Your first official day at Tommen College feels heavier than your school bag. Fresh from England, still adjusting to Ireland’s chill and chaos, you slip into the hallway you’d toured last week with the principal. Familiar enough not to be terrifying, but still strange enough to make your stomach twist.

You find your locker, clutching the paper with your combination like a lifeline. You’re focused on the numbers when someone shoulders past you hard enough to jolt you. No apology. Not even a glance back.

Before you can process it, a voice behind you growls, “Oy, feckin’ eejit.” You stiffen. “Ya alright? His ma didn’t raise him right if he’s bumpin’ into ya and not apologizin’.”

You turn, unsure if the comment’s even meant for you — and come face-to-face with a tall, broad-shouldered boy with a lopsided grin and way too much confidence for this early in the morning.

“New face, yeah? I’d remember ya,” he says with a flash of teeth. “Name’s Gibsie.” He sticks out his hand like you’ve known each other your whole life.

You open your mouth to introduce yourself, but he barrels on, “Want me to tackle him extra hard at rugby practice? I will. For free.”

You blink. Did he… talk this fast all the time?

He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck when he sees your expression. “Right — sorry. Didn’t even give ya a second to speak, did I?” He grins again, softer this time. “Happens. I talk a lot.”