I was walking by the chemistry labs on my way to lunch the next time I saw Dylan. He had a white coat on and was huddled over what appeared to be an experiment. The teacher was focused on marking papers and eating lunch at the front of the classroom.

Dylan was a year ahead of me, studying for his Leaving Certificate. I wondered if he planned to go to college when he finished or if he’d just get a job. I mean, college must’ve been on his radar, especially if he was spending his lunch hour working on an experiment instead of eating in the cafeteria with his friends.

There were two other students in the classroom, but both were focused on their own work. Higher-level chemistry wasn’t a subject a lot of kids took at this school. After third year, most moved down a level, or dropped out completely, so there were typically only five or six students total in those classes.

I’d chosen biology as my science subject, because I didn’t have a head for chemistry or physics, but I was willing to bet Dylan was one of those rare breeds who took all three. He struck me as the type.

While I studied him he glanced up, like he sensed my attention. I jumped and his brows furrowed, but I saw him start to smile when I looked away and hurried down the corridor, embarrassed he caught me watching.

Sam had choir practice on Mondays, so I headed home on my own at the end of the day. I was almost to the school gates when a voice called, “Evelyn, hold up.”

Dylan jogged casually towards me, backpack over one shoulder. It looked heavy, stuffed full of books.

He was a tiny bit out of breath when he caught up to me, although that was probably more from the weight of the bag than the run. “Can I walk with you?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but there was a delay to my words. Kind of like on TV when a newsreader was speaking to a field reporter via satellite. I was just a little stunned that this older, attractive, smart and interesting boy had run up to me. Was seemingly going out of his way to be friends with me. It wasn’t something that happened often. Or ever. I wasn’t one of the cool, pretty girls at school who boys chased after. Don’t get me wrong, like Yvonne and my mam, I was pretty, but most people considered me too flighty, too much in my own little world to bother pursuing.

Hence, at seventeen, I was still a virgin.

And yes, I know that wasn’t exactly old-maid status, but at St Mary’s Villas most girls fell pregnant and dropped out of school by sixteen. In fact, my mam was fifteen when she had me.

I looked at Dylan, finally managing to get some words out. Well, one word. “Sure.”

“I saw you earlier,” he said, and my previous embarrassment rushed back.

“Right, yeah, I was, uh, on my way to lunch. You looked dead focused. I don’t think I’ve ever been that concentrated at school. I’m too easily distracted.”

“I was working on an experiment extracting iodine from seaweed. Was I pulling a weird face or something?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Nah, your eyebrows were just all furrowed. How did your experiment go?”

“Good. Mr Tully allows some of us work through our lunch hour when he eats at his desk. That way he can keep an eye on us in case we set ourselves on fire.”

“Has that actually happened?” I asked with a nervous laugh.

Dylan shook his head. “Not as far as I know, but I needed to heat the seaweed to extract the iodine, and Mr Tully would’ve chewed me out if I did it without supervision.”

“But he wasn’t watching you at all. He was just sitting there. If you made a mistake you could’ve lost your eyebrows,” I replied, teasing.

Dylan laughed. “At least I could start a new fashion trend.”

“Nope, it’d never take. Everyone looks better with eyebrows.”

“Coming from the girl who barely has any,” Dylan shot back with a grin.

“Hey. I have eyebrows. They’re just very blonde.”

“Well, no one would ever suspect you dye your hair.”

“Yep. When I was little it was white. I looked like one of those Children of the Corn.”

Dylan hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and studied my profile for a second. “I don’t believe you. You smile too much to ever be a creepy corn child.”

I self-consciously tucked some hair behind my ear. “I do?”

He nodded. “It’s the reason I knocked on your door the other day. I thought, someone who smiles as much as you do has to be a Good Samaritan.”

“Not necessarily. It could be a sinister smile. I could be secretly plotting everyone’s demise behind it.”

“Ah well, fortunately for me, I can tell the difference.”

We walked in silence for a minute, and my mind raced, thinking of him noticing me before I ever really noticed him. Butterflies. I had butterflies again.

I mean, he must’ve noticed me a lot if he knew I smiled all the time. And knew where I lived. Funnily enough, I wasn’t at all creeped out by that. Instead, a thrilling rush went through me. Dylan was too warm, felt too authentic to ever be a creep. I wanted to say something to him, prolong the conversation. I scrambled for an appropriate subject and the first thing that entered my head was his iodine experiment.

“I used to always think all those science experiments were so impractical, but maybe not. Remember after 9/11, when the government sent a box of iodine tablets to every house in the country in case Sellafield got bombed? If that ever happened, you could earn a mint manufacturing iodine, using the same method.”

I half expected Dylan to be like, what are you rambling about? But he didn’t miss a beat when he chuckled. “You could be on to something. My dad said they didn’t send enough for everyone in the household, and the tablets were almost out of date.”

“What a joke. The nuclear power plant would be attacked, and we’d all be dead from radiation.”

“Yep. And the east coast would be the worst hit if that ever happened. So, you and I would be pretty much screwed.”

“Better live life to the fullest while we can then,” I said, jokingly.

“It wouldn’t even need to be a terrorist attack, you know,” Dylan continued, like he was suddenly on a roll. “There’s already a huge nuclear dump just a hundred and sixty kilometres off our coast. If it ever leaks, and there’s a good chance it will, we’ll all be living in a Chernobyl-like situation.”

“Wow, you really know how to cheer a girl up,” I replied, though I was impressed he knew all this. Plus, I had been the one to bring up the topic.

His mouth dipped at the edges as he scratched his jaw. “Sorry. I have a problem with fixating on negative stuff sometimes. My dad is the exact same. You wouldn’t want to live at our house. Like Dad says, the sky is always falling for the O’Dea men.”

“I’m sure you’re not that bad.”

“Want to bet? Just wait until I get started on global warming and how it’s going to set civilised society back to barbarian times. You’ll be slitting your wrists within the hour,” he quipped, but there was an odd note of truth to his words.

“Well, Amy and Conor haven’t resorted to suicide, and they’re your best friends,” I countered.

“That’s because Amy’s a goth. She loves doom and gloom. And Conor’s known me so long he’s desensitised. Why do you think I can’t get a girlfriend? I depress every girl I meet.”

I found that very hard to believe. Besides, it wasn’t true. I heard the talk around the school. I knew there were plenty of girls who fancied Dylan, but thought he was too preoccupied and aloof. I was pretty sure most people didn’t know how to broach a conversation with him. And when they did they were probably intimidated by his imposing form and intelligence and gave up.

“I don’t find you depressing. I find you interesting. Plus, you don’t fall asleep when I talk about my allotment, so you get points for that.”

He nudged me with his shoulder. “Want to be my girlfriend then?”

My heart skipped a beat, but I didn’t let it show. “Funny,” I deadpanned, while on the inside I hesitated. Was he being serious? Nah, he had to be kidding.

Despite the quiet between us, it didn’t feel uncomfortable, which surprised me. We ascended the steps when we reached the Villas. Since Dylan lived a few floors below me, we arrived at his flat first.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you at school,” I said, glancing at him. “Unless you want to invite me in?”

It wasn’t like me to be so forward, but I didn’t want to say goodbye yet. Hanging out with him and talking felt oddly exhilarating. We weren’t doing anything exciting, just walking home from school, but still, my pulse sped like we were riding a rollercoaster.

Weird.

“My dad’s inside,” he said, a bit uncomfortable. “So, it’s probably best if you don’t.”

I furrowed my brow. “Why?”

Dylan rubbed his neck, obviously torn. “He’s, um, kind of eccentric.”

“I like eccentric,” I replied, though I thought Dylan was exaggerating. I’d seen his dad around from time to time, and he looked pretty normal to me. Nothing weird or unusual about him.

The tiniest hint of resignation claimed his features. “Okay well, let’s see if you still feel that way after you meet him.”

He slotted his key in the door and stepped inside. I followed, finding a neat but very overstuffed living space. Shelves packed with books lined the walls, newspapers and magazines were stacked high on the coffee table, and there was a tower of plastic storage boxes full of miscellaneous stuff beside the couch. Dylan’s dad sat on an armchair by the TV watching one of the news stations.

“Have you seen the latest story about MRSA?” he asked when he heard us come in, not turning his attention from the screen. “They’re now saying it can be spread from ordinary objects in the hospital, like folders and pens. The organism can stick to things and live for up to eighty days. I think I might need to cancel my check-up next week. With my compromised immunity, I’d die if I caught the bug.”

“You don’t have a compromised immunity, Dad. You’re just run-down because you don’t sleep enough,” Dylan replied, setting his bag on the floor as he walked over to open the window.

“I had a throbbing pain in my neck this morning and my glands are swollen. It could be leukaemia,” his Dad went on, totally serious.

Dylan took a second to rub his temple then knelt in front of his dad and reached out to feel both sides of his neck and under his jaw. “Your glands feel fine to me. Like I said, you just need to sleep. And you’re not cancelling your check-up. You need your prescription refilled anyway.”

His dad tutted and turned his head, finally seeing me. His cheeks reddened, and he appeared embarrassed he didn’t notice me sooner. “Dylan, you should’ve told me you brought a friend over. Hello, I’m Tommy,” he said, standing and coming to shake my hand. I was surprised by the welcome.

“I’m Evelyn. I live upstairs,” I replied and shook with him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you, Evelyn. I recognise your face. Aren’t you Yvonne Flynn’s young one?”

“No, I’m her niece. Lily’s my mam, but I live with Yvonne now.”

“Right, yes,” said Tommy, smacking his forehead like he should’ve known. “Well, come in and sit down. Dylan rarely brings friends over. The only ones I ever see are Conor and that Amy girl.”

I sat on the small couch, sliding my bag off my shoulder and onto the floor. Dylan’s dad studied me a moment, like something just occurred to him.

“My goodness, do you know what? I think I was the one who drove your mother to the hospital when she went into labour,” he exclaimed. “I used to drive a taxi, but I gave that up a few years back. It’s too dangerous nowadays. Any kind of nutcase could climb into the back of my car.”

“There’s always been nutcases, Dad. It’s hardly a new thing,” Dylan said, his posture tense, eyes flicking between his dad and me like he was waiting for judgement. I, on the other hand, was far too preoccupied with what he said about my mam. “You drove my mam to the hospital?”

I knew very little about my birth, mostly because Mam didn’t talk about stuff like that. All I knew was she got pregnant from having sex with some random boy when she’d barely turned fifteen.

“Yes, your aunt and granny weren’t around, so she called for a taxi to take her to the Rotunda. Poor thing was terrified. I called my Maureen, God rest her soul, to come and help calm her down on the drive. She left Dylan at the neighbour’s and stayed with your mam throughout her labour, only leaving when your aunt and granny showed up.”

Wow. I couldn’t believe I’d never heard this before. Maureen, Dylan’s mam, must’ve been a nice lady to stay and comfort a young pregnant teen while she gave birth. Was that why I felt a connection to Dylan? Or was it simply because he was so different from other boys, an enigma?

“I never knew that,” I breathed, emotion fisting my heart. I’d always been so dismissive of Mam and her selfish decision to leave, but maybe I needed to think of things from her perspective. She was two years younger than I am now when she had me. With no job or education, no prospects, she must’ve been terrified. I made a mental note to ask Gran some more about the pregnancy the next time I visited her at the home.

“Well, some people don’t like to talk about these things,” said Tommy, a touch of sympathy to his voice. “When Maureen went into labour with Dylan, I wanted to vomit I was so nervous. Childbirth can be a terrifying thing. In my mother’s day, most women suffered several miscarriages, or even stillbirths over the course of their lives. It was just the way of things, what with there being such poor healthcare and a lack of contraception. We can thank the Catholic church for that,” he added with a hint of derision.

“Dad,” Dylan said, a warning. I thought he might be worried I’d be offended.

“What? I’m sure Evelyn is aware of the church’s history in this country, swiping babies from young mothers and selling them off to the highest bidder. It was disgraceful the way some of those nuns treated the women in their care. I mean, they were more or less imprisoned for the simple act of having a child out of wedlock. Lily Flynn was lucky she didn’t fall into the same trap with young Evelyn here. The Magdalene laundries were still active up until the mid-nineties, you know.”

“Dad, please,” Dylan gritted, but Tommy just kept going.

“And do you know why they were named after Mary Magdalene?” he scoffed. “Because she was a reformed prostitute. As though falling pregnant at a young age is akin to prostitution. And of course, that’s what they were doing, reforming these girls, not stealing their babies to make a quick buck and getting free labour in the process.”

“Okay,” Dylan announced, standing abruptly. He came and took my hand in his, and the familiar touch surprised me. “We’re going to my room to do homework.” I grabbed my bag before I was dragged away.

“Right, sure, I’ll make dinner in a bit,” his dad replied, like there was nothing wrong. And there wasn’t. However, it did make me feel vaguely ill to think of some alternate reality where my mam was sent to a workhouse. I let Dylan lead me down the hallway.

His room was tiny, and like the rest of the flat there was very little space. He had a single bed against the wall, a small window, some shelves, and a wardrobe. “I like your dad,” I said as I sat down on his bed. It felt weirdly intimate, but there was literally nowhere else to sit. “Really, I do. You don’t need to worry about him offending me or anything.”

Dylan exhaled a breath as he grabbed some textbooks from the shelf. “You don’t have to pretend. I know he’s not exactly normal.”

“Who’s normal? We all have little eccentricities in the privacy of our own homes.”

“Right, I’m sure you’re such a freak,” Dylan huffed grumpily. I couldn’t believe he was being so crabby about this. We all got a little embarrassed by our family members every once in a while. It was a part of life.

“I was just saying, there’s no need to be annoyed at your dad. He’s interesting.”

“Glad you enjoyed the freak show,” he replied scornfully.

“Dylan,” I said, my voice firm.

He glanced at me, face hard. “What?”

“You’re being an arsehole, so I think I’m going to leave now.”

I stood and grabbed my bag, throwing it over my shoulder. Dylan’s expression hardened further, a conflict in his gaze. However, the stubborn set of his jaw told me he wasn’t someone who backed down in arguments very often.

“Go then,” he grumped and focused his attention on flicking through his textbook.

I narrowed my gaze, turned on my heel and went. Even though he’d been feigning preoccupation with the book, I sensed him watch me leave. Not long ago, I hadn’t really known who Dylan O’Dea was. In my flat, he’d been careful, strong, protective. In the stairwell, he’d been engaging, gallant, and astute. Now? Now he was being childish and difficult. Which was kinda funny, really. He rarely brought people over, yet he brought me inside his home only to turn around and act like an arse.

All I knew was, if he wanted to continue being friends, he better be the one to apologise.