falling for 13 || Johnny Kavanagh

She's Got Balls

J O H N N Y

It was a typical day in the first-year common area—loud, chaotic, and full of the usual craic. Feely was sprawled out on one of the couches, guitar in hand, while Gibsie and Hughie were messing around, half-wrestling and taking the piss out of each other. I sat back, feet up on the coffee table, watching them with a lazy grin.

The lads were in flying form, and I couldn't help but laugh as Gibsie tackled Hughie to the ground, earning them both a glare from the supervising teacher. They quickly straightened up, trying to look innocent, but we all knew they'd be at it again as soon as the teacher turned her back. It was just how they were.

Across the room, I spotted Grace Lynch with her usual crew—Clara, Aoibh, and Orlaith. They were sitting near the windows, heads together, chatting away. I watched her for a second, not even thinking about it. It had become kind of a habit at this point, catching glimpses of her when she wasn't looking.

Ever since that day on the track, Grace had been on my radar. She wasn't like the other girls in our year. Most of them giggled and flicked their hair, always on about who fancied who, but Grace? She had a sharpness to her. She didn't take shit from anyone, and I respected that. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud, especially to the lads.

"Johnny! You daydreaming or what?" Gibsie called out, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "You're staring at her again, lad."

"Shut up," I muttered, shoving him away. "I wasn't staring."

"Sure you weren't," Hughie chimed in, grinning like a gobshite. "You've got it bad, mate."

I shot them both a glare, but before I could come up with some sort of comeback, the sound of raised voices cut through the noise of the common area. I turned my head just in time to see Grace standing up, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, facing off with some girl from our year—Niamh, I think her name was.

Niamh had a smug look on her face, arms on her hips, as she took a step closer to Grace. I couldn't hear what they were saying at first, but it was clear something was kicking off.

"Uh oh," Feely said from his spot on the couch. "Looks like there's gonna be a bitchfight."

I leaned forward, suddenly more interested in what was happening across the room. Grace was glaring daggers at Niamh, her posture tense, like she was ready for a fight. I wasn't sure what had started it, but I had a feeling it wasn't going to end well.

"Grace, you're such a stuck-up little bitch," Niamh sneered, her voice loud enough for half the common area to hear. "Always acting like you're better than everyone else."

Grace's eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer to Niamh, her jaw set in that stubborn way I'd come to recognize. "Maybe if you weren't such a two-faced cunt, people would actually want to be around you."

The room went silent. Even the lads stopped messing around, all eyes on the two girls now.

Niamh's face flushed red with anger, and for a second, I thought she was going to swing at Grace, but instead, she just spat back, "At least I don't have to act like a tough girl to make up for the fact that nobody actually likes me."

I felt something tighten in my chest as I watched Grace's face go blank for a second, like Niamh's words had hit a little too close to home. But then, just as quickly, she snapped back, her eyes blazing with defiance.

"I'd rather be disliked for being myself than liked for being fake as fuck," Grace shot back, her voice cold and steady.

The word hung in the air, and for a moment, it felt like everyone in the room had collectively stopped breathing. My eyes flicked to the lads, and even Gibsie looked surprised.