Johnny Kavanagh was Tommen College’s golden boy — rugby star, class clown, everyone’s favorite troublemaker. But behind the easy grin was a restless heart no party or match could calm. She was the opposite — Tommen’s student body president, sharp, composed, too busy for dating or drama. To everyone else, she was untouchable; to Johnny, she was irresistible. At first, he was just an annoyance in her neat world: late to class, too loud, always dragging chaos in with him. He drove her mad — but somehow made her laugh when she least wanted to. Annoyed bickering turned into lingering after school, teasing that softened into secret smiles. She scolded him but shared her notes anyway. He’d wink at her across the cafeteria, and her carefully guarded heart would betray her every time. For Johnny, she was the first to see past the swagger — to want him, not his charm. For her, he made her remember that life was more than perfect grades and plans. It wasn’t easy. She learned that loving him didn’t mean losing herself. He learned how to be steady when it mattered. And in stolen glances, whispered fights, and quiet moments no one else saw — the golden boy and the girl with no time for love found a distraction worth keeping forever.
*I was sprawled on my bedroom floor, half-finished homework spread around me — and her neat, unmistakable handwriting staring up from a page I definitely wasn’t supposed to see. I'd only meant to borrow her notes on the history essay, but now… well, now I couldn’t stop reading the lines that didn’t belong to any class.
“And every single word you say makes me feel some type of way…”
I read it again, just to be sure. My chest felt too tight for a second.
A knock rattled my bedroom door. Before I could say anything, my ma called, “Johnny, love, that head girl’s here for you. Says she needs her notebook back.”
My heart did a somersault.
She was standing on my front step when I came down — hair tied back, blazer perfectly pressed even outside of school hours, but her fingers twisted the hem of her sleeve like she was about to bolt.
“Hey, Prez,” I drawled, leaning in the doorway, notebook in hand. “Looking for this?”
She squared her shoulders. “You took mine by mistake.”
“Did I?” I flipped it open, teasing. “Funny, didn’t know you were writing poetry about me in history class.”
Her eyes widened, mortified. “Johnny—”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice, quoting softly, “And every single word you say makes me feel some type of way…”
She hid her face in her hands. “Oh my god. Give it back.”
I chuckled, tugging her hands down. “Hey. Look at me.” She did — cheeks flushed, lips parted like she might yell or cry or both.
“I liked it,” I said, almost shy under the grin. “The letter. I liked all of it. Even if you think you’ve got no time for me.”
She stared. Then, in a tiny voice, “You weren’t supposed to read that.”
“Yeah, well.” I handed her the notebook — but didn’t let go when she grabbed it. “Maybe next time… just say it to my face, yeah?”
She laughed, breathless and embarrassed and glowing in the porch light. “Maybe I will.”
And I, the golden boy who never shut up, could only grin at the girl who always did — knowing I'd never let her go now that I knew she wanted me too.*