I would straighten a few things up with Johnny Kavanagh, and then I would walk away with my heart intact and a clear conscience because I could not, in good faith, ignore what my mother had said.
Fueled by the adrenalin still coursing through my veins from my earlier argument with my mother and the disaster that was last night, I inhaled a steadying breath and marched down the corridor towards the fifth-year locker area.
When I spotted Johnny, leaning against the lockers at the end of the fifth-year hallway, talking to a couple of older looking boys, I blew out a ragged breath.
Invisibility was both a beautiful thing and a necessary survival tool sought out by people such as myself.
Associating with a future Irish rugby star was like throwing a six-feet, three-inch spanner in the works.
Calling on every ounce of bravery inside of my body, I walked right up to him, relying on the adrenalin pumping through my veins to push my feet towards him.
His head snapped up as I approached, his sharp gaze honing in on me, blue eyes heated and wary, but I didn’t stop.
I couldn't.
"I need to talk to you," I announced when I reached him, shaking from head to toe, as the weight of what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes landed on my body.
I expected two things to happen in this moment: either Johnny sent me packing or he agreed to go somewhere quiet to speak with me.
When Johnny tipped his chin up and uttered the word, "Leave," I realized I had been right about scenario number one.
My adrenalin and bravery abandoned me in a rush and my shoulders sagged.
Nodding, I turned to leave, feeling thoroughly deflated, only to have a warm hand wrap around my wrist and pull me back to his side.
"Not you," Johnny whispered in my ear, settling me in front of him. "Them." His blue-eyed gaze darted to the two older boys watching us with curious expressions, and in a tone that left no room for discussion, he said, "Go."
I watched in a sort of semi-awed amazement as the two lads he'd been talking to, along with the seven or so students loitering in the corridor, simply turned around and left.
"Whoa," I breathed when we were alone in the hallway. "You really do have some serious pull at school." I turned around to face him, and had to, once again, crane my head back to see his face. "That was kind of epic."
Johnny rewarded me with a boyish smirk that quickly morphed into a frown as he looked at my face.
"What happened?" he demanded, glaring down at me. "Who the fuck made you cry?"
"What?" I breathed, shaking my head. "I'm not crying."
"Your eyes are red and swollen," he deadpanned. "You've been crying." His eyes moved to my cheek. "The fuck happened to your face?"
"What?"
"Your face," he bit out. "Your cheek is red."
"I'm fine," I choked out, taking a safe step back from his overly observant eyes.
It was only then that I noticed he was still holding my wrist.
Johnny obviously noticed it, too, because he quickly dropped my hand and took a step back himself then ran a hand through his mussed-up hair. "What happened to your face?"
My father beat me with a newspaper…
"Uh, don’t worry about that," I muttered, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand to erase any residual evidence of tears.
"Give me a name," Johnny growled, dropping his hands to his hips. "And I'll take care of it."
"What– no! I'm grand," I quickly replied. "I have allergies."
"Me, too. To assholes and bullshit," Johnny snarled. "Now, tell me who made you cry and I'll fix it."
For a split second, I debated naming my father just to see if Johnny would follow through on his word and take care of him.
He looked like he could.
He was certainly big enough.
Shaking my head to clear my ridiculous thoughts, I looked up at him and said, "I need to tell you something."
"Yeah, you do," he shot back. "A name."
"What? No, just stop for a sec." Shaking my head, I held a hand up. "I have something important to say and you're distracting me."
Johnny opened his mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it shut.
With a vein ticking in his neck, he nodded stiffly and said, "I'm listening."
Here we go…
"Apparently you're not supposed to talk to me," I started off by saying, keeping my tone low and hushed. "At least that's what my mother says – that you were warned to stay away from me? Anyway, I'm sorry about that," I hurried to say. "My mother? You being treated like that? I had no idea about any of it."
"I think the words 'steer clear' were your mother's choice of words," Johnny quipped, shoving his hands into his pockets. "And don’t worry about it, Shannon." Frowning, he added, "I'm a big boy. I'm well able to take care of myself."
"But you did anyway?" I questioned, stunning myself with how upfront I could be with this boy who, for all intents and purposes, was a stranger to me. "I mean, you didn’t steer clear?"
He nodded slowly, eyes wary and uncertain.
I blew out a breath. "Well, I wanted to let you know that she won't be causing any trouble for you. I've set her straight about you."
"That's what you wanted to talk about?" Johnny eyed me with caution. "Your Ma?"
I nodded. "That and I'll be making it clear to Mr. Twomey that there is no issue between us." I exhaled a heavy breath and forced out the words, "I also wanted to apologize for the way I left things last night."
Johnny's shoulders stiffened for a brief moment and then I heard his heavy exhale of breath.
"You were right," he finally replied. "I overreacted and handled it badly."
"Maybe so," I offered, my voice little more than a whisper. "But I didn’t know what playing rugby meant to you then."
"And now you do?" he asked, voice low, tone gruff. "Now you think you get it?"
"No, not really." I chewed on my lip before adding, "But I understand fear, which makes it easier for me to understand why you would feel the need to play through the pain."
The stiffness in his shoulders returned and he was quiet for so long that I gave up on waiting for a response.
"Well, that's all I needed to say," I whispered. "Bye, Johnny."
And then I turned around and walked away.
Like I promised myself, I didn’t seek Johnny Kavanagh out after that.
I cleared the air and I walked away.
All day, I steered clear of the hallways I knew he traveled through between classes – the one's I'd mapped out in the previous weeks – and I avoided the lunch hall at big break.
He sat with a huge crowd of rugby players right by the entrance so it wasn’t a matter of being able to ignore him in there.
It was an unnecessary avoidance on my behalf, because on the few occasions our paths had crossed during the day, Johnny had dutifully ignored me; no smiles, no eye contact, and I, in turn, had pretended like I didn’t care.
I shouldn’t.
I knew that.
I still did, though…
Like the masochist I was, I gave into curiosity about him, and did my research during computer class that afternoon.
Internet searches in the computer room, not to mention the word of mouth from my friends, had only solidified what Joey told me.
Johnny Kavanagh was a big deal.
Throwing myself into my schoolwork, I attempted to block out all thoughts of him, but it was a hard thing to do – what with him being the topic on the tips of most people's tongues around school.
I couldn’t seem to escape him.
When I confessed to Claire that Johnny had dropped me home during lunch, her pupils had dilated so much I'd thought she was about to have a stroke.
It was a confession I instantly regretted, considering she hadn't let the matter drop.
If she wasn’t asking me questions about what we talked about, none of which I divulged, she was pointing him out in the halls, or doodling S.L. hearts J.K. in our homework journals.
Fortunately for me, I was gifted at diversion and denial, and after a few hours of not taking the bait, she'd given up on getting any more information out of me.
I was glad because I didn’t want anyone knowing how much of a mess I was on the inside.
She knew I liked him and that was bad enough.