“What the fuck are you saying?” Connie growled, her voice low.

“Just what everyone else is thinking.”

A scattered gasp flowed through the hallway, but then there was silence. I knew she wanted to rile Connie up—I knew she did. I knew that neither she nor anyone else was privy to anything resembling the truth. I stole a quick glance around, aware that all eyes were on us. I wanted to grab that smug little bitch and slam her into the locker, hold her up by the collar and warn her of everything I would do if she ever said such (completely accurate) bullshit ever, ever again—to a single student in that school.

But what would that do, other than fan the flame?

Thoughts of that night in the Old Oak with Aidan Gallagher flashed through my mind. Another dismissed accusation. Another piece of evidence that could be added against us; against Connie. How many people had truly considered that there might be something there between us? How many people in that hallway, gathered in a circle around our lockers, had ever looked at Connie and I and questioned our lingering hands, our secret glances? How many minds had we crossed? How many eyebrows had we raised? On the one hand, it sent chills down my spine, to think of that. But another part of me secretly reveled in the knowledge that other people saw what we fought so hard to hide. It was a guilt-inducing feeling but one I couldn’t quell, all the same. Pride, perhaps? Self-satisfaction? I wanted them to suspect. I wanted them to question. And I hated myself for it.

I snorted. I swallowed the fear gushing up through my throat and stepped forward, eyeing up Saoirse with all the courage I could summon. “You’re funny, O’Doherty.”

“I’m giving you this final warning,” Connie hissed then, leaning over, “to shut up. And unless you wanna march down to Mr. Andrews and explain to him just why you’re about to have a broken nose I suggest you fucking apologize fast.”

“I’m not apologizing. I did nothing wrong.”

“Apologize, you piece of shit, or I swear to God—”

Abby, who thus far had lingered at the periphery of the group, stepped forward. She gulped loudly. “She—she doesn’t have to apologize. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. Look, trials are tomorrow after school. Bring your own hockey stick because we don’t have any spares.”

Connie threw Saoirse one final glower before turning sharply on her heels. I chased after her. “Fucking hell,” I muttered, glancing over my shoulder. Molly and Orla still stood at the lockers, both of them staring in our direction with wide eyes. I threw them a cautious wave.

“She’s always been a massive bitch.”

“What was O’Doherty talking about—the Holy Faith thing?”

Connie huffed. “I gave her shit a while back for targeting Julia McMahon from Holy Faith every time we played them.”

“Oh, and did she—”

“Yes,” she snapped, shooting me a warning look. We reached the front door and she turned to me, glancing at her watch rather impatiently. “I’m coming over. To watch a movie.”