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“No…” Helen challenged with a confused expression etched on her face. “He’s from Ballylaggin.”
“If it’s Johnny Kavanagh you guys are talking about, then Shannon’s right,” Claire interjected. “Honestly, girls, if you went and spoke to the boy, you’d know straight away that he’s a Dub.”
“He is not a Dub,” Shelly piped up, looking mildly horrified. “He’s from Cork.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but Johnny is a big blue Dub,” Claire countered, grinning. “God, girls, the minute he opens his mouth, it’s so obvious.”
“Well, his father is from Cork, so he’s half-Corkonian,” Shelly grumbled. “And he lives in Cork.”
“And he was born and raised in Dublin—which makes him a Dub,” Claire snickered. “Ask him what colors he’ll be wearing on All-Ireland Final day,” she added. “I can promise you it won’t be red.”
Shelly clearly took the Cork and Dublin sporting rivalry to heart because she looked terribly distraught at the news.
“You don’t know that,” she challenged. “He moved down here when he was little. He probably supports Cork and Munster now.”
“Actually, I do know that,” Claire countered, grinning. “Back in September, Hughie had all the lads from the team over to watch the hurling final, and guess who was the only one wearing blue in a sea of red jerseys?”
“Well, I don’t care.” Helen sighed. “The accent only makes him sexier.”
“Exactly.” Shelly sniffed. “I’d still climb him like a drainpipe.”
“Then you better get a hurry on that climbing, Shell.” Laughing, Claire continued to rub salt in Shelly’s rebel wounds by adding, “Because he’ll be out of here after he leaves school. Once he’s through with the Academy and Irish head coaches offer him a contract, mark my words when I tell you that he won’t stay in Cork. He’ll go straight back to Dublin and they’ll welcome him with open arms. Because he’s their ‘homegrown,’ not ours.”
“How do you even know all this?” Helen asked, staring at Claire like she had grown two heads.
“Because I spend my time surrounded by boys who play rugby with him,” Claire replied. “I heard Hughie and Gerard talking about how Johnny will only stay in Ireland for a couple of years. The boys reckon he will more than likely play abroad for a few years while their team’s current center phases out and Johnny gets senior-level game experience. My brother’s bet is France. The clubs over there have some serious cash to throw away. Then they’ll bring him home as a world-class player with the world of experience under his belt and youth still on his side.”
“God,” I muttered, feeling a little queasy from this conversation. “You make him sound like a piece of meat.”
“Because that’s what he is in their world, Shan,” Claire replied, turning her attention to me. “A big fat juicy piece of premium steak.”
“I can’t begin to imagine what it feels like to be under so much pressure,” I whispered, my thoughts immediately rushing back to that night in his car. No wonder he reacted so badly.
I’d seen the attention people gave him when we were out. Johnny’s entire life was being played out in front of the country. Everybody talked about him. All the time. I think if I were him, I would crawl under my bed and hide.
A huge swell of sympathy filled my chest, all directed at him.
“Poor guy,” I mumbled, thinking about how desperate he must be feeling to have to hide his injury.
“Poor guy?” Helen scoffed and made a pffft noise. “There’s nothing poor about Johnny Kavanagh, Shannon. The beautiful, beautiful ride of a boy is going straight to the pros. He’s already being featured on popular rugby blogs and magazines. Does that sound like someone poor to you?”
“You should see the crowds and media at his local games,” Helen added with a dreamlike sigh. “It’s insane.”
I know. I saw.
Maybe he was off to the pros or maybe he wasn’t. I didn’t think that it was any of our business to be talking about him like this. This was his life that was being openly discussed, and I wasn’t comfortable.
“You’re awfully quiet there, Shannon,” Shelly stated as her eyes assessed me with keen interest. “Don’t even pretend that he isn’t the most beautiful boy you’ve ever laid eyes on.”
He was, by far, the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen in the flesh. However, I got the distinct feeling that without the allure of fame and money that was attached to him, these girls wouldn’t be so obsessed.
Then again, maybe they would be.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t care less about what shaped ball he kicked around a field. Rugby was a sport. It was a game. It wasn’t all he was. It was just one part of him. The only part that mattered to these girls, apparently.
It was disgusting, and I refused to join in on a conversation that reminded me heavily of the conversations I’d overhead girls have about Joey.
“I guess.” I shrugged noncommittally. “He’s a very good player.”
