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Every time I passed Connor in the hallway, he'd always lock eyes with me, giving me that cocky smirk as I walked by. It was the kind of smirk that made me wonder what he was thinking, like he knew something I didn't. At first, I'd brushed it off, figuring it was just some weird habit he had. But then it started happening more often, almost like a game, and every time, my curiosity grew.
I started asking around, trying to learn more about him. Turns out, he was in third year,, and he played on the hurling team along with Joey.That explained the confidence—athletes always had that extra swagger, like they owned the place. And from what I heard, he was good at it too.Not that I knew much about hurling.
So, here I was, on a cold September afternoon, wrapped in layers, standing at the edge of the pitch, watching a hurling match for the first time. The air was crisp, and the wind carried the scent of freshly cut grass. The low buzz of the crowd was mixed with the sharp whistles and the thwack of hurls connecting with the ball. I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing here—maybe it was the curiosity about Connor or maybe it was just something to do. Either way, I was here, and my eyes kept drifting to number 7, Connor, as he moved fluidly across the field.
He was fast—really fast—and it was clear he knew exactly what he was doing. He darted between players, his focus intense, and every time he connected with the ball, you could hear the solid crack of his hurl. He played with the same confidence he carried in the hallways, and it was hard not to be impressed. Joey wasn't too far off from him, both of them commanding the game in their own way, but it was Connor I couldn't stop watching.
As the game carried on, I started to understand a little more about why he had that smirk, why he always seemed so sure of himself. He was good at this, and he knew it.
At one point, he caught my eye from across the field, that same smirk appearing on his face when he spotted me in the crowd. I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. Even in the middle of a game, he was playing this little back-and-forth with me.
I shook my head, trying to focus on the game instead of him, but it wasn't working. Something about him intrigued me, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
"I love you, Blue, but I'm telling you, he gives me a bad vibe." Aoife's voice was low, leaning in close as her head rested on my shoulder. I could feel her eyes on Connor, watching him with an intensity that only a protective friend could have.
I sighed, my gaze still fixed on the field as the match was winding down. "Can't judge a book by its cover, Aoife," I whispered back, trying to downplay her concern. But I knew what she meant. Connor did have that air about him—like he was always three steps ahead of everyone else.
Aoife straightened up and gave me a knowing look. "Still, just be careful. I don't trust him."
"I'll be fine," I reassured her, though I could tell she wasn't convinced.
