On the last Friday in February, Tommen college were playing rival school Kilbeg Prep on the school grounds for the School Boys Shield. Because it was one of the few home games of the season left, and a prestigious cup to win, all classes were invited to attend to support their team.

According to Claire, the School Boys Shield that was up for grabs today was nowhere near as important or lucrative as the league cup the team would be playing for next month in Donegal, but it was still pretty silverware and Tommen loved silverware. It didn't take you very long at Tommen to realize that what your father had said about the school being a glorified rugby prep school was true. It was plain to see that everything revolved around the sport.

Wrapped up in your winter coat and a woolly hat, you sat between lizzie and Claire —who was draped in your school's colors—grateful to have snagged a seat in the stands. Hundreds of other students had to stand along either side of the pitch. Not that any of them seemed to care about standing in the pouring rain.

They were too busy screaming and cheering on your school's seniors rugby team. Ten minutes into the game, and you witnessed first hand what all the fuss about Johnny Kavanagh was about.

He had some crazy pace and the way he could sprint, it was insane. He was unbelievable to watch. You could see the wheels of his brain in motion as he scoped out every play, pass, and attack with expert precision. He was an intelligent player with a keen eye for intercepting play and self-discipline that seemed to rival a saint. It didn't seem to matter how much he was knocked around or targeted by the opposition— and he was clearly targeted—he managed to keep his cool.

One of his eyes was turning purple and swelling at a rapid pace, and he had a steady trail of blood flowing down his eyebrow, but it didn’t seem to faze him one bit. Johnny’s attention wasn’t on the medic or the referee shouting commands in his ear. He was too busy looking at you.