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I swallowed back a laugh as I watched my friend play the indifference card like a pro, even though she was clearly affected by this boy.
He was tall and tanned, with dirty-blond mussed-up hair, and clearly packing some serious muscle beneath his school uniform.
I didn’t blame her for being affected by a boy who looked like that. Most girls would.
Just not this girl.
“Are you jealous?” Gerard teased, tone highly flirtatious. “You know you’re my number one.”
“Spare me.” Claire fake gagged.
“I hear you’re coming to Donegal with the team?” he asked her. “Your class got the go-ahead, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, our class was picked to go,” Claire replied breezily. “Mam hasn’t signed the permission slip for me to go, though.”
Neither had mine.
Tommen College had an away match against some rugby prep school up in Donegal next month after the Easter holidays. It was an important game for the team, a final of some league cup or another, and my class, along with one other class from sixth year, had been selected at random to attend.
Because the match was being held on the first Friday, we were due back to school after Easter break, the school bus was departing from Tommen at 10:45 p.m. on the Thursday night to beat traffic and allow for pit stops since northern Donegal was at least an eight-hour journey from Cork via bus.
According to Lizzie, Tommen’s Parents Association was a bunch of tight-asses and had only allocated funding for one night’s accommodation for the trip. We would be sleeping on the bus on the Thursday night, staying in a hotel on the Friday night, and then traveling back to Cork on the Saturday.
Lizzie was thoroughly disgusted with the concept of having to sleep on the bus because the school heads were being stingy and wouldn’t cough up the funds for an extra night in a hotel. Personally, I couldn’t see what the problem was.
It was an all-expenses-paid trip funded by the school and an approved day off school.
Aside from the eight-hour bus ride with the majority of the passengers being testosterone-filled teenage boys, it was a win-win.
Of course, that part terrified me to my core, but I was beginning to learn how to manage my anxiety, refusing to allow my past experiences to ruin an opportunity at a much-needed break. I was trying really hard to just stand back, take a moment, and read situations and scenarios with clear, rational thoughts rather than the terror-induced paranoia that seemed to control me.
Regardless of my enthusiasm at the prospect of getting away from Ballylaggin for a couple of nights, I wasn’t holding out much hope on going. Because it was an overnight trip, the school required permission slips to be signed by our parents.
I’d given Mam the forms that needed to be signed in order for me to attend last week. As of this morning, they still lay unsigned on top of the bread bin at home.
“Ah, your mammy will let you go,” the blond god teased, ruffling Claire’s hair. “Sure big brother will be there to keep an eye on ya—and me of course.” He leaned closer and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I always play better when I know you’re watching.”
Now I did laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the cheesy chat-up line. I knew my stuff about sports, and I had yet to meet a guy who played better because of a girl. However, when I tried to stifle my laugh, it ended up coming out like a snort.
Slapping a hand over my mouth, I stared at Claire’s horrified expression and mouthed sorry behind my fingers.
As if only just noticing I was present, the blond guy turned around, probably to seek out the snorting culprit. His gaze landed on my face, and immediate recognition flickered in his striking silvery-gray eyes.
“Hey! Little Shannon,” he acknowledged, smiling warmly. “How’s it going?”
“Uh, fine,” I strangled out, as I stared up at him and wondered how the hell he knew my name. I glanced at Claire, who shrugged and gave me a look that told me she was as confused as I was.
“I didn’t know you were friends with Shannon,” he said, turning his attention back to Claire. “That would have been useful information.”
“Uh, I didn’t know you were friends with Shannon,” Claire offered blankly. “And useful for what?”
“I’m not.” He shook his head. “And it doesn’t matter.”
He turned back to me and smiled again.
“I’m Gerard Gibson,” he introduced himself. “But everyone calls me Gibsie.”
“I don’t,” Claire tossed out airily.
