"You promise?"
He nodded. "As soon as I'm finished with school and settled in college next year, I'll get a flat. It might take me some time to put together the cash and get on my feet, but I'll get out of here, Shannon. I'll get you out of here. I can fucking promise you that."
"I believe you," I told him.
And I did.
He'd been telling me this plan since Darren walked out the door five years ago and left us to deal with our father's whiskey wrath alone.
I believed that my brother meant every word he was saying, every promise he was making.
Problem was, I could see the unimaginable sacrifices that would have to be made by my brother in order to make this work for us, and knew deep down in my heart that the probability of it actually going to fruition was slim.
Either way, the child inside of me clung to the promise for all it was worth.
And promises like that to girls like me were worth everything.
"Anyway, enough of the parental bullshit talk," Joey said, looking up at my face. "Tell me how you know Johnny Kavanagh."
"What?" I gaped down at him, startled by the sudden change in conversation.
It wasn’t uncommon for us to change the subject after a night like this and talk about ridiculous things. To others, it might seem strange that we were able to switch from serious, meaningful conversation to simple chitchat, but it was the norm for us.
We'd been dealing with our father's bullshit our entire lives.
Changing subjects came naturally to us. It was a coping mechanism we had perfected down through the years; deflection and distraction.
But asking me about Johnny?
That threw me.
"Kavanagh," Joey confirmed, eyes sharp and searching. "How do you know the guy?"
"He goes to Tommen," I explained, grateful for the semi-darkness so my brother couldn’t see how red my face had turned. "He's, uh, in fifth year, I think?" I know. "And I've seen him a few times at school. He's the one who knocked me out on my first day."
Joey's head snapped towards me. "It was Kavanagh who knocked you out?"
"It was an accident." I quickly reeled off the familiar words I'd spoken time and again in the past month or so. "He made a bad pass, or kicked the ball wrong, or something like that – anyways, he apologized like a million times, so it's all good…" I finished with a big sigh, unwilling to provide any further information on the matter. "All over and done with."
"Well, shit," Joey mused, scratching his chest. "You'd think a guy in his position wouldn’t be making mickey mouse mistakes like that."
"A guy in his position?" I remarked. "I'm pretty sure he's not the only person in the world to kick a ball arseways."
"No..." Joey shrugged. "Still though; I didn’t think they made those kind of schoolboy errors in The Academy."
"Academy?" I exhaled a huff. "It's called Tommen College, Joe. Not The Academy."
"I'm not talking about your school, Shan," Joey said. "I'm talking about The Academy – you know; The Institute of Further Progression. The Academy's only a nickname."
"What the hell is the Institute of Further Progression? And how do you know him?"
"Exactly what it sounds like; an institute for further progression," he shot back sarcastically. "And everyone knows who Johnny Kavanagh is."
I didn’t.
I was baffled.
"Then why nickname it The Academy?"
"Because The Academy sounds better than The Institute." Joey barked out a soft laugh. "You really have no clue who he is, do you?"
When I didn’t respond, Joey laughed again.
"That's priceless," he mused, clearly entertained. "You were driving around in his car tonight and you didn’t even know."
"Know what?" I snapped, feeling flustered and annoyed by my lack of comprehension.
Johnny's earlier words floated into my head.
"I play…No, I mean, I play…"
Dammit, I knew I had been making a fool of myself.
"What?" I demanded. "Is he a hotshot rugby player or something?"
Joey snorted loudly. "I can't believe you don't know."
"Tell me!"
"You should have snapped a pic," he added thoughtfully. "Oh, wait – you did. What's the story with you being in the papers with him? The old man practically rammed it in my face."
"I have no idea, Joe." I shook my head and exhaled heavily. "They won some cup last Friday and I got pulled into a picture with him." I shrugged helplessly. "I had no idea it would end up in the papers."
"It ended up in the papers because he's Johnny Kavanagh," my brother stated, enunciating his name like it should mean something to me. "Come on, Shan."
When I came up empty, Joey heaved an impatient sigh.
"He's a big fucking deal on the rugby circuit. Jesus, you only have to turn on a computer or crack open the papers to read all about him," he continued to say. "He was recruited into the rugby academy when he was like fourteen or some insanely young age like that."
"That's the institute place?" I shifted, leaning over to the edge of the bed to take his measure. "Is that a big deal or something?"
"It's a big fucking deal, Shan," Joey confirmed. "You have to be hand-picked by top Irish rugby scouts to get trials. Money and pull have no factor. Selection is based purely on talent and potential. They teach them everything they need to know about a professional career in rugby, and have the best coaches, physios, nutritionists, and trainers in the country watching over them. They run these insane conditioning programs and camps for their players, and it's the best place to meet potential scouts. It’s like this school of excellence for upcoming professional rugby players – except it's not a school. It's a state of the art sports facility in the city. Actually, it's more like a puppy farm where they produce thoroughbred, high caliber, rugby players instead of dogs."
"Ew." I scrunched my nose up. "Disgusting analogy, Joe."
"That’s what it's like," Joey chuckled. "Only the most promising teenagers in the country get a chance to work with The Academy, and even at that, it's brutal. You have to be made of something fucking special to make it through the trials and get a season with them, never mind getting re-selected. Personally, I can respect the hell out of anyone with that kind of self-discipline. He has to have some huge fucking work ethic to perform at that level in his sport."
"So, he's good?"
"He's better than good, Shan," my brother corrected. "I've seen a few of Kavanagh's games with the u18's squad that were aired on the telly over the summer campaign and I'm telling you now, he's like a loaded gun on the pitch. Give him a slither of opportunity and he'll expose the defense and hit the fucking target every time. Shit, the guy's only seventeen and this is his second season with the Irish under 18 youth team – and he'll move right on up to the under 20's once he turns eighteen. After that, it'll be the senior team."
So, Johnny wasn’t joking around when he said he played.
"I didn’t know any of this," I mumbled, feeling like an idiot.
Why didn’t anyone mention this?
All the girls said at school was that he was amazing at rugby and was captain for the school team.
I never even heard of this academy thingy.
"You're blushing," Joey stated, sounding amused.
It was a completely accurate assessment, one I furtively denied. "I am not."
He snorted. "Yeah, you fucking are."”
"It's too dark to see that, so how do you even know that I'm blushing?"
Joey laughed softly. "So, you admit it?"
"I do not." I bit back a curse. "And I am not."
He scoffed. "Don’t give me that shit."
"What shit?"
"You let him drop you home."
I gaped. "Yeah. So?"
"You don’t even get in the car with Podge, and he's been my best friend since nappies," Joey challenged. "I've never seen or heard about you being friends with fellas."
"That's because I don’t have any friends," I growled. "Or at least I didn’t."
"So, you're friends with him?"