The O'Connor Girl

1: Mystery Girl

Mystery Girl

The first time I saw her was well into the school year. We had just moved to Oldham, my mum, George, and I, and I hadn’t had much luck with making friends. I spent my afternoons working on fixing the house with mum, doing odd chores and such. The kids in school were nice enough, but I had never been fantastic with other people. In fact, the only people who I had ever become close to opening up to were Marcy and Ben, and that was only because they had been stuck with me since we were toddlers. Now here I was in a new place because of George’s new job and felt pretty alone.

However, this isn’t the story I want to tell you.

I want to tell you the story of the girl I thought I was going to marry.

In every cliché story I have ever read, and I read quite a few to get the hang of this writing thing, the guy always describes the first time he meets his dream girl as looking perfect: Great hair, flawless skin, amazing wardrobe. The description immediately paints her as an angel that every guy would want to date.

I’m not about to do the same.

I exited the bus and made my way to the school yard, dodging two boys who were tossing a backpack between the two of them. It wasn’t until I was reaching for the front doors when I heard a voice call, “Oi, you wankers, give me back my bag! It’s already your fault that I’m late, don’t make me any later!”

Grey joggers, red baseball tshirt, Chucks, and a messy bun. Yes, this is the first impression of the girl I am hopelessly in love with. She had not one ounce of makeup on her face and her sweatpants were a size too big, flattering her shape in no way.

Sexy.

Yet, she captured my attention. After living in Leeds my entire life, I knew what the average teenage girl cared about: Appearance and reputation. Up until this point, I don’t think I had ever seen a girl without makeup on besides my mum. It was fascinating, that there was a girl who had come to school without a face caked of it. I was nearly in shock.

I watched Mystery Girl wrestle with the two boys who had her bag, slapping one upside the head in order to retrieve it. Once the bag was securely under her arm, she waggled a finger at them. To someone not educated it would have seemed as if a mother was scolding her children. I stifled a laugh with my fist as I entered the building.

The rest of my dreary Thursday went on as normal. Attend class. Don’t talk to people. Attend class. Eat lunch alone. Attend class. Leave as quickly as possible to avoid people.

But a certain dark haired girl kept invading my brain. If it weren’t for the fact that she was so captivating I would have found the whole situation annoying. I kept on seeing her nose wrinkle up in irritation over the two boys, how a small patch of skin on both cheeks was a subtle red, either from frustration or the cold. More often than not I kept on thinking about how blue her eyes had been. They were eyes that could shine like a July sky or freeze you out like a January blizzard. I wanted to look at them more.

I went home and made myself a snack. Mum had gone to George’s office to bring him some papers he had left on his desk. She’d dusted some powder on her cheeks and asked me if she looked okay. The two had only been married for a short time, so I understood that she still felt the need to impress him somewhat. Bringing my mind to wander to the makeup-less Mystery Girl.

My dad had passed when I was young. Colon cancer. It was around then that I stopped talking to people. At the ripe age of five I’d lost my best friend and I was in no hurry to replace him. When Mum had started dating George two years ago I had gone slightly rebellious, having strange fits and locking myself in my room to listen to loud music I knew she hated. It wasn’t until George had cornered me one night and explained that he didn’t want to take my dad’s place that I finally went back to normal, quiet Aden. Now they were married and I tolerated George. Even though he had disrupted my life from busy Leeds.

A glance at the clock informed me it was nearing dark and that I should probably start on my school work. I briefly wondered if Mystery Girl was doing her work too. Was she curled up on her bed, typing away at calculations to find the answers of Algebra? Was she hunched over a desk writing an essay about some topic we wouldn’t remember in five years? Or was she the kind of girl who didn’t care about her schooling and was out with friends, having a beer and dancing with friends? Was she even of legal drinking age? There was so little I knew about this girl who was clouding my brain with that simple image of her: Sweatpants and a spot of acne in the curve of her cheek. Yet I didn’t want my brain filled with anything else.

The next few weeks of school went by in a dream. My classes had the least of my attention, and Mystery Girl had everything. I had yet to see her again, but that didn’t stop her from overtaking my thoughts. My free time was spent wondering what she did in her free time. From her boyish appearance that day I assumed that she probably did more athletic activities. Perhaps she played field hockey, or played football in her spare time. She seemed that she wouldn’t be the kind of girl to spend her free hours at the shops practicing the perfect pucker. But as I didn’t actually know her, I could only assume these things of Mystery Girl.

I tried to find glimpses of her, but she seemed to have disappeared. We didn’t have any classes together, and she was not in the schoolyard when the bus dropped me off at the stop beside the school. If it weren’t for the crisp image of her hidden in my mind, I definitely would have assumed she was the best dream I ever had.

I continued not to talk to anyone. Marcy and Ben would call me occasionally and ask how the new school was going. They knew how painfully shy I was, and with my head wrapped around a girl who had no idea I existed, the idea of talking to other humans was completely nonexistent. They encouraged me to try to make one friend, to go out of my way to at least have an acquaintance. I would be spending the next year and a half here before university, and it would surely get lonely with no company. I tried speaking to a boy in my economics class, but after he explained that he already had a partner, he shooed me away. Another attempt in French class proved that girls who seem nice in French could be quite rude in English. No one was responding to my attempts and it seemed my friends were right. My time would be lonely with no friends.

Author's Note: Welcome to The O'Connor Girl! This is personally one of my favourite projects because Aden is waaaaaaaaaay too adorable and sweet. If you're not in love with him by the end of this book you're certified crazy. Let me know what you think of this new story and the next chapter will be out soon! - M xx