There were worse things to be known for. It was just lonely sometimes.

The first week of Third Year, a new boy arrived. He was loud and full of jagged edges. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and a Kavanagh family connection that made him instantly visible. But it was his anger that made him interesting.

Tadhg Lynch.

He slouched in the back of the classroom with his tie askew and his shirt untucked, like a dare. He argued with Mr. Callahan during roll call. He refused to read a passage aloud. He scribbled on his exam paper and handed it in after eleven minutes.

Grace watched him from two rows ahead. She wondered how someone could be so unbothered about a failing grade. She didn't say anything. She just felt a small, curious ache in her chest. Like a bruise she didn't remember getting.

A month passed. October now, rain lashing against the windows. After the fourth week of detention slips, the principal was tired of Tadhg Lynch. He was failing English and History and barely scraping by in Maths. And he was the newest member of the rugby team.

He couldn't stay on the pitch without good grades.

So at 3:35 on a Tuesday afternoon, Grace found herself standing outside Mr. Brennan's office with a folder clutched against her chest. He had asked to see her. Not about her own marks—they were impeccable, of course. About Tadhg.

When she stepped through the door, Tadhg was already sitting in the chair opposite the desk. His jaw was tight. His knuckles were white around the armrest. He didn't look up.

Mr. Brennan gestured to the empty seat beside him. The other one, furthest from the window.