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“Am I Sookie?” I snapped, breaking free from his hold, only to make a burst for the religion classroom. “You don’t need to walk me, Johnny!”
“Get your arse back here,” he ordered, spoiling my break for freedom by fisting my jumper once more. “Listen to me, will you? I’m as annoyed as you are, but use your head, Gibs. We don’t throw down in class, lad. That’s not how it’s done.”
“That’s how it’s done in my world,” I shot back, too pissed off to think clearly. “He’s not getting away with talking about her like that, Johnny. Over my dead body.”
“Agreed,” Johnny said calmly, pushing open the door of the sixth-year common room and pushing us both inside. “But we need to be smart about it. Fighting in class isn’t going to do us any favors, Gibs.”
“Who are we fighting?” a familiar voice asked, and we both turned to find Joey sprawled out on one of the couches with a coat draped over him.
“So that’s why you weren’t in religion class,” Johnny accused. “You were taking a bleeding nap.”
“Come and talk to me when you have a colicky newborn feeding on demand at home,” Joey replied, standing up. “Back to my question.” He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck from side to side. “Who are we fighting?”
“No one. We’re not fighting anyone,” Johnny was quick to rebuff. “Because I am in contract. You are on a warning,” he added, pointing at me before turning his attention to Joey. “And you are on probation.”
Ignoring Johnny’s words of warning, Joey looked to me and repeated, “Who are we fighting, Gussie?”
_______________
“This is so bleeding bad,” Johnny declared twenty minutes late, as he paced the student car-park like a man waiting on death row. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m going along with this.”
Meanwhile, I watched, both fascinated and engrossed, as Joey Lynch unlocked the door of Jamie Kelleher’s car.
Who knew a putty knife and clothes hanger from the art room could unlock a car without damage?
Lynchy, apparently.
Once the button clicked up, Joey opened the driver’s door, cigarette balancing between his lips, and reached inside. Another clicking noise sounded a moment later, and he called out, “Do you have the sugar, Gus?”
“I sure fucking do, Lynchy,” I replied, handing him the bag and spoon.
“Oh god,” Johnny groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. “I can’t watch.”
“Then don’t.” Without a hint of hesitation, Joey climbed back out, took the bag from me, and then walked around the side of the car. Opening the petrol cap of Kelleher’s car, he proceeded to dump the sugar inside, one spoon at a time until the bag was empty.
Afterwards, he neatly screwed the cap back on and relocked the car. “Let’s see this Kelleher prick take anyone to the cinema now.”
“My da’s going to kill me.” Biting down on his fist to stifle a whimper, Johnny shook his head and walked off in the direction of his car, looking like he was close to passing out. All six foot five of him. “I’m a bleeding criminal.”
“I used to think Podge was highly strung,” Joey mused, quite literally leaning against the scene of the crime, finishing his cigarette. “But Kav takes the cake.”
“That was fucking genius.” I grinned. “I owe you, lad.”
“Nah.” Taking one final drag of his smoke, he tossed the butt away and pushed off the car. “Seems to me it was the least I could do.”
“Oh?” I fell into step beside him. “How’d you figure?”
“Aoife,” he explained, shoving his tools back into his schoolbag. “She told me what you did for her.”
“I’m not following.”
“Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining, Gussie.” He stopped short before we reached the main building. “I know you paid off my drug debt.” Clear-eyed and sober, Joey stared right at me. “I owe you a lot more than this.”
“You don’t owe me anything, lad,” I replied, feeling weirdly emotional. Claire once referred to Joey Lynch as the comeback kid, and I couldn’t think of a better definition. Grinning, I added, “Although, if you really want to thank me, you could always make me AJ’s godfather.”
His lips twitched in response. “Don’t push it.”
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