Slipping my bag off my shoulders, I pushed it to the floor and sagged backwards.
Johnny turned to look at me, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Are you sure you weren't being crafty and trying to get me back for the ball?"
"What – no!" I balked, shaking my head. "Of course not. I truly didn’t mean to–"
"Relax, Shannon," he chuckled. "I'm only messing with you."
Yeah, he was certainly messing with me.
My ability to breathe for one.
My erratic heartbeat was another.
Johnny shifted around in his seat then, obviously trying to find the comfortable position he had before I disturbed him.
"I hate traveling on buses," he explained, when he finally settled into a position.
He stretched his legs out, angling his left leg in such a way that it rested against my knee.
When he didn’t move his leg, choosing to leave it there, while I forced myself not to shiver.
It was clear that he wasn’t doing it on purpose.
He was 6'3 and far too big for the tiny amount of space he'd been allocated.
Still, though, it was too close.
He was too close.
There was far too much closeness.
"You're on my side," I whispered, nudging his thigh with my knee, praying for a reprieve.
It didn’t come.
He didn’t move his leg.
Instead, he cocked a brow and tossed back, "You're on my bus."
My cheeks flushed bright red.
Dropping my head, I concentrated on pulling at an invisible thread on my school jumper – the only school jumper currently on view in the whole bus.
The no-uniform memo was another one I didn’t receive.
God…
"I was joking," Johnny said, pulling me from my thoughts.
"I know," I replied, even though I didn’t.
I couldn’t read him.
I was confused.
I felt flustered.
And I wanted off this bus.
"So, your class got picked to come to the match?" he asked, offering some conversation.
I nodded and tried to ignore the feel of his leg on mine. "Apparently."
His cocked a brow. "Apparently?"
I released a heavy sigh. "I didn’t even know about this stupid match until I walked into school and got thrown on this bus."
"Stupid match?" he scoffed. "Thanks for that."
"Sorry."
"Don’t worry about it," he replied. "So, you seriously had no idea about the match?"
I shook my head. "No idea."
"Shite," he muttered. "So, you've got nothing with you?"
"I have every book I need for all nine classes today," I offered weakly, shoulders slumped.
"If it runs late, we might have to stay over," he stated with a frown.
"What?" I croaked out. "Please don’t say that."
Johnny shrugged apologetically. "It happens."
"God," I breathed.
"Do you want to run home and grab a bag?" he asked. "I can have a word with Coach and ask him to stop off at your house –"
"No," I strangled out. "God, no, it's okay."
"You sure?"
I nodded.
"Listen, I'll take you home after the match tonight," Johnny said with a deep frown. "If that's what you're worried about?"
"Worried?" I shook my head. "I'm not worried."
"You look worried," he said quietly, eyes trained on mine.
"Uh, I'm just…" Fighting down a wave of anxiety, I asked, "Can I borrow your phone, please?" Squirming uncomfortably, I added, "I need to let my brother know that I'll be home late."
And then I need to ask Joey to get my funeral arrangements underway because I am a dead girl walking…
"Yeah, no bother," Johnny replied. He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his fancy looking phone before handing me the shiny, black device.
"Um." I stared down at the screen, clueless. "Can you unlock it for me?"
"Shite, yeah, sorry," he muttered as he reached over and unlocked the screen.
When I continued to fumble with his phone, he swiped it out of my hand and instructed me to call out the number.
"Thanks," I whispered, taking the phone back from him.
Pressing the green call button, I held it to my ear and prayed Joey would pick up.
Several rings later and I was connected to his answering machine.
"Hey, this is Joey. You know what to do –"
"Joe," I strangled out, ducking my face. "It's me – Shannon. I'm on the way to Dublin with the school. I won't be back until late tonight. Can you tell Mam? He has my phone so don’t call it, okay? You won't be able to get ahold of me, but I'm okay, Joe. Don’t worry about –"
The phone beeped, letting me know that I was out of time.
Ending the call, I handed Johnny back his phone and exhaled shakily. "Thank you."
"Who has your phone?" Johnny asked, pocketing his phone.
"Oh, uh, my father," I mumbled.
"Why?"
I shrugged but didn’t respond.
"That's different," he said then.
I stared blankly at him. "Huh?"
He reached over and touched my cheek. "The makeup."
"Oh." I ducked my face, feeling incredibly grateful for the zippy bag of makeup Claire had given me Wednesday morning. It was one hundred percent necessary. "I know."
Johnny shifted around in his seat then, obviously trying to get comfortable.
Dropping my head, I concentrated on pulling at that same invisible thread on my school jumper.
"Are you mad at me?"
His question threw me and I looked up into piercing blue eyes. "Mad at you?"
Johnny nodded slowly. "For what I did in the lunch hall?"
My heart hammered violently, while I assessed his question.
I was embarrassed.
I was uncertain.
I was fearful.
But I wasn’t mad at him.
"No," I finally replied. "I'm not mad at you."
"You didn’t come back," he said, voice low.
I shrugged and dropped my gaze. "I was sick."
"You're better now?"
"I guess," I replied, voice small.
"Was it your period?" Johnny blew my mind by straight out asking.
God.
"Uh…yeah." Red-faced, I shifted uncomfortably. "But I'm okay now."
"Don’t do that," Johnny said with a frown.
"Don't do what?"
"Be embarrassed." He nudged my shoulder with his. "It's natural, Shannon."
Oh, god.
I was beyond embarrassed.
At this stage, I was teetering towards life-altering humiliation.
"Okay?" I squeezed out.
He shook his head and smirked. "Did you listen to track nine?"
Now I was embarrassed again.
"I did," I whispered.
"Did you like it?"
"Um." I shrugged, unsure what to say.
"What's wrong?"
"I don’t know what to make of it, really?"
He frowned, waiting for an explanation.
I shifted uncomfortably before saying, "Fuck her Gently?"
Johnny gaped at me. "What?"
"Track nine on the CD?" I shrugged. "It was Fuck Her Gently by Tenacious D."
"Dammit."
"No, that's Blink 182 and that was track four," I replied.
"Fuck."
"No," I corrected. "FACK by Eminem was track ten."
"What – no!" Johnny shook his head and groaned. "Jesus, what else was on it?"
I thought about it for a moment before saying, "Pretty Fly for a White Guy, The Ballad of Chasey Laine, um, Stacey's Mom, The Bad Touch, Pony, and a few others that I can't remember."
Johnny groaned again. "I gave you the wrong CD."
"You did?"
He nodded slowly. "That was Gibsie's."
"What one did you mean to give me?"
Johnny had a pinched expression when he said, "A Maroon 5 song."
"Oh?" I looked up at him. "Which one?"
He shifted in discomfort. "She Will Be Loved."
Oh.
Oh wow.
When I didn’t respond, because quite frankly I couldn’t, Johnny asked me a few more random questions, clearly trying to spark up conversation.
When all I gave him in return was a couple of one-word responses, he settled back in his seat with his arm brushing against mine and pulled his iPod back out.
He fiddled with the buttons on the fancy looking screen, flicking through song after song, until finally settling on John Mayer's Daughters.
"Just ask if you want to use my phone again, okay?" he offered before slipping the headphones over his ears. "Or need anything else."
He blasted the volume on his iPod so loudly then that I didn’t need to take out my Discman for entertainment, not when I could clearly hear every word from my seat.
Grateful for the reprieve from his intensity, I blew out a shaky breath and tried to get a handle on my nerves.
It wasn’t easy, though.