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“Don’t go near him, Kavanagh. He’s too out of control.”
“I’ll be grand. Just give me a few minutes with him.”
“Kavanagh, be careful, he doesn’t seem to know who we are.”
“He knows who I am, don’t ya, Gibs? It’s alright, my old buddy. Cap’s here.”
“Alright, class, eyes to the front of the room,” Mr. O’Donovan ordered when he walked into our classroom on Monday morning with a tall, dark-haired boy in tow. “We have a new boy joining the class,” he explained, clapping the tall boy on the shoulder. “This is Jonathan Kavanagh. He and his family moved down from Dublin this past summer, and I want you all to make your best effort to make him feel welcome.” He squeezed the scowling boy’s shoulder again. “From what I hear, we can expect great things from this one on the rugby pitch.” Turning to the boy, he said, “Kavanagh, why don’t you take a seat down the back of the class with young Gibson,” before pointing at me.
Still scowling, the boy sauntered through the rows of desks with his head in the air. I knew the lads would say it made him look like a cocky fucker, but I thought it was great.
Dropping his schoolbag on the floor next to mine, he pulled his chair back and sank down, still scowling, still looking like he thought he was too good for the rest of us.
“How’s it going?” Robbie Mac whispered, turning around from the desk in front of us to introduce himself. “Robbie.”
“Johnny,” the boy sitting next to me acknowledged with a polite nod.
“So, you’re into the rugby, are ya, Johnny?”
His lips tipped up in a small smirk. “You could say that.”
“Well, me and some of the other lads from class usually have a game after school on Mondays. You should come.”
“What about you?”
It took me a moment to realize that he was addressing me. “Me?” I asked anyway, just to be sure, because aside from Hugh and Feely, no one else in class bothered a whole pile with me.
“Yeah.” Johnny nodded. “Do you play?”
I opened my mouth to answer but Robbie got there first. “Who, Gibsie?” He snickered into his hand. “He can’t play sports. He faints at the sight of blood.” He snickered again. “He the class’s personal Billy Elliot.” More laughing. “He likes to dance with the girls.”
I felt my face grow hot from embarrassment and quickly dropped my gaze to the copybook open in front of me, fully expecting the boy sitting next to me to be a perfect candidate for the dickhead club. The copybook littered with my own scrawling handwriting I could barely read.
“So?” Johnny surprised me by saying. “You think there’s something wrong with dancing?”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“Shit, maybe the sir put you at the right desk when he sat you with him,” Robbie snickered, gesturing to me.
“Maybe he did,” Johnny replied coolly.
“Whatever, girls,” Robbie sneered before turning back to face the front of the class “Enjoy each other’s company.”
“I’m Johnny.” He held his hand out to me. “Johnny Kavanagh.”
“Gerard Gibson,” I replied, accepting his handshake. “But everyone calls me Gibsie.”
“So, Gibsie, is everyone in this class a bleeding eejit like that one?” he asked, pointing to Robbie.
“There’s a couple of good ones,” I replied, feeling my lips tip up in a smile. “But yeah, pretty much.”
Johnny nodded solemnly. “And who’s your best friend out of all of them?”
“Me?” My brows shot up. “Well, I’m, ah, I’m good friends with those two over there.” I pointed across the room to where Hugh and Feely were sitting. “But I wouldn’t say I have a best friend in here.” Smiling, I added, “I have a girlfriend. She’s at a different school, though.”
“Is she your friend or you girlfriend?”
