I sat in English, tapping my pen agitatedly against my desk and keeping one eye on the clock above Mr Leonard’s head. We were studying Macbeth, and clean props to the Bard or whatever, but it was proper boring. I glanced out the window, where I could see the PE class running laps in the GAA pitch. I could make out the outline of Conor Archibald jogging beside his best friend and bandmate Sally Evans. Their band, Name Withheld, was kind of a big deal lately, getting signed and starting to work on recording a single. Even now I could hear kids whispering all around me about the upcoming gig this weekend, and several girls were gushing about how hot they thought Conor, the lead singer, was.
I inwardly rolled my eyes. I can’t stand Conor Archibald. He’s obnoxious and self-centred, and that was before he caught a break in the music world. Now, he’s downright insufferable.
Resisting the urge to make a face in response to my own inner thoughts, I dragged my gaze away from the sunny outdoors and back to the clock. Five minutes to go. Come on. My tapping pen was increasing speed as I became more impatient. Josh smirked at me and reached out to put his hand over my pen.
‘You’ll break it,’ he muttered so Mr Leonard wouldn’t hear. ‘Plus it’s a sign of sexual frustration.’