AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I remembered the embarrassing parts, too; the parts that kept me up late into the night with flaming cheeks and a mind full of disconcerting images and fumbling words.
The parts I didn’t dare acknowledge.
I did keep the envelope though, the one I had found in my locker the week I returned to school, with the hastily scrawled From my people to your people on the front.
The two fifty-euro notes I had given to Mam when I got home from school, but I had tucked the envelope into my pillowcase for safekeeping.
I didn’t have an explanation for why I didn’t throw it out, the same way I couldn’t explain why my body broke out in a cold sweat, my hands turning clammy, my heart fluttering rapidly, and my stomach twisting itself up in knots, whenever I laid eyes on him.
Well, that wasn’t technically true.
There was an obvious, perfectly logical reason for my reaction toward him.
He was beautiful.
Every single time I spotted him in the hallways, it was as if every delayed urge, feeling, and hormone that had been lying dormant inside of my body for the last fifteen years had erupted to life.
I was achingly aware of him; my body shifting into high alert whenever our arms brushed in the crowded hallways between classes.
But it wasn’t his looks or enormous muscular build that had coaxed my stubborn hormones out of hibernation. It was the way he had been that day.
During small break last week, when Lizzie caught me red-handed staring at Johnny Kavanagh, she’d decided to dish out all the information she had.
According to Lizzy, Johnny Kavanagh was never tied down to any particular girl or branded as anyone’s boyfriend, though there was Bella Wilkinson to contend with. The pair had been knocking around together for a long time.
Bella was a couple of years older than him, more experienced, and from what Lizzie had told me, reported to her by the boys, sucked dick like a Dyson.
So yeah, it was a safe bet to say Johnny had been on the receiving end of a healthy number of blow jobs and god knows what else from her.
I was just thankful we had a Henry hoover at home and not a fancy-pants Dyson, so I didn’t gag every time I cleaned my room to that particular image.
I wasn’t surprised by any of it, though. Johnny was almost eighteen. I had two older brothers so I was quite aware what boys of that particular age demographic got up to behind closed bedroom doors.
The information was depressing but the cool dose of reality I needed to strengthen my resolve and douse my hopes.
It was terribly unfortunate to develop my first crush on a person like him, considering we’d only spoken that one time and he was involved with a suction-mouthed sixth year.
Not that he would be remotely interested in me if he wasn’t.
I liked safe. In my world, invisibility equaled safety. I was happy to be wallpaper and blend in. And Johnny Kavanagh was about as opposite of invisible as I could think of.
Before him, I’d never been interested in the opposite sex. I’d never been interested in anyone. But him?
I found myself seeking him out at school just so I could stare. It was creepy and stalkerish on my behalf but I honestly couldn’t help myself.
I comforted myself with the knowledge that I had no intentions of acting on my feelings or pursuing my first and only crush.
Either way, I was perfectly content with watching from the sidelines, settling for taking sneaky peeks and glances at him whenever I could.
I justified my stalkerish behavior by reminding myself that I was not the only girl in school to lust after the delectable Johnny Kavanagh. No, I was just one in a long list of many, many girls.
But he was just so interesting to observe.
He didn’t act like the rest of the lads at school. He seemed above them in a weird way. Like he was older than his years? Or bored by the mundane way of school life?
It was hard to describe.
He seemed to drum to his own beat. He oozed confidence and had a no-fucks-given attitude that was ridiculously addictive. He forged his own path at school, and like most natural-born leaders, everyone else just followed along after him.
