falling for 13 || Johnny Kavanagh

Not Okay

G R A C E

By the time I walked out of the French classroom, I was mentally exhausted. Not because of the lesson—no, that was fine. It was him. Johnny Kavanagh. Sitting next to him for the rest of the term? That was going to be a challenge.

As I headed toward my next class, I couldn't help but replay the whole thing in my head. Johnny was... well, Johnny. He had that charm about him, that natural confidence, like he knew he could say the dumbest thing and still get away with it. It was frustrating, to say the least, especially when he clearly wasn't even trying in class.

But there was something about the way he made everything into a joke, the way he never seemed to take anything too seriously. It was hard to stay annoyed with him for long, even when he was purposely winding me up.

Clara caught up with me in the corridor, falling into step beside me. "So, how's the French partner?" she asked, a teasing smile on her lips.

I rolled my eyes. "You mean Johnny? He's hopeless."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Hopeless as in bad at French, or hopeless as in you have to spend every class sitting next to the hottest lad in the year?"

I shot her a look. "He's not that hot."

She laughed, nudging me with her shoulder. "Right. Sure he's not."

I shook my head, trying to brush it off. "He barely knows the difference between être and avoir. He probably needs French grinds."

Clara smirked. "Maybe that's his plan. Get some extra one-on-one time with you."

I rolled my eyes again, but there was a small part of me that wondered if that was true. Johnny had a reputation, after all. He wasn't exactly subtle when it came to girls, and everyone knew it. But that wasn't the kind of attention I was looking for. I had enough going on at home without getting caught up in his mess.

Still, the banter we'd had in class was kind of fun, even if he was a pain. He wasn't like most of the lads in our year—he didn't seem to care what people thought, didn't try to impress anyone. Except maybe he did, just in his own way.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Clara asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I frowned. "What? No, I'm just... trying to figure out how to survive this term without my brain melting."

Clara smirked but didn't press the issue. We reached our next class, and as we sat down, I tried to focus on anything but Johnny Kavanagh.

***

After a long day of classes, I finally made my way to the cafeteria for lunch. I was starving, and all I could think about was grabbing a sandwich and finding a quiet corner with Clara, Aoibh, and Orlaith. We always sat together, and it was one of the few times in the day I could just relax.

As I stepped into the cafeteria, I spotted the lads sitting near the back, their table loud and rowdy as usual. Johnny, Gibsie, Feely, and Hughie were all there, laughing about something—probably some inside joke that none of them would explain. I quickly looked away, not wanting to make eye contact, and scanned the room for my friends.

"Grace! Over here!" Aoibh's voice called out from across the room, and I hurried over to where she, Clara, and Orlaith were already sitting. I slumped down in the chair beside them, letting out a tired sigh.

"Tough day?" Orlaith asked, glancing at me with a knowing smile.

I shrugged. "Just long."

Clara leaned forward, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "Was Johnny still being his usual self?"

I groaned. "You have no idea. He barely paid attention. It's like his brain switches off as soon as class starts."

Aoibh chuckled. "Sounds about right. He's more interested in rugby than conjugating verbs, I'm sure."

I rolled my eyes. "It's frustrating. He's perfectly capable, but he just doesn't care."

"Well, that's Johnny for you," Orlaith said, shaking her head. "Doesn't give a damn about anything that's not a ball or a girl."

I hesitated for a moment, biting my lip. It wasn't that I didn't believe them—I did. But there was something about the way Johnny had acted today that seemed... different. Sure, he was all jokes and bravado, but when we were actually working together, he hadn't been as unbearable as I expected. He'd even tried, in his own way, to keep up with the lesson.

Not that it mattered. He was still Johnny Kavanagh, and I wasn't about to get sucked into whatever game he was playing.

"So," Clara said, leaning back in her chair and smirking at me, "are we going to pretend you weren't flirting with him in class?"

I nearly choked on my sandwich. "What? I wasn't flirting."

Aoibh snorted. "Come on, Grace. You can't fool us. We saw the way he was looking at you."

I shook my head firmly. "I was just trying to help him with the lesson. That's it."

Orlaith leaned forward, grinning. "Right. And that's why he kept making you laugh, yeah?"

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "You lot are impossible."

They all laughed, clearly enjoying themselves at my expense, but I couldn't help but feel a bit flustered. Was I really giving Johnny the wrong impression? I wasn't interested in him. Not like that. He was just... Johnny. The rugby star with too much confidence and too little focus.

But as I glanced over at their table again, catching a glimpse of Johnny laughing with his mates, I couldn't shake the feeling that things were starting to get a little more complicated than I'd expected.

***

Later that evening, after a long session on the track, I finally headed home. Training had been intense, and I was physically exhausted by the time I walked through the front door. The house was quiet, which was unusual, yet it still made my stomach twist with unease.

I went straight to my room, dropping my bag on the floor and collapsing onto my bed. My legs ached from the sprints, and all I wanted to do was sleep. But as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened that day—about French class, about Johnny, about the way he'd joked with me like we were friends or something.

We weren't friends. We couldn't be. Not with everything else going on in my life.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push those thoughts away, but the heaviness in my chest wouldn't budge. It never really did.

Just as I was about to give up on trying to relax, I heard a knock on my door.

"Grace?" It was Joey's voice.

I sat up, frowning. "Yeah?"

He opened the door, stepping inside. His face was a little pale, his eyes bloodshot. I could smell the smoke on him from across the room.

"Joey..." I started, but he cut me off.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Just wanted to see if you were alive."

I narrowed my eyes. "Have you been smoking again?"

He didn't answer, just looked away, and that was enough of an answer for me.

"Joey, you can't keep doing this," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "You know it's not helping."

He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "It's fine. I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

But I did worry. Every time. I worried about Joey, about what he was getting into, about how much worse things could get. Ever since Darren had left, Joey had been spiraling, and I didn't know how to help him.