“Well don’t,” I cried out. “I did the right thing, Casey. I followed the rules. I waited for the right guy. I took my time. I took the damn pill. This is not supposed to happen to me. Seriously, this is all a big mistake.”
“Maybe?” she offered with a grimace. “Or maybe, you need to consider making an appointment with your doctor, because whether you want to believe it or not, Aoif, it’s looking a lot like—”
“Shh. Don’t say it. Just start praying.”
“To who?”
“St. Anthony,” I strangled out, dropping to my knees, and clasping my hands together. “He’s the saint we’re supposed to pray to when things go missing, isn’t he?”
“I don’t think St. Anthony can help find your missing period, Aoif.”
“You never know.“
“Mr. Ryan sent me to tell you both that you need to get your asses out on the pitch,” Danielle interrupted, stalking into the changing room. “Or he’ll save you both a seat in detention at lunchtime.”
“We’re coming,” Casey mumbled, making no move to get up, eyes still glued to mine.
“He said now.”
“We’re coming,” I snapped, springing up and hurrying for the door, needing to get as far away from this conversation as I could.
“Aoife,” Casey called after me. “Wait.”
I didn’t wait.
I didn’t answer her, either.
I couldn’t.
Not when my fear was paralyzing me.
DON’T DO ME ANY FAVORS, ASSHOLE
JOEY
We were in the middle of picking teams in PE when Molloy finally decided to grace the rest of our class with her presence.
Looking adorable in her helmet, with her long ponytail swinging as she moved, she hurried onto the pitch, hurley in hand, with Casey chasing after her.
“Aoife,” Ricey, the bastard, called out, picking my girlfriend for his team.
Ignoring him entirely, Molloy walked right over to my team, which earned several laughs and cheers at her ex-boyfriend’s expense, not to mention an evil-eyed glare from Danielle who had re-joined his team.
“Fine,” he relented with a huff. “Casey, you’re with us.”
“No, I’m not,” Casey shot back, making a beeline for Molloy. “I’m with them.”
“Then the teams aren’t fair,” Ricey complained, glaring. “This is bullshit.”
“Aoife, you’re on Joey’s team,” Mr. Ryan instructed. “Casey, you’re on Paul’s.”
“But—”
“No buts,” our teacher barked. “Move your ass, Lordan. Now.”
“Be careful,” Casey warned Molloy before reluctantly joining the opposition.
Once everyone was allocated a team position, our teacher blew his whistle, and the class filed out onto the pitch.
“You good, Molloy?” I asked, nudging her shoulder with mine, as she joined me in midfield, looking nothing like the smiling girl I’d woken up next to this morning.
“Yeah, I’m good, Joe,” she replied, sounding like the complete opposite, as she stared off, distracted.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Shaking her head, she fell into position, flanking me, as I took up the front for the clash of the ash. “It’s all good.”
“Don’t worry, Lynchy,” Ricey drawled, taking up position next to Molloy. “I’ll be really gentle with our girl here.”
His comments earned him a hurley to the shin, courtesy of our girl. “Don’t do me any favors, asshole.”
Yeah, she didn’t need my protection.
My girl could handle herself on the pitch.
Molloy possessed all of the skills and temperament to make her a proficient hurler. With a hurley in her hand, and a stony expression on her face, it was as clear as day that Ricey was fucked.
“Stop shouldering me, Aoife.”
“Stop being a little bitch, Paul.”
“Keep it up and I’ll knock you on your ass.”
“Try it and I’ll ram this hurley up the highest part of your hole.”
Smothering a laugh, I turned my attention back to Alec, who I was marking, and waited for Mr. Ryan to blow his whistle.
“Take it handy on me,” my friend grumbled, shouldering me to get in a superior position. “I’m nursing one bastard of a hangover, Lynchy.”
“No bother, Al.”
The minute the whistle was blown, and the sliotar was thrown in, it was on.
“I said take it handy,” Alec complained, losing his hurl in the clash, as I secured the sliotar for our team, breaking free on a run. “Show off!”
Half an hour later, and our team were running away with the game, having gone clear out of sight on the scorecard, and causing Mr. Ryan to make the decision to switch up positions. “Joey, swap over with Alec.”
“That’s bullshit,” Podge argued, throwing his hurley down. “He’s our best player, and that lazy bastard over there is barely moving.”
“Hey! I told you I had a bad pint last night,” Al huffed.
“Exactly,” Ryan snapped. “Let’s make it a fair game.”
“I resent that,” Alec panted, breathless. “My hole is like a volcanic onion ring. You’re damn lucky I’m even kitted out.”
“Paul, take Alec,” our teacher instructed. “Joey, take Aoife.”
“You’re putting him on a girl?” Podge choked out, outraged. “How in the name of Christ is that fair?”
“Don’t be sexist.”
“I’m not being sexist.”
“Yes, you are.”
“It’s fair because that girl is his girl.”
“Oh!” Podge’s eyes lit up. “I take it all back, sir. You’re a genius.”
“Don’t even think about going easy on her,” Ricey warned, jogging past me to take up position next to Alec.
“Get fucked,” I called back, jogging over to where my girlfriend was standing. “Molloy.”
“Joey,” she acknowledged. “Nice moves.”
“Nice legs.”
“If you ever want to experience them wrapped around your waist again, then you’ll back down.”
“That’s blackmail,” I teased, narrowly avoiding a sneaky swipe of her hurley across the shins.
“Hm,” she muttered, pushing me with her shoulder. “I prefer when we play with your other stick.”
“Lynchy, head’s up!”
Paul pucked the sliotar in my direction, and I raised my hand up to catch the ball mid-air, only to miss my target entirely when Molloy grabbed me in a precarious fucking spot.
“That’s my ball, Joey Lynch,” she warned, squeezing my nuts just enough to let me know that she was capable of doing damage. “And so are these.”
“Jesus,” I strangled out, throwing my hands up in surrender, as my blonde-haired nemesis secured the ball for herself, and whizzed past me, cackling evilly.
Molloy made it about fifteen yards up the pitch before being blown clean off the ball with a hard shoulder.
Flattening her like a pancake on the grass, Ricey scooped the sliotar back up and passed it back to me. This time, when I didn’t catch the ball, it wasn’t because I was distracted. It was because I was too busy ridding myself of my helmet, as I stalked up the pitch towards them.