by Chloe Walsh
I remembered the way he had taken care of me.
How he had stayed with me until my mother came.
The way he had touched me with big, dirty, gentle hands.
How he talked to me like he wanted to hear what I had to say.
And then listened to my rambling like it was important to him.
I remembered the embarrassing parts, too; the parts that kept me up late into the night with flaming cheeks and a mind full of disconcerting images and fumbling words.
The parts I didn’t dare acknowledge.
I did keep the envelope though, the one I had found in my locker the week I returned to school, with the hastily scrawled, 'From my people to your people' on the front.
The two €50 notes I had given Mam when I got home from school, but I had tucked the envelope into my pillowcase for safekeeping.
I didn’t have an explanation for why I didn’t throw it out, the same way I couldn’t explain why my body broke out in a cold sweat, my hands turning clammy, my heart fluttering rapidly, and my stomach twisting itself up in knots whenever I laid eyes on him.
Well, that wasn’t technically true.
There was an obvious, perfectly logical reason for my reaction towards him.
He was beautiful.
Every single time I spotted him in the hallways, it was as if every delayed urge, feeling, and hormone that had been lying dormant inside of my body for the last fifteen years erupted to life.
I was achingly aware of him; my body shifting into high alert whenever our arms brushed in the crowded hallways between classes.
But it wasn’t his looks or enormous, muscular build that had coaxed my stubborn hormones out of hibernation.
It was the way he had been that day.
During small break last week, when Lizzie caught me red-handed staring at Johnny Kavanagh, she'd decided to dish out all the information she had.
According to Lizzy, Johnny Kavanagh was never tied down to any particular girl or branded as anyone’s boyfriend, though there was Bella Wilkinson to contend with.
The pair had been knocking around together for a long time.
Bella was a couple of years older than him, more experienced, and from what Lizzie had told me, reported to her by the boys, sucked dick like a Dyson.
So yeah, it was a safe bet to say Johnny had been on the receiving end of a healthy number of blowjobs and god knows what else from her.
I was just thankful we had a Henry hoover at home and not a fancy pants Dyson, so I didn’t gag every time I cleaned my room to that particular image.
I wasn’t surprised by any of it though.
Johnny was almost eighteen.
I had two older brothers so I was quite aware what boys of that particular age demographic got up to behind closed bedroom doors.
The information was depressing but the cool dose of reality I needed to strengthen my resolve and douse out my hopes.
It was terribly unfortunate to develop my first crush on a person like him, considering we'd only spoken that one time and he was involved with a suction-mouthed sixth year.
Not that he would be remotely interested in me if he wasn’t.
I liked safe.
In my world, invisibility equaled safety.
I was happy to be wallpaper and blend in.
And Johnny Kavanagh was about as opposite of invisible as I could think of.
Before him, I'd never been interested in the opposite sex. I'd never been interested in anyone. But him?
I found myself seeking him out at school just so I could stare.
It was creepy and stalkerish on my behalf but I honestly couldn’t help myself.
I comforted myself with the knowledge that I had no intentions of acting on my feelings or pursuing my first and only crush.
Either way, I was perfectly content with watching from the side-lines, settling for taking sneaky peeks and glances at him whenever I could.
I justified my stalkerish behavior by reminding myself that I was not the only girl in school to lust after the delectable Johnny Kavanagh.
No, I was just one in a long list of many, many girls.
But he was just so interesting to observe.
He didn’t act like the rest of the lads at school. He seemed above them in a weird way? Like he was older than his years? Or bored by the mundane way of school life?
It was hard to describe.
He seemed to drum to his own beat. He oozed confidence and had a 'no fucks given' attitude that was ridiculously addictive.
He forged his own path at school, and like most natural born leaders, everyone else just followed along after him.
I guess that was the key to popularity; you needed to not want it, or not care that you had it.
The fact that he was beautiful with a body ripped to perfection didn’t hurt his cause either.
It made me a little jealous if I was being honest.
I didn’t care about being popular. It was the fact that it was so easy for some people while others, myself included in the latter group, suffered terribly.
He gave out this 'I'm the best. You're fucking with the best right here. You're not going to find anyone better than me. Bad luck on you' vibe and walked around with a constant fuck you expression on his face.
It was typical, banging-fists-on-chest, alpha male behavior – which I presumed had a lot to do with why every girl within a ten-mile radius seemed to gravitate towards him.
Thing was, whenever his eyes locked with mine, I never saw any of that fabricated machoism or his notorious glower.
It was hard to describe the look I received because usually when our eyes locked, it was because Johnny had caught me staring at him, be it in the lunch hall or outside classrooms, and I always turned away quickly, mortified.
However, on the rare occasion that I managed to steel myself and meet his stare, I was rewarded with a curious head-tilt and a small, twitching smile.
I wasn’t really sure what to make of any of it, or how to feel.
In a weird way, I kind of felt like one of those baby ducklings who imprint and attach themselves to the first person they see upon being born.
I'd watched a movie about this when I was a kid.
Maybe that was what was happening here?
Maybe I'd attached myself to Johnny because not only was he the first person I saw when I came to, but he was the first person who'd shown me genuine kindness.
I wondered if that was an actual thing that could happen to humans after suffering moderate concussions, but then quickly dismissed the crazy notion.
Thoughts like that were not normal and of absolutely no benefit.
Also, I wasn’t attached to him.
I simply enjoyed admiring him.
From a safe distance.
When he wasn’t looking.
Yeah, that wasn’t unhealthy at all.
"Do you want to come over after school today?" Claire asked me during big break on Wednesday.
We were sitting at the end of one of the ginormous tables in the luxurious lunch hall that I was still trying to come to terms with.
At BCS, we had a little canteen where people took turns sitting at the small round tables.
Here at Tommen, it was a glorified banquet hall with twenty-five feet tables, hot meals on offer, and enough room to seat the entire school.
The lunch hall was bursting to the seams with other students shouting and talking so loudly that I had to lean across the table to reply. "To your house?"
Claire nodded. "We can hang out and watch a few films or something?"
"Aren't you going into town with Lizzie to see Pierce?" I asked.
At least that's what I thought they were doing after school today.
That's all Lizzie had been talking about all morning.
Apparently, she was seeing some lad from fifth year named Pierce, and they'd been on and off together for months.
From what I had gathered, they were currently back on.
To be fair, Lizzie had invited me to come with them after school, but I'd declined because town was the last place I ever wanted to be.
My old school was based slap-bang in the middle of town and I tended to avoid all surrounding areas like the plague.
There were too many unwelcome faces that hung around there.
"Nah, Lizzie's in a mood," Claire explained, stabbing her pot of yoghurt with her spoon. "So, I'm guessing they had another fight today."
That explained Lizzie's noticeable absence at lunch.
She was a hard one to figure out.
She held a lot back and I never truly knew what she was thinking or feeling, unlike Claire, who was an open book.
I guess that's why I had always been closer to Claire growing up.
I loved Lizzie, of course, and considered her a good friend, but if I was to have a best friend, then it would be Claire.
"Besides, I'm not really into being the third wheel with those two," Claire added, setting her spoon into her lunch box. "So, what do you say? Mam will pick us up and drop you home whenever you want to go." She leaned back in her chair and flashed me a megawatt smile. "Or you could always sleep over?"
My stomach did a little flip. "Are you sure your Mam won't mind?"
"Shannon, of course she won't mind," Claire replied, giving me a strange look. "My Mam and Dad both love you." Smiling, she added, "Mam is constantly on my case asking when you're coming over again."
A warm sensation flooded me.
Mrs. Biggs nursed in the intensive care unit in the hospital in Cork city, and she was one of the nicest ladies I had ever met.
Claire was a lot like her mother with a sweet nature and a kind heart.
When we were little and Claire and Lizzie were having a birthday party or a playdate, Mrs. Biggs always made it her business to come pick me up.
I was even invited to Claire's older brother's birthday parties, and although I never attended Hughie's parties, I appreciated the invite.
They were the only invites I got growing up.
"I'd love to, but I'll have to check with my parents," I told her and then proceeded to pull out my phone and text my brother to scope out the mood at home.
"It'll be great," she encouraged happily. "There's a tub of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer and I got the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie on DVD." Waggling her brows, she added, "Johnny and Orlando, what girl can say no to that?"
"Not you," I laughed. Claire was obsessed with Johnny Depp.
He was her wallpaper on her phone and his face was plastered all over her bedroom walls.
"I love him," she announced with a dreamy sigh. "I do. It's real, hardcore love, and one day he'll come to Ireland, see me and instantly reciprocate my feelings. And then we'll run away together and create adorable hybrid pirate babies."
"That sounds like a plan," I snickered. "Although, you do realize he's not an actual pirate, don’t you?"
"Shh!" Claire chuckled. "Don’t take that away from me. Let me enjoy the visual."
My phone vibrated in my hand then with a text from Joey.
Bad idea, Shan. He's on the warpath.
Dejected, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and released a heavy sigh. "I can't come over."
"Your dad?" she asked sadly.
I nodded.
Claire looked as disappointed as I felt but she didn’t push it.
Deep down, I think she knew.
I never verbalized it and she never pushed.
That's why I loved her.
"Another time then." Claire offered me a huge smile that almost masked the concern in her brown eyes.
Almost.
"We'll plan it better next time – give you some notice," she quickly carried on, tucking her long blonde hair behind her ears. "But our Johnny and Orlando session is definitely happening!"
"How's it going Claire-bear?" A deep, male voice asked, distracting us both.
"Oh, hey Gerard," Claire acknowledged in a nonchalant tone, as she looked up at the ginormous, blond boy standing at the end of our table. "How are you?"
"Better now I'm talking to you," he purred as he walked over and propped his ass on the table, keeping his huge back to me and his attention locked on my friend. "You're looking as lovely as always."
Claire's gaze darted from his face to mine and she gave me a WTF eye-bulge before quickly sobering her features and saying, "Didn’t I hear you spin that same line to Megan Crean on Wednesday?"
I swallowed back a laugh as I watched my friend play the indifference card like a pro, even though she was clearly affected by this boy.
He was tall and tanned, with dirty blond, mussed up hair, and clearly packing some serious muscle beneath his school uniform.
I didn’t blame her for being affected by a boy who looked like that.
Most girls would.
Just not this girl.
"Are you jealous?" Gerard teased, tone highly flirtatious. "You know you're my number one."
"Spare me," Claire fake gagged.
"I hear you're coming to Donegal with the team?" he asked her. "Your class got the go-ahead, didn’t they?"
"Yeah, our class was picked to go," Claire replied breezily. "Mam hasn’t signed the permission slip for me to go, though."
Neither had mine.
Tommen College had an away match against some rugby prep school up in Donegal next month after the Easter holidays.
It was an important game for the team, a final of some league cup or another, and my class, along with one other class from sixth year, had been selected at random to attend.
Because the match was being held on the first Friday we were due back to school after Easter break, the school bus was departing from Tommen at 10:45pm on the Thursday night to beat traffic and allow for pitstops since northern Donegal was at least an eight-hour journey from Cork via bus.
According to Lizzie, Tommen's P.A. were a bunch of tight-asses and had only allocated funding for one night's accommodation for the trip.
We would be sleeping on the bus on the Thursday night, staying in a hotel on the Friday night and then traveling back to Cork on the Saturday.
Lizzie was thoroughly disgusted with the concept of having to sleep on the bus because the school heads were being stingy and wouldn’t cough up the funds for an extra night in a hotel.
Personally, I couldn’t see what the problem was.
It was an all-expenses paid trip funded by the school and an approved day off school.
Aside from the eight-hour bus ride with the majority of the passengers being testosterone filled teenage boys, it was a win-win.
Of course, that part terrified me to my core, but I was beginning to learn how to manage my anxiety, refusing to allow my past experiences to ruin an opportunity at a much-needed break.
I was trying really hard to just stand back, take a moment, and read situations and scenarios with clear, rational thoughts rather than the terror-induced paranoia that seemed to control me.
Regardless of my enthusiasm at the prospect of getting away from Ballylaggin for a couple of nights, I wasn’t holding out much hope on going.
Because it was an overnight trip, the school required permission slips to be signed by our parents.
I'd given Mam the forms that needed to be signed in order for me to attend last week.
As of this morning, it still laid unsigned on top of the bread-bin at home.
"Ah, your mammy will let you go," the blond god teased, ruffling Claire's hair. "Sure big brother will be there to keep an eye on ya – and myself of course." He leaned closer and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I always play better when I know you're watching."
Now I did laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the cheesy chat up line.
I knew my stuff about sports and I had yet to meet a guy who played better because of a girl.
However, when I tried to stifle my laugh, it ended up coming out like a snort.
Slapping a hand over my mouth, I stared at Claire's hor
rified expression and mouthed sorry behind my fingers.
As if only just noticing I was present, the blond guy turned around, probably to seek out the snorting culprit.
His gaze landed on my face and immediate recognition flickered in his striking silvery/grey eyes.
"Hey! Little Shannon," he acknowledged, smiling warmly. "How's it going?"
"Uh, fine," I strangled out, as I stared up at him and wondered how the hell he knew my name.
I glanced to Claire who shrugged and gave me a look that told me she was as confused as I was.
"I didn’t know you were friends with Shannon," he said, turning his attention back to Claire. "That would have been useful information."
"Uh, I didn’t know you were friends with Shannon?" Claire offered blankly. "And useful for what?"
"I'm not." He shook his head. "And it doesn’t matter."
He turned back to me and smiled again.
"I'm Gerard Gibson," he introduced himself. "But everyone calls me Gibsie."
"I don’t," Claire tossed out airily.
Gibsie chuckled. "Okay, everyone except for this one calls me Gibsie." He pointed a thumb at my friend, flashing her an indulgent smile, before returning his attention to me. "She likes to be awkward."
"No, Gerard, I like to address people by their given name," Claire corrected, giving him the stink eye. She turned her attention to me and began to explain. "Gerard here is friends with my brother Hugh. You remember Hughie, don’t you, Shan?"
I nodded, clearly remembering Claire's beautiful, older brother.
With light blond hair and brown eyes, Hugh Biggs was the male equivalent of his sister, except with abs, masculine features, and the obvious boy parts. Hugh didn’t attend the same primary school as us, but he had always been friendly to me when I went to their house. He was one of the few boys aside from Joey that I didn’t feel on edge around. Hughie always left me alone and I appreciated it.
"Well, they've been in the same class since Junior Infants, and this monster right here –" she paused to give Gibsie a small shove before continuing, "has been a permanent fixture in my kitchen for most of my life. He lives across the street from us," she added. "Unfortunately."
"Come on, Claire-Bear," he teased. "Is that any way to talk about the guy who gave you your first kiss?"