Saving 6: Boys of Tommen #3

FEBRUARY 1ST 2002

JOEY

DRESSED in matching plain grey tracksuits – the ones they kept in the office for students that shit themselves – and looking like we’d been released from Cork prison on compassionate leave, Molloy and I sat in the front row of detention, without a single other student to take the shine off us.

With her hands folded across her chest, and her long, wet hair pulled back in a tangled braid, Molloy glared at the chalkboard in front of us, clearly having resumed whatever grudge she had on me.

She’d been given a week’s worth of lunch time detentions, while I had been told by Nyhan to show up every lunch for the foreseeable future. In other words, the rest of third year.

Stinking of chili and cheap washing up liquid, I leaned in close and took a whiff of her, unsure which one of us smelled worse.

“It’s you,” Molloy bit out, reading my mind.

“No, it’s definitely you.”

I felt a small amount of regret for the parts of her blonde hair that were sporting the color snot green, but not enough to apologize.

She started it.

Flipped the fuck out on me for no goddamn reason.

And while I was more amused than annoyed now, I wasn’t about to cave in.

It was her turn to bend.

Drumming my fingers on the desk, I looked around the room, all the while racking my brain for a possible trigger for our fight.

I didn’t do anything different.

She was happy, smiling, enjoying herself.

We were having a laugh together, and then she just flipped.

The defiant side of my personality demanded that I pay no heed to her bullshit.

She’s not your problem.

That feeding into her drama would only lead to more.

The only problem with ignoring her was that I didn’t want to.

After spending an innate amount of time trying to push her away, having her actually go did not feel good.

Not good at all.

“How are your hips, Aoife?” Mrs. Adams announced, slowly rising from her chair, at the front of the room. “I can’t imagine that was comfortable for you.”

“Sore.”

I immediately felt like a tool. “You’re hurt?”

Ignoring me, Molloy focused on our teacher when she said, “I’ll survive.”

“Back in my day, we called those child-bearing hips,” Mrs. Adams stated, causing me to choke out a laugh and Molloy to glower.

“Are you calling me fat, Miss?”

“Dear God, no,” our teacher hurried to soothe. “I wasn’t saying anything of the sort.“

“Retract the claws, Molloy,” I tossed out, feeling sorry for the old lady. “She was paying you a compliment.”

“How?” Molloy deadpanned. “By implying that I have wide hips to go with my even wider ass?”

Yeah, and you look so fucking sexy for it.

“Exactly,” Mrs. Adams said, offering me a grateful smile. “Do you think the two of you can behave yourselves for five minutes, while I pop to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, Miss,” I replied, waving a hand around aimlessly. “Whatever.”

She gave me a worried look. “Joseph.”

“I mean it.” I held my hands up. “I’ll be good.”

“Good boy,” she crooned before pottering out of the classroom, leaving us alone.

“Teacher’s pet,” Molloy muttered, still glaring at the board.

“Do you want to tell me what I did?” I asked, twisting in my seat to face her. “I clearly did something to piss you off.”

“No.” Sighing in resignation, she dropped her head in her hands and groaned. “It’s fine. I’m just… It’s fine. I need to get a grip.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I already think you’re crazy, Molloy.”

“Well, crazier than normal then.”

“Try me.”

“No.”

“Molloy.” Reaching across the desk, I grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face me. “Try me.”

Her big green eyes locked on mine, and I fucking hated the lonesome look in them. “Joe.”

“Tell me.”

Chewing on her lip, she glanced down for a long moment before blowing out a breath and whispering, “You said she had nice legs.”

I waited a beat to hear the rest of it, but when it didn’t come, I found myself staring at her in confusion. “Huh?”

“You said she has nice legs,” she repeated, still looking down at her lap. “You told her that she has nice legs.”

“Who?”

“Danielle.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, Joe, you did.”

“When?” I asked, beyond fucking confused.

“In class.”

Oh shit, I did. “And that’s bad because…”

“Forget it.” Shrugging my hands off her shoulders, she turned back to staring at the chalkboard. “It doesn’t matter. I’m over it.”

“You’re over it?” I shook my head, feeling at a loss.

She blew out a pained breath. “Forget it, Joe.”

“Can you just stop with this wounded girl act and be straight with me,” I growled, frustrated with this coy version of my friend. “Come on. This isn’t you. You don’t talk in riddles, Molloy. Tell me straight.”

“Wounded girl act?” She shook her head in disgust. “Wow, you really know how to talk to girls don’t you?”

“No, I really fucking don’t,” I tossed back, aggravated. “Because the only girl I talk to is you.”

“Liar,” she spat. “You talk to Danielle.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Molloy.”

“You said she had nice legs, Joey,” she snapped, erupting on me. “Nice legs.” She turned to glare at me. “Ring any bells, asshole?”

“That’s what this is about?” I gaped at her. “You’re mad at me because I used the words nice legs?”

“On another girl.”

“They’re just words.”

“No, they are not just words, Joey.”

“Jesus Christ, Molloy, what the fuck else was I supposed to say to the girl?” I demanded, throwing my hands up. “I’d just sprayed chili all over her legs. I was trying to make it right. What did you want me to say? Nice ankles? Nice kneecaps? Nice fucking calf muscles? What?”

“You don’t say that,” she shouted back at me. “You don’t feed her my line.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“That makes it even worse.”

“How?”

“Because it just does, okay.”

“Well, it honestly meant nothing.”

“Like it meant nothing when you were touching her legs?”

“Don’t,” I warned, shaking my head. “Don’t even go there.”

“Right in front of me, Joey,” she strangled out, voice thick with emotion.

“Right in front of you?” I choked out a humorless laugh. “Am I hearing this right? You have the audacity to sit here, on your high horse, and give me shit for talking to a girl, when you’ve spent every day since first year flaunting that prick in my face?”

“But you haven’t just talked to Danielle, have you, Joey? You’ve been with her!”

“You mean while you’ve been with your boyfriend? So what if I have?”

“Oh my god,” she cried, reaching up to clutch her face with her hands. “You don’t get it. You just don’t fucking get it!”

“Get what?” I roared, losing my cool. “You know what? I don’t know why I’m even listening to this shit.” I shook my head and turned away, furious with myself for letting her get under my skin. “We’re not a couple, Molloy. I’m not your boyfriend. We are not together. Do you hear me? We are nothing.”

“That’s fine, Joe, we’re not together. We’re nothing,” she choked out. “So why don’t you go right ahead and fuck Danielle, with her nice legs and shop-bought bottle blonde hair!”

“What gave you the impression that I haven’t fucked her?”

Molloy’s sharp intake of breath assured me that I had gone too far.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to,” I began to say, but she didn’t stick around to listen.

Instead, she pushed her chair back and stood up, walking silently from the room.

The fact that she didn’t even slam the classroom door behind her let me know that I had, indeed, fucked up in a colossal way.

Dropping my head on my desk, I clutched the back of my neck and groaned. “Fuck.”