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Saoirse

 

 

 

Stupid girl.

I shouldn’t have revealed so much at breakfast. What was the point? Even if Diarmuid knew I was smart, what did it matter?

When Diarmuid dropped me off, he told me that he’d be there after school to pick me up. I merely hitched my backpack over my shoulder and walked away, trying not to let hope rise inside me.

For some reason, I couldn’t wait until school finished. I wanted to see him again, I realised. He was the first person who ever treated me like an adult. Like my thoughts and words mattered. Like I mattered.

Stupid girl. I should know better than to put my faith in him. I couldn’t rely on anyone. Even my father, who was supposed to be here for me forever, let me down.

“Hey, Saoirse.” A familiar male voice broke me out of my thoughts. “Wait up.”

Kian ran up to me, his school shirt untucked, the tie around his neck askew and his fancy, probably stolen, Nikkei backpack hanging off one shoulder.

I pressed my lips together, not stopping for him, not even slowing down a little bit. I wanted to tell him to fuck off for leaving me behind and getting me into trouble, but too much of me wanted him to like me still.

He fell into step with me as we walked across the yard towards the front door of the school.

“What’s the craic?” he asked.

I shrugged with one shoulder. “Fine, yeah.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d see you here today.”

“Why? You thought I’d be sitting in some cell?” Try as I might, I couldn’t help the bitterness that infused my voice.

“Come on, Saoirse. Don’t be mad.”

I stopped and whirled towards him, making him halt too. I ignored the flow of students who had to break around us like water around rock, staring at us as they passed.

I leaned in, gripping the straps of my backpack so that my nails cut into the material. “You left me there.”

Remorse broke across his face. “I thought you were right behind me.”

“I thought you were my friend.”

“I am.”

I let out a snort and continued to walk, this time my pace like a march. He jogged up in front of me, opening the front door for me and holding it. I glared at him as I stomped past.

Inside the school building, he continued to follow me down the wide corridor as I walked towards my homeroom on the ground floor, ignoring the guys and girls who called out hello as he passed.

“I’m sorry, Saoirse, really I am.”

“Whatever.”

He grabbed my arm firmly, swinging me to face him. “Forgive me, please. I couldn’t stand it if you stayed mad at me.”

He gave me his best puppy-dog look. A look that I’m sure had most girls melting into a puddle at his feet. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t help but be affected a little. Kian was cute, popular, well liked and a senior to boot.

I let out a sigh. “Fine, I forgive you. Maybe.”

A grin broke out across his face. “You’re a doll, Saoirse.”

I walked down the corridor and he stayed by my side. I supposed this meant he was walking me to class. I could see the looks of the girls in the corridor as I passed, the envy and jealousy on their faces. Probably a question of why Kian was even giving me the time of day.

I ignored them. I didn’t care much for being popular or being seen. Just getting through the school day without event was enough for me. The only reason I was even talking to Kian was because he was genuinely a nice guy. Well, apart from leaving me behind with a joint that the Garda thought was mine.

“So,” he said in a low voice, “did you…did you say anything to them? The Garda? About me and Dazza, I mean.”

Un-fucking-believable.

I stopped right in front of my homeroom door. “Is that why you’re being so nice to me? You want to know what I said? Whether I spilled my guts about you?”

“Come on, Saoirse. You know that’s not true.” Kian gave me a pained look.

I almost believed him. “Whatever. I gotta get into class.”

Kian grabbed my arm gently before I could turn away. He stepped up to me and leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. “See you later?”

“Fine, see you later.” I remembered that Diarmuid was picking me up after school. Perhaps he would want to hang out after school like we did this morning at breakfast? A little thrill went through my body before I shoved it away and told myself—again—not to be so stupid. “But not tonight.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.” He backed up, his hands stuffed in his pockets, giving me his famous cocky grin so that I couldn’t help the smile that broke through on my face.

The first three lessons of the day went uneventfully. Everything changed when I entered math class. I sat in my regular seat in the far left near the back.

Mr Fletcher was our teacher, a weaselly man with thinning greasy hair that he combed over. Thick black glasses sat on his hooked nose.

Everything he taught us sank in easily to me. Like those algebra equations that he’d written up on the board in chalk.

He pointed to the sums. “Pop quiz today. I want to make sure that you studied during your holidays.”

Everyone in the class groaned.

“And it counts towards your final mark.”

Groans turned into cries of protest before Mr Fletcher silenced them with a glare.

I did what he instructed silently, ignoring the low chatter of the students around me, asking each other for help, trying to look at each other’s work. I always felt separate from them. Always. And not just because I never had to ask for help.

Because I was the one with the backpack falling apart. Who never had spare pens. Who had to write everything crammed into tiny writing on both sides of each note page because I didn’t know when I could afford a new notebook.

At the end of our allotted time, Mr Fletcher wrote the answers up on the board so we could mark up our pages. I glanced at his answers and looked down at mine. Frowning. Focusing on question number three.

I knew better than to draw attention to myself. I always made sure to make deliberate mistakes in any assignment or test. There was no point in being noticed. No point in drawing attention. I didn’t want to be seen.

Until today.

Perhaps I felt extra defiant today because I had been arrested for something I didn’t do. Perhaps it was Diarmuid’s words from breakfast that kept clanging around my head.

“Saoirse, you’re really smart. You could go to a good university, get a degree, get a good job, Jesus, you could become a doctor if you bloody wanted to.”

I stuck up my hand.

“Ms Quinn,” Mr Fletcher said, “have you found your voice today?”

I shuffled in my seat, beginning to think that this was a bad idea. “Question three, sir.”

“What do you want to know about question three?”

By this stage the whole class was staring at me. I was known as the quiet loner. The one who came into school in ratty secondhand clothes that never fit. I never spoke up in class. Until today. Today, I was invincible.

“Your answer to question three is wrong…sir.”

The class broke out into whispers. Mr Fletcher’s face turned purple and his eyes bugged out of his head. I knew then I’d done the wrong thing.

Stupid, stupid girl.

“Excuse me?” Mr Fletcher spluttered.

I hunched my shoulders around my chest trying to make myself disappear. It didn’t work. Everybody was still staring at me, eyes wide, mouths open. How dare I question our teacher.

“Well, sir,” I stammered, trying to dig myself out of the hole I had found myself in, “if you look at the sum again you’ll see that you forgot to carry the one and so the answer shouldn’t be 304, it should be 314.”

Mr Fletcher stormed towards my desk. “I am not wrong.”

I winced. “If you just look at your sum again—”

“I am not wrong,” he repeated again, slamming his palms on my desk, towering over me. “How dare you suggest it.”

“But sir—”

“Detention this lunchtime for you, Miss Quinn, for being such an obstinate, ignorant a little girl. And you fail today’s assignment.” He pulled out a red pen and leaned over my desk, marking my entire page with a big fat F. I caught the look of glee on his face before he spun around to walk back to the head of the class.

My cheeks burned, the unfairness of it swelling up inside me. I knew I was right. I was right. He had no right to give me detention or to fail my assignment. Just because he couldn’t deal with the fact that he was wrong and shown wrong by a thirteen-year-old girl. Fuck this. Fuck him. I leapt to my feet, almost knocking my chair back behind me.

“That’s not fair,” I yelled.

Mr Fletcher spun and stared at me with a calm, hateful look, his eyes running across my entire body. “I suggest you learn your place, Miss Quinn. You’ll never amount to anything or be anyone. You’ll probably end up like your father, in jail. If you’re lucky, you’ll just end up like your whore mother.”

Tears pricked the back of my eyes and my jaw ached from gritting my teeth together. I hated Mr Fletcher. I hated the words that he said. But they buried deep inside me into that soft, tearable place. To that place that knew that he was right.

“Now sit down and shut up, before I add another week to your detention.”

Fight, a voice inside me said, sounding eerily like Diarmuid’s. He is wrong. You’re right.

Sit down, another voice said inside me. Shut up. Don’t be seen. Don’t be heard. Don’t be anyone.

I can be somebody. I have potential. Diarmuid thinks so.

The other voice inside of me started to laugh, joining in with the giggles that could be heard around the classroom.

My heart sank. Why did I ever think it was a good idea to put my hand up? Why did I think it was a good idea to try to be somebody?

Resigned, I bowed my head. And sank silently into my seat.