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No one expected Andrew Minyard to show up to his ten year high school reunion. Not even his twin brother Aaron Minyard showed up, and he had friends and girlfriends and fun at high school.
But on the night of June 10th, a week after graduation and ten years after their graduating class left Columbia High School for the real world, Andrew Minyard walked in the front door with ⅜" gauges in his ears, two rings in his left eyebrow, a stud below his bottom lip, and a curling tattoo creeping up his neck and behind his ear.
There was a hush, a lull, and scattered gasps. A few of Aaron's ex-girlfriends stood and quite suddenly had to use the bathroom immediately right now. The art teacher smiled.
No one expected Andrew Minyard to show up to his ten year high school reunion, but they definitely didn't expect him to be trailed in seconds later by a handsome man with scars on his face and missing one whole foot.
*
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod—”
“Hey, you've got to chill. Breathe. It’s just Andrew Minyard.”
“Easy for you to say. He didn't try to choke you out when he found you frenching his brother.”
“Frenching? What are we, in high school?”
“Literally yes!”
*
For some reason, Andrew’s companion walked around the reunion like he owned the place. He put on a name tag that said “Neil Josten?” and smacked another sticker on Andrew’s chest that said “Kevin Day’s Bitch” and then started introducing himself to everyone within speaking distance.
“Did he go here?” someone asked as Neil Josten started shaking hands with an obviously baffled principle.
“I feel like I would remember if someone like him went here.”
“I thought Kevin Day was some big hotshot makeup star on YouTube; why would Andrew be his bitch?”
“LOL, you just said ‘bitch’ at school.”
“LOL, I hope I don’t get in trooooublllle.”
*
Andrew Minyard was wearing a white button up shirt and coal gray slacks. His biceps strained against the confines of his shirt, and his tattoos were just barely visible through the thin white cotton of his long sleeves, rolled to his elbow and displaying the bushels and bouquets of flowers inked into his forearms.
A girl cleared her throat, and her friend nudged her arm. “Dude. Stop. I don’t think his murderous intent left him all these years later.”
“I’m sorry! Sorry! It’s just—” another throat clear “—I am a slut for arms?”
Just then, Neil Josten looked over at the girls, turning away from his current conversation with someone who used to be solely known as The Girl Who Ate In The Art Room At Lunch And Watched Anime.
“Shit!”
“Fuck!”
“Sh!”
“Jesus Christ, I almost feel like Andrew Minyard’s friend is scarier than Andrew Minyard.”
“…”
“Nah.”
“Nah, you right, Andrew is still more terrifying.”
*
By this point, it had been twenty minutes since Kevin Day’s Bitch and his friend? arrived at the reunion. They had circled around all the teachers and were currently talking to the school’s security guard. This guard was different from the one they had when they all went to school, so everyone was a little curious as to why Andrew and Neil spent so much time speaking to him.
Obviously, someone needed to investigate.
“I’ll do it.”
“Don’t get caught.”
When the brave soul approached the trio with intent to pretend to speak to someone he only vaguely remembered from high school, he realized that everyone in the vicinity was also having fake conversations in muted tones so they could hear what Neil Josten and Andrew Minyard were talking about with the security guard.
As if noticing the attention, Neil Josten’s voice grew louder, but not obnoxiously so. Just loud enough. He was smiling. “We met while I was doing my mandatory community service as part of my plea bargain so I wouldn’t go to prison at eighteen.”
Someone choked on their drink. Someone else gasped and tried to cover it with a cough, which only drew more attention to them. Someone actually covered their mouth with their hand to hide their dropped jaw.
“Um,” the security guard said, taken aback at the violent honesty of someone who didn’t even go to this school, and then Neil Josten started explaining how Andrew helped Neil convince his lawyers that volunteering at marathons and speaking out about doing athletics with a prosthetic limb could count as community service.
Having recovered from the strange truths Neil was sharing, the security guard eventually ventured to ask how Neil had lost his foot, if he was okay with sharing. Neil was currently wearing his athletic prosthetic limb, so he didn’t have a shoe on, his prosthetic on full display. “Oh, sure,” Neil said, somewhat gleeful. “My father chopped it off with an axe.”
Someone choked on their drink again. All the eavesdroppers scattered. Andrew had been in school for half an hour and hadn’t spoken a word to anyone, and Neil Josten was terrorizing anyone within his range with a soft smile and ghastly scars on his face and only one foot.
*
Andrew and Neil eventually made their way to the cafeteria to help themselves to the catered food.
“Are there any vegetarian options?” Neil asked.
“Just the sides, unfortunately,” the caterer answered. “Not enough people returned their RSVPs with the meal option checked.”
Neil shrugged, and then began piling desserts and fruit and salad on a plate, and once it was full, he handed it to Andrew before grabbing a sandwich for himself.
“We’ll go out after this,” Neil told him, leading them to a table that already had a few families sitting at it. The families leaned away from the pair as they sat down. Neil didn’t notice. Andrew said nothing, popping a bite of brownie into his mouth. Neil tore into his sandwich.
*
“I don’t get what the big deal is.”
“That’s Andrew Minyard.”
“So?”
“Okay, look, you’re my husband and I love you, but you didn’t go here and you didn’t know him back in high school.”
“And?”
“He had knives.”
“Okay?”
“He was suspended three times in one year.”
“Uh.”
“He started a lot of fights.”
“All right.”
“I honestly thought he’d be in prison by now or something. I cannot believe he showed up today. He’s kind of ruining the mood.”
“A little bit.”
*
Neil started pestering everyone about what Andrew was like in school.
“Did he go to class or skip it?” he’d ask some random person, and that person would glance at Andrew, back to Neil, back to Andrew, back to Neil, down to their feet, up to their old friends, over to one of the teachers, back to Andrew, back to Neil, before saying, “Um…?”
Neil would roll his eyes and move to the next closest person. “Did Andrew join any clubs, and if so, which ones?”
And then again:
“Did Andrew participate in the talent show, and what song did he sing?”
“Who did Andrew ask to prom? What color was his suit?”
“Were you ever his lab partner in Biology, and who cut open the frog when you had to dissect the frog?”
No one had an answer for any of Neil’s questions. Around and around the room he went, asking and waiting, Andrew saying nothing, until finally Neil asked, “Where did Andrew go for lunch and what did he eat? Be specific,” and someone answered, “Uh…I think I saw him eat an apple once?”
Neil, delighted at an answer, looked like he was about to ask a follow up question when Andrew finally stopped being a stoic shadow and pushed Neil away from the confused person. “Hey!” Neil protested, but Andrew kept pushing. “I need to know who your lunch friends were so I can interrogate!” Andrew eventually led Neil down one of the halls and away from everyone else. Neil’s laugh could be heard faintly until, finally, silence.
Everyone’s tense shoulders relaxed.
*
“I really cannot believe he’s here. And what does he think he’s doing, showing up with a friend? I thought you could only bring spouses and family.”
“I can’t believe what he did to his face and arms. Tattoos and piercings? Really? It’s like he’s trying to scare people.”
“And on his neck! I bet he still has his knives.”
“I bet he met Neil in prison.”
“I just don’t understand what they’re doing here, but they’re ruining everyone’s night.”
“Maybe someone should tell them to leave.”
*
After a tense round of rock-paper-scissors, a sore loser ventured down the same hallway Andrew and Neil had disappeared down a few minutes ago. He eventually found the duo standing in front of the sports trophy case. Neil was tapping on the glass and asking why Andrew wasn’t in there, and Andrew was leveling Neil with a heavy glare.
“Let’s go find a yearbook,” Neil was saying. “I want to see what baby Andrew looked like in high school.”
And finally, Andrew spoke for the first time all evening: “No.”
Neil, undeterred, grinned. He was still tapping the sports case glass. “I bet you had zits.”
“No.”
“You can’t lie to me, Andrew. Everyone goes through puberty.”
“Shut up.”
“Where’s the library?” Neil turned from the case as if to hunt it down and that’s when he noticed the sore loser come to tell them to leave. “Oh!” Neil said. “Is something happening in the gym? Speech?”
“Uh,” the sore loser said, because he felt a little thrown by their normal conversation and the memory that, actually, now that he thought about it, Andrew had had zits back in high school. Should he tell Neil…? “Yes. In ten minutes,” he said eventually, and then turned around and walked back to the gym. He didn’t hear footsteps behind him.
*
“Are they leaving?”
“No. They’re coming back for the speech.”
“What speech?”
“I don’t know, but you better find a microphone quick, because they’re going to be here in ten minutes.”
*
After a very awkward speech where the ex-class president talked about her life and accomplishments and how she owed everything to this school, she passed the microphone to whoever was closest so they could go next. Before the microphone could be passed to everyone in attendance to talk about their lives, the principle swooped in and said that there were games for families to play in the back or everyone was welcome to mingle.
Most everyone went outside. No one was murmuring about Andrew Minyard and his guest anymore. No one glanced in his direction again.
*
“He made high school unbearable before and he’s making it unbearable now.”
“It’s not like he had any friends.”
“All he did was hang out in the art room and skip class and scare people.”
“He almost killed my cousin. How is he even allowed on campus again?”
*
Neil was talking with the track coach when Andrew slipped away. No one said anything, or wanted to look at him, or wanted to care.
But one teacher did.
She found him in the art room, studying the student’s art on the walls with a disinterested gaze. The lights were off. As soon as she entered the room, Andrew turned to look at her.
“Hello, Andrew,” she smiled.
“Hi, Ms. Dobson.”
*
Betsy continued to smile as Andrew finished his walk around the room, ending at Betsy’s desk. He danced idle fingers across her paperwork, staring at her personal corkboard that showcased Betsy’s favorite gifts from students: stickers, pins, brochures for showcases, notes, polaroids. Rotting away in the corner was a waterlogged note, signed simply Andrew, with a small doodle of a bee.
Andrew smoothed the crinkles of the note. Betsy, not taking a step toward him, said, “I’m so happy to see you again, Andrew. I wasn’t sure you would come back.”
“I hate it here,” Andrew said. He dropped his hand but didn’t turn to look at Betsy.
“I know you do,” Betsy said softly.
They stood in companionable silence, Andrew staring at his note and Betsy staring at Andrew, until finally Betsy asked, “Why did you come back?”
Andrew shrugged. “I’m only here because Neil whined at me until I agreed to come.”
“Why did he want you to be here today?”
Andrew shrugged again. Betsy said, “He seems nice.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
Betsy gave a small laugh. “I suppose he is a bit intimidating. How did you meet?”
“Prison, I guess.”
“So you did hear them?”
“They were not quiet nor subtle. They never were.”
“No,” Betsy agreed softly. After a minute, Betsy said, “I know it’s not easy being back here, Andrew, but I am happy to see you again.”
“I’m around,” Andrew said. He started fiddling with the pens on Betsy’s desk.
“Yes, I follow your shop’s Instagram. You do very beautiful work.”
Andrew didn’t say anything, eventually settling into Betsy’s desk chair. Betsy moved away from her spot by the door and stood on the other side of her desk. She said, “I don’t know what the words of some old high school art teacher might mean to you, Andrew, but I just want you to know I’m very proud of you. It's not easy to come from where you did and still end up where you are now, and I am so proud of everything you've done.”
Andrew had been spinning aimlessly side to side in the chair, but at Betsy’s words, he stopped. He tapped her desk with one of his index fingers for a long minute before he took a deep breath and stood up.
He pulled out a card from his pocket and placed it gently on her desk. “Stop by one day,” he said, finally looking up to meet her eyes.
Betsy’s smile grew. “I would love to.”
Andrew nodded again before he knocked his knuckles on her desk one last time and left the art room. Betsy picked up the business card, smiling down at the “Busy Bee Tattoos” with a logo of a bee, the same one doodled on the bottom of a waterlogged note she’d never throw away.
*
*
*
“Oh my god, have they left finally?”
“I swear to god he glared at me on the way out.”
“Who, Andrew or Neil?”
“Does it matter?”
“Well, yes, apparently one of them was almost in prison.”
“Yeah, and the other has a neck tattoo.”
“Why was Neil’s foot chopped off by his dad?”
“Why was he asking all those weird questions about Andrew?”
“Oh, hey, Ms. Dobson.”
“Hello, everyone. What are we talking about?”
“How scary Andrew’s friend is.”
“I think Andrew’s husband seems like a very nice boy.”
“ Husband?”