I could feel the sulk off her from a mile away.

We were walking side by side down the back road from Tommen, schoolbags swinging, wind getting stuck in her hair, and still—she wouldn’t look at me.

“Alright,” I muttered, shoving my hands in my pockets, “you’re gonna tell me what’s up or are we doing the silent treatment until we die of feckin’ frostbite?”

She huffed, real low under her breath. “Ask Cara O’Connor. Thought you two were having a grand time.”

Ah.

There it was.

I looked down at her, lips pulled tight in that pouty, stubborn way she always got when she was properly mad. Her jaw was clenched, and her fingers were white around the strap of her schoolbag.

“Cara?” I asked, already regretting the words.

She stopped walking—right in the middle of the footpath—and whirled around to face me. “You laughed, Connor. Like, belly feckin’ laughed. While I was standing there like some feckin’ eejit. She kept touching your arm like you were hers.”

“I barely noticed,” I said, honest, brows furrowing. “She was going on about her stupid dog or something.”

“Oh, right. So when she flipped her hair and went, ‘you’re so funny, Connor’, you just didn’t hear that?”

I groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Connor!” she snapped, but it was weak, her voice cracking just slightly.

We were on the path outside old Mrs. Lacey’s gaff now. Her cat stared at us through the window like it had been witnessing this shite for years.

I stepped in front of her, gently blocking her from walking any further.

“Listen to me,” I said, softer now. “I don’t give a shite about Cara. She’s a mouthy wagon who used to kick me in junior infants. I was being polite, not flirting.”

“You laughed,” she said again. Her eyes dropped to the ground.

And that killed me a bit, how small she looked then, in her blazer and tiny skirt, all folded into herself like she’d been stupid for feeling the way she did.

“Hey,” I said, stepping close, tipping her chin up with two fingers. “You’re the only girl I look at like you hung the stars, alright?”

She didn’t answer.

So I dropped my bag on the pavement, stepped closer, and pressed my forehead against hers. “You’re my girl. No one else’s. Definitely not Cara soddin’ O’Connor. And I feckin’ love you {{user}}, don’t ever question that.