Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

DON'T POKE MAMA BEAR

JANUARY 10TH 2005

JOHNNY

"It was a fucking accident!"

"Have you seen her? Have you seen your sister? Look at her skirt, look at her tights. Oh, Shannon, my baby!"

This was turning into a full-blown free-for-all.

Seriously.

I think Mr. Twomey, our principal, was having second thoughts about locking us in his office with two angry mother bears.

Because that's literally what Tara looked like now—an angry, murderous mother bear.

For over half an hour, Tara and her mother had been screaming at each other, hurling snide remarks and dirty looks. Poor Shannon stood next to me, head down, eyes fixed on her hands in her lap, looking mortified. I felt a pang of guilt. This whole situation was my fucking fault. Gibs was right: I was incapable of talking to a girl without causing a bleeding disaster.

"Hey," I said quietly, leaning closer to her. "Are you okay?"

Shannon looked up and gave me a weak smile. "I'm fine. It was more the shock of your ball hitting her than the actual hit. I'm used to it."

Used to what? Being hit by rugby balls?

Seeing my confused expression, she quickly explained. "I have three younger brothers. So, I've taken a few hits or two when we fight over something."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I still had nightmares about that bastard who put his hands on Tara. Shannon was small and delicate, almost like a doll. She barely reached my chest, and it seemed like any hit could easily bruise her.

"They always fight," Shannon muttered, glancing at her mother and older sister, who now seemed united in their mission to verbally destroy Mr. Twomey with their accusations and threats.

"Do they fight a lot?"

"Sometimes," she replied with a shrug. "But I guess that's what happens with mothers and daughters. They tend to butt heads more."

"So Tara is closer to your father?"

Her reaction completely threw me off. I watched her shoulders tense and her back stiffen. She seemed very uncomfortable with the question.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't worry," Shannon said in a clipped tone, her posture still tense. "Tara's always been closer to Dad than any of us."

"Mrs. Lynch," the principal sighed, "Miss Lynch, I'm sure we can talk about this—"

"No! You assured me this kind of thing wouldn't happen at this school, and look what happened on her first day!" She turned to look at the daughter I had hit, her expression crumbled in pain. "Shannon, I don't know what to do with you anymore," the woman sobbed. "I really don't, baby. I thought this place would be different for you."

"Mam, he didn't mean to hurt me. It really was an accident."

"And how many times have you spun me that line? You don't need to cover for him, Shannon. If this boy is giving you a hard time, then say it."

"I'm not," I protested at the same time Tara shouted, "He's not."

"Shut up, you. You've done enough for today," her mother sneered at her. Then, glaring at me, she said, "And you, my daughter can speak for herself."

I frowned. That was no way for her to talk to her daughter, and she didn't have to take out her frustrations on her when this whole situation had been my bleeding fault.