Claire and Lizzie knew that and respected my wishes.
Going through the motions, I went to all my classes and erased my family from my mind for the next seven hours.
It was wonderful.
42
Catching shoes and feelings
Shannon
My last class on Monday was double P.E, and because of the torrential downpour of rain outside, Mr. Mulcahy had taken pity on us and set up a game of soccer in the indoor basketball hall.
Mr. Mulcahy was the school's rugby coach and it was pretty evident in the way he lounged on a foldup chair on the sideline, eyes focused on the clipboard in his hand, that he wasn’t concerned with our physical education.
Also, I had managed to sneak a peek at said clipboard when I tried and failed to get out of playing, and it was covered in doodles and rugby related plays.
I had ended up being drafted onto the team with Claire, thank god, and a couple of the other girls, while Lizzie had managed to talk her way out of participating and got to go to the library instead.
I wished I was as persuasive as her.
Instead, I was sporting a yellow bib and attempting to run around and not get squashed to death by the boys.
With Lizzie living it up in the library, it left only four girls on the court to play with the eighteen other boys from 3A.
I was by far the worst.
Shelly and Helen, the other two girls in my class, weren't much better, but I had a feeling that had more to do with their general disinterest in the game rather than lack of ability.
Claire was amazing at sports, the best girl on the court, and the lads treated her with the respect she deserved by passing the ball off to her whenever she managed to get free.
So far, she had scored twice.
To be fair, my teammates had tried that with me earlier on in the game, but after tripping myself up and costing our side a goal, they avoided me.
I thought that might be for the best.
"Are you having fun?" Claire asked, jogging towards me when one of the boys on our team scored again.
She was wearing the same black jersey, white shorts, and yellow bib that I was, but unlike me, her training clothes actually fit her body.
Her long, blonde, curly ponytail swished from side to side as she moved.
Her cheeks were red, her eyes alight with excitement.
She was disgustingly stunning.
"Isn't this the best way to end the day?"
"Uh, yeah, sure!" I feigned a smile and gave her two enthusiastic thumbs up.
"You hate this, don’t you?" She laughed and rested her elbow on my shoulder. The fact that she could do that with ease only drove home how small I was. "Don't worry. There's only another ten minutes left."
"Soccer isn’t really my –" I paused to duck, narrowly avoiding a ball to the face. "It's not my thing," I began to say, but Claire was already chasing after the ball, screaming at our teammates that she was 'open'.
Moments later, a stampede of teenagers came barreling up the court towards me, hunting down the rogue soccer ball.
So, I did what any sane 5'0 person in my position would do; I ran over to the wall and flattened my back against it.
Narrowly avoiding another trampling, I decided that I had quite enough of P.E for one day. I’d had a horrible, niggling pain in my stomach all day and running around wasn’t helping matters.
My body was in pieces.
I was in so much pain that I could hardly stand it.
To be honest, I had a feeling the stomach ache I was suffering was anxiety induced and father related.
We were finishing up from school on Friday for two whole weeks, and every time I allowed myself to think about all those days stuck in my house with my father, the worse the pain grew.
Most people were looking forward to getting away for the holidays.
Meanwhile, I was a trembling mess.
Exhausted, I pulled my bib off and searched the hall for Mr. Mulcahy, to ask him if I could be dismissed early and sit in the changing room.
My heart jackknifed in my chest when I found him standing in the entrance to the hall, talking to none other than Johnny Kavanagh.
Oh god.
How long had he been standing there?
Certainly long enough to see my pathetic attempt at evading death.
All day, I felt him watching me.
Everywhere I went, I swear I could feel eyes on me.
I knew he wanted to speak to me, which was why I had spent the day ducking and dodging him.
He would have questions about last week.
He would want to know.
And he wouldn’t believe my lies.
That was terrifying.
Because he was too clever for a girl in my position to hang around with.
When I was with him, I forgot about lying and hiding.
I forgot about everything.
Mr. Mulcahy was tapping the clipboard in his hand, deep in conversation with Johnny – whose attention was flickering between whatever was on that clipboard and, well, me.
I was exactly opposite him, with the court between us, but I swear I could feel the heat of his stare right down to my toes.
Every time he switched his attention from the clipboard to me, I was hit with a gaze so heated and full of intensity that I couldn’t figure out what I was seeing.
Was it anger?
Was it frustration?
Was it something else?
I couldn’t tell.
I didn't have to think about it too much, because a few seconds later, Mr. Mulcahy blew his whistle and instructed our class to leave the court and get packed up.
Coach and Johnny remained in the entrance, deep in discussion, as our class trudged past them to the changing rooms.
Feeling like it was the safest option, I made a beeline for Claire, hooking my arm with hers, and asking her a bazillion pointless questions about the game we'd just played – well, the game she'd just played.
I kept my eyes on her face, listening intently to her responses, when we passed them.
It wasn’t until I was safely tucked away in the girls’ changing room that I released the tremulous breath I'd been holding in.
"Ouch – Shannon, what the hell is wrong with you?" Claire demanded the second the changing room door slammed shut behind us.
"Huh?"
"My arm?" Claire squeezed out. "Are you intentionally trying to cut off my circulation?"
My gaze shot to her arm, more specifically to where my fingers were digging into her skin. "Oh my god!" Releasing her, I slapped a hand over my mouth. "I am so sorry."
"What's the matter?" She took a step closer, concern splashed across her features. "You look really freaked out."
"Nothing," I quickly replied. "I'm fine. It's just…" I shook my head and blew out a ragged breath. "I wasn’t expecting him to be out there."
"Johnny?"
I nodded slowly.
Her eyes widened then. "Oh my god!" Pointing a finger at my face, she whisper-shouted, "You lied to me! Something happened the other week, didn’t it?"
"No." I shook my head, cheeks flaming. "Nothing happened."
"He was staring at you back there – like completely eyeballing you," she hissed, looking a little giddy. "Did something happen? Please tell me something happened…"
"I promise you that nothing happened between us," I strangled out, regretting ever mentioning it. "And he wasn’t eyeballing me."
"But you wanted it to?"
I opened my mouth to deny it, but Claire interrupted me.
"Ha! Don’t even lie, I can see right through you," she snickered. "Even your ears are blushing."
"Claire, please, you can't tell anyone!" I blurted out, mortified.
"I already promised you that I wouldn’t."
I sagged in relief. "Thank you."
"But you should know that he was looking at you, Shan. Like seriously looking at you." Claire clapped her hands together, squealing loudly. "Oh god, this makes me so happy."
"No, he wasn’t –And I don’t –I can't – I just…" Choking on my words, I inhaled a calming breath and tried again, "We had a fight that night in his car."
"A fight?" Claire's brows shot up. "About what?"
"It doesn’t matter," I mumbled, flushing. "And I…"
"You what?"
"He dropped me home again on the Friday before my birthday."
Her entire face lit up. "Oh my god!
"And then I threw up in front of him," I glumly admitted. "Possibly on him."