three girls. Interesting. I later found out the three boys had chosen debate over the threat of a six month detention. I'm still not sure what they'd done to warrant such a long punishment, but I knew their school was a lot stricter than ours.

"That guy looks a bit like Ryan Gosling!" Rachel said dreamily. Hmm. Maybe if you melted poor Ryan and then tried to reassemble him. "I'll take him if he's available."

I had no intention of fighting her for him.

"What about you?" Rachel asked. "Which one do you like?"

"The one who looks like a naughty pixie," I said, without thinking. The boy in question was lounging nonchalantly against the school fence, his shirt untucked, and his tie slightly askew. He was the type of cool guy I would never have the nerve to even approach, but I was just instantly drawn to him. As soon as I spoke, I wanted to retract my words. I didn't like to tell other people when I had a crush. These things were best kept to yourself, and I didn't trust Rachel not to embarrass me.

Not that this was even a crush, you understand. It was simply a silly little reaction to a cute male. He sauntered past our seat, and up close, he was even better. He flashed me a cheeky smile, and baby fireworks flared somewhere near my heart.

"Hmm, I don't fancy yours much." Rachel huffed and rolled her eyes in disgust. I ignored her. I'd always thought she had terrible taste in guys. Melted Gosling was a prime example.

Anyway, in case it wasn't already completely obvious, naughty pixie boy was Lewis.

Over the course of that morning, I began to get the measure of him. He was clearly a bit cocky and a practical joker, but he was also an exceptionally good debater. I don't remember the subjects we were covering in this contest, but I know he absolutely blew me away. It was a verbal boxing match, and the punches thrown were all his - he took the posh Edinburgh boy he was competing against down without any hesitation. Complete knockout.