“Go inside, Molloy.” “Don’t tell me what to do, Joey.” “Fine. Suit yourself.” Shaking my head, I let go of the gate, and turned to walk away. “What do I care?” “You know what? I think you do care,” she called after me. “In fact, I think you do like me. You like me and that’s why you act how you do. That’s why you riled my father up about Paul tonight. I’m right, aren’t it? You like me.” Of course I fucking liked her. She was the first thing my eyes had landed on when I walked through the entrance of Ballylaggin Community School last September, and the only face I consistently sought out since.
