I didn’t know what to make of her, if I was being completely honest. She was like the sweetest fucking smell that wouldn't go away.
A part of me was terrified that she would keep digging, somehow manage to break through my walls, through every one of my rotten layers, until she got to the ugly center of me, and then run for the hills.
A bigger part of me refused to care.
Why should I?
What the fuck did it matter to me if she walked away or not?
I wasn't losing any sleep over her.
I refused to.
She meant nothing to me, and she never would.
Plagued with an immeasurable weight of responsibility from the moment I fell out of bed in the morning until I collapsed back into it at night, I struggled to maintain anything more than a casual friendship or hookup in my personal life, which was fine by me.
I didn’t know how to trust people and I didn’t want to learn how. I had plenty of acquaintances, so-called friends to fuck around with at school and training.
Besides, I didn’t need the hassle of having any extra people draining from steadily depleting supply of energy.
My family did enough of that on the daily.
“There’s no story, Podge,” I said, clearing my thoughts. “She’s got it in her head that we’re friends.”
“Aren’t ye?”
I don’t know what we are.
Bumming a pen from his pencil case, I quickly forged a week’s worth of my mother’s signatures on my homework journal, and bad behavior report book, signing off on every note of warning I’d received from my teachers and year head, and then admired my handy work.
Marie Lynch
I arched a brow and smiled to myself.
Not bad.
"Did you score with her?"
“Who?” I asked, distracted, as I carved my initials into the desk with his compass.
“The virgin Mary,” Podge replied drolly. ”Who’d you think?”
"Did he score with who?" Alec Dempsey asked, turning back in his seat to talk to us. His curious gaze flicked from Podge’s face to mine. “Who’d ya score with, Lynchy?”
“No one.”
“Aoife Molloy.”
“Oh shit, lad. I thought that was just banter. You actually rode her?” Alec’s eyes widened. “Is that why the fight broke out?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” I repeated slowly. “What part of the word no is so hard to grasp?”
My gaze flicked to Ricey then, and he quickly turned his attention to the front of the class, avoiding eye contact.
I smirked, enjoying his discomfort.
Now this piece of shit, I had no problem ignoring, and with the exception of a few passing comments when we had to play together, I went about my business pretending that he didn’t exist.
I’d shown him with my fists how I felt about him that day, and he had the good sense to keep a wide berth of me since.
“Of course he did,” Podge accused, winking at Alec. “That’s why she’s always staring at him.”
“Lad, she is by far the best-looking girl in our year,” he groaned. “Maybe in the whole school.”
There was no maybe about it.
Molloy’s claim on that particular title was undisputed.
“That’s why Ricey’s so obsessed with her. He has to have the best of everything and be the best at everything. He hardly ever lets the girl out of his sight,” Alec offered, and then his eyes bulged in his head. “Seriously, lads, he’s fairly obsessed with Aoife and would lose his shit if she went behind his back… Holy fuck, did you score with her at the garage? That’s where you work with her da, isn’t it?”
“She’d be there without Ricey,” Podge offered. “It’s a good opportunity to get some alone time.”
“Oh my god, lad, it’s perfect,” Alec agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “That’s how you fucked her without him catching you, isn’t it?”
I narrowed my eyes in disgust. “See, this is exactly how the rumor mill gets started around here.”
"I’m surprised you could pry her legs open," Mike Maloney laughed, as he joined in the conversation. “From what I hear, she’s tighter than a—
“Finish that sentence,” I said coldly. “Go on, I dare you. See what happens.”
"And you'd know a lot about prying a girl’s legs open, wouldn’t you, Mike, with that big frigit head on ya,” Podge chuckled, trying to steer the conversation back to warmer waters – back to safety. “If you say that you weren’t with her, then I’ll take your word for it, Joe.”
“There’s no other way to take the truth,” I said flatly.
“Jesus, she’s a serious ride, though,” Mike added, sighing. “Ricey is some jammy fucker to have managed to convince her to go out with him.”
“Tell me about it, lad,” Alec agreed. “I swear I’ve had dreams about her legs.”
“The length of them.”
“And that skirt.”
Swallowing down a surge of bitterness, I forced myself to block out their voices, because if I didn’t, there was a very good chance I would lose my shit.
For once, luck was on my side.
“Joseph Lynch,” Mrs. Falvey, our year head, announced when she walked into the classroom a beat later. “You’re wanted in the office.” She clicked her tongue, disapproval etched on her face. “And bring your red book with you.”
“What did you do this time?” Mike whispered, nosey as usual.
“Fuck if I know,” I muttered, quickly rising to my feet.
Only delighted to be getting away from the conversation unfolding around me, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
“I am so disappointed in you,” Mrs. Falvey said when I passed her desk. “I thought we had gotten a handle on your behavioral issues last year. And what with it being a new term and all, I was willing to give you a clean slate, but then, four weeks into term, and I come to find that you’ve been fighting again.”
“With who?” I asked, tone laced with confusion, as I scratched the back of my head.
“Marcus Shorten.”
“Marcus who?”
“He’s from Kilcock community college,” she bit out. “Ring any bells?’
I stared blankly.
“You broke his finger, Joey,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “With your hurley. On purpose.”
“When?”
“Last Friday,” she hissed. “His mother phoned the school this morning. As you can imagine, she was very upset about the matter. She wants to take it to the board.”
“Oh yeah,” I mused, vaguely recalling the incident on the pitch last Friday when our schools met in a league game. “His mother actually phoned the school?”
“Yes, she did. She was very upset.”
“That wasn’t a fight,” I scoffed.
What a sap; telling his mammy on me.
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. “And what would you call it?”
Fucker nearly took my knuckles off with the steel band on the bas of his hurley. I was only returning the favor. “A minor disagreement.”
“Well, that minor disagreement has earned you your first suspension of the school year,” she snapped. “Congratulations.” Clapping her hands together mockingly, she asked, “Is there anything you’d like to say for yourself?”
“Yeah. We won the game last Friday,” I replied with a shrug. “And I was man of the match.”
SUSPENSIONS AND STILETTOS
OCTOBER 18TH 2001
AOIFE