I could tell that she wanted me to be the first to say something aboutit, to be the one to take that step.
But I just... can’t.
At least I can take comfort in the fact that none of my mates have any sound idea on girls’ either. Not even Know-It-All Joey Fitzpatrick, who’s always been the sanest of our lot. Though he’s been on a few dates, so maybe I should pick his brain on what to do about my whole Molly dilemma.
JJ joins Finn and I right before we step into the canteen, coming from the east wing hall; Fitzy’s class is right in this corridor, so he always gets to the table first. I scan the room, steeling my nerves for the inevitable sight of Molly. But that’s not what stops me in my tracks.
“Cop on, I swear to God...”
Claire’s at her table today, but she’s not sitting. Well, rather, she’s half-seated. Stephen Rafferty has his arse on the same chair, his hip braced against hers, both of them clearly trying to shove the other off.
Claire’s red-faced and gripping the table edge, and I hear her yell, “Get off, Stephen!”
“I told ya, Care-Bear.” Rafferty leans his weight into her. “It’s a free country. Plenty of room if you want to take a seat on my—”
“I’m gonna fecking kill him,” I hear JJ murmur behind me.
“Get in line.”
I reach the table, just as Rafferty gives an impatient shove with his hip. It catches Claire off balance, making her slide right off the seat and landing on the floor with a hard“Oof!”Her skirt flies up, flashing her knickers to the entire canteen for a split second, before she scrambles to pull it down, her eyes glossy with humiliation.
Rafferty’s mates—who were crowded around the table, just like the girls’ and Molly, who’s now helping Claire up—are snickering. A few people at the surrounding tables were whispering behind their hands.
Rafferty looks almost remorseful. “Shite, Claire, I didn’t mean to—”
He doesn’t get to finish before my fist connects with his jaw.
??` ?? ?´?
“NEVER HAVEI had the profound displeasure of seeing such a promising lot of young men—and young lady—sitting in my office after a common brawl on school groundsduringschool hours.”
Principal Lynch stands behind his mahogany desk, his hands clasped behind his back. Rafferty and his lot (Tadgh, Sean, and Brody) were on one side of the room, and my lads (Fitzy, JJ, Finn and I) were on the other. After I’d punched Rafferty, hell had broken loose, and of course the lads had jumped in to help me.
Claire’s on our side of the room too, tucked into a chair and looking small. JJ is the only one in the room besides her who’s sitting down, and he’s rubbing her shoulder and whispering into her ear. The sight alone is the only thing keeping me from lunging across the room and finishing what I started.
Lynch drones on with his usual speech, and then dismisses and talks to each of us separately.
I wasn’t the Incredible Hulk, he reminded me. I had a “promising future.” I shouldn’t throw it away for “reasons that might seem righteous in the heat of the moment.”
After each chastisation, he sends us to wait for our parents to pick us up out front. I wait outside Lynch’s door, for him to be done with Claire. He’d saved the two of us for last.
When the door finally opens, I stand. Claire doesn’t say a word, just walks straight into me.
Claire’s the sun, but when the clouds come, she turns into a clinger. She holds on tight, her head buried in my chest, and I wrap my arms around her and ignore the sting in my hand.
Lynch is watching us from the doorway, the look on his face not entirely unsympathetic. I knew why we were getting off so easily. More sympathy points thrown our way.
I hate it. I think I would rather sit in detention for a month than have everyone look at me like I’m a charity case just because my father drowned.
“Your mother is on her way. I expect to see you both tomorrow—on better behavior,” Lynch says, nodding at us. “Claire, think about what I said.”
Once he retreats into his office, I steer Claire outside. We sit together on a wooden bench, everyone else already gone.
“I’m sorry, Niall,” she says first.
“Don’t be, really. It’s not your fault, and I’m not angry. Not with you, anyway.”
“You should be,” she wipes her nose. “You’re suspended from the match on Saturday. You hate missing games.”
