Somebody had brought an old yearbook.

It went round the ballroom from table to table, people laughing at their old haircuts. Eventually it reached table twenty-four.

Owen opened it to the superlatives page.

There it was. A photo of me at sixteen, in a stained T-shirt, with oil on my face. Underneath, in big letters:

NICK SULLIVAN – MOST LIKELY TO CHANGE YOUR OIL.

The table went quiet. Everyone looked at me. I think they were worried I'd be upset.

I wasn't. I laughed.

“Well,” I said, “they weren't wrong.”

Lucy took the yearbook from Owen. She looked at the photo for a long time.

Then she took a pen out of her bag. Under MOST LIKELY TO CHANGE YOUR OIL, in her neat teacher's handwriting, she wrote one more line.

And then he changed everything else.

She passed it back to Owen. Owen read it and grinned. Jenny read it and cried again. Danny read it and said, “Damn right.”

The yearbook went back round the room.

By the end of the night, forty people had signed underneath Lucy's line.