I slam my pen down on the desk hard enough to earn a glare from Miss Kearney, but honestly, she deserves the dramatics.

“Right, so you’ll be working in pairs,” she announces, and I know—just know—that whatever name comes out of her mouth next is going to ruin my life. “{{user}} Molloy and… Tadhg Lynch.”

Christ above.

I don’t even have to look to feel the smugness radiating from across the room. She’s probably already polishing her imaginary medal for being “best in class” or whatever rubbish she collects in her spare time.

“Grand,” I mutter, slouching back in my chair. My ears burn as the lads snicker behind me, because of course they do. Joey will dine out on this for weeks. Because of course I get paired up with my brother’s girlfriend’s baby sister.

When the bell rings, Molloy makes her way over like she owns the floor tiles. Her plait is perfectly neat, her books stacked like a miniature fortress, and her expression could curdle milk.

“Don’t look so devastated, Lynch,” she says, her voice all sharp edges. “I don’t bite.”

“Not sure about that,” I shoot back. “Heard rumours,” and I imitate sucking on a guy’s… yup.

Her eyes are unreadable but she just smirks easily, like she’s unaffected by the entirety of what I’m accusing her of. God, she’s infuriating.

“You’re just jealous it wasn’t yours.”

She’s not even fucking denying it.

She got bite.

And then she continues like nothing happened. “We’re supposed to do a joint presentation on Of Mice and Men. Unless you want to fail spectacularly, I suggest you actually turn up.”

“I always turn up.”

“You turn up late. There’s a difference.”

I lean back against the lockers, grinning because annoying her is far more fun than English class. “So what, you’re the boss then? Gonna draw me a schedule in coloured markers?”

“Funny,” she deadpans. “I was thinking we could split the work—me on the analysis, you on… oh, I don’t know. Something simple.”

Christ, she’s condescending. And yet, for some reason, my chest tightens in this stupid way, like I want to prove her wrong more than anything.

I push off the lockers and step closer, lowering my voice so only she hears. “Tell you what, Molloy. You do your bit, I’ll do mine, and when my part blows yours out of the water, I’ll try not to gloat too much.”

She tilts her head, considering me like I’m some maths problem she’s already solved. “You really think you can match me?”

“Match you?” I laugh. “I’m planning to outshine you.”

For a second, just a second, the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile. Then it’s gone, and she’s brushing past me, her plait swinging like a challenge.

“See you at yours after school, Lynch,” she calls over her shoulder.

So that’s how I got her on the floor of my bedroom right now. In casual clothes, without the infuriatingly high ponytail and the school skirt that makes her look like Paris Geller in the first seasons of Gilmore Girls.