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But he was my teammate so that meant I won, too.
I had never won so many pointless competitions in my life—or Easter eggs. I’d never won anything before today, actually.
We had a stack of twelve chocolate eggs on the floor because the boy seemed to just shine and excel at everything he put his mind to.
Twelve eggs.
Tadhg, Ollie, and Sean were going to be thrilled.
Johnny was so much fun to be with, and I became so immersed in playing with him, that I didn’t have time to worry.
Both curious and intrigued, I studied him during our reflection sessions—which was an actual thing Mrs. Moore liked to do—absorbing every little detail, taking note of the elected variety of songs he listened to, and the way he timed his food intakes, and how many times he thrummed his finger on his thigh—which was constantly. He appeared cool, calm, and composed, but if you looked beneath the surface you could see that he was like a caged animal inside this bus.
Johnny was too big for the seat, too stunted inside the tiny rows, too broad to be truly comfortable, and he rebelled by sprawling himself out at any given opportunity, regardless of whether he touched me or not. I was sure he was doing this because he needed to stretch out his long legs.
During our first reflection session, forty minutes into the trip, Johnny reached into his bag and withdrew an expensive-looking shaker bottle, the contents of which he downed within seconds. During the next session, he checked his watch and ate a banana. The one after that, he did another time check and devoured a protein bar.
I was far too aware of him but it was impossible not to be.
When the bus driver pulled over at some filling station two hours into the journey, the rest of the team and students hurried off to use the bathroom and buy supplies, but Johnny didn’t get off the bus.
“Do you want to go into the shop?” he asked, offering to move for me.
I shook my head. “No, that’s okay, I’m not hungry.”
And I have no money.
“You sure?” he asked, lowering himself back onto his seat, legs brushing against mine in the process. “I can get you something if you—”
“No, no, I don’t need anything.” I quickly cut him off. “Thanks for offering.”
“If you’re sure?”
“I am.”
Johnny then proceeded to reach into his never-ending bag of supplies and retrieve an airtight container and fork. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he pulled off the lid, revealing a selection of steamed vegetables, four plain, skinless chicken breasts, and a couple of packets of cracked black pepper.
“Are you going to get that heated up?” I heard myself ask, my mouth inquiring without my brain’s permission.
“Why?” He turned to smirk at me. “Do you have a microwave in your bag?”
“No, but they might have one in the shop,” I stated, forcing myself not to look away. “It’ll taste better if it’s warm.”
“Nah, I’m used to it,” he replied and then shoveled a forkful into his mouth. “Besides, I’m eating for fuel, not taste.”
“That sounds dreadful,” I blurted out.
Johnny smirked between bites. “It is what it is.”
“Do you want to go sit with them for lunch?” I pointed out the window to where a bunch of Johnny’s teammates were sitting around a picnic table outside the shop, munching and chatting. “I don’t mind,” I added, not wanting him to feel like he had to stay here with me when his friends were all together over there.
“I’m happy here,” he quickly dismissed.
“Are you really never allowed to eat normal food?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking, remembering what he told me that day at the pub. “I know you’re in training—” I scrunched my nose up at the thought before adding, “But do you seriously never get to have a day off from it?”
Now Johnny turned to look at me. “You don’t consider chicken and veg to be normal food?”
“Well, yeah, of course I do,” I mumbled, pushing down my discomfort. “But all the other lads on your team are eating chicken fillet rolls and deli food. And you’re eating a prepacked meal.”
