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SCHOOL’S OUT FOR SUMMER

Hugh

JUNE 19, 2003

“T HAT’S IT ,” G IBS DECLARED, DROP-KICKING HIS SCHOOLBAG ACROSS T OMMEN’S CEN tral courtyard. “These hands won’t be touching another book for the rest of summer.”

“Jaysus.” Rolling his eyes, Johnny stomped across the cobblestone courtyard and retrieved the bag from where it had landed in a flower bed. “What did I tell ya about damaging property, Gibs?”

“That wasn’t damaging property, Johnny,” Gibs shot back with a grin. “That was returning school property.”

“By lobbing it into the gardener’s petunias?”

“I’ll catch up with ye,” I told my friend before veering over to one of the picnic tables. Tossing my schoolbag on the table, I sank down before quickly powering my phone back on. The moment it lit up, I dialed the number I knew off by heart, too impatient to wait for the contacts to load, and pressed it to my ear. When my girlfriend’s familiar voice came down the line, the hairs on the back of my neck shot to attention. “Well?”

Jesus Christ, even her voice turns me on .

I smiled down the line. “Done and dusted.”

“Yay!” I heard her cheer. “What’s the plan? Where are you now?”

“Still at school with the lads.” Reaching up, I loosened my tie. “We’re meeting up with a few more lads this evening before heading to the disco.”

“Well, don’t get too off your tits beforehand,” Liz laughed. “Because I’m not going to all this effort for nothing, buddy.”

“Effort?” Now, I was intrigued. “Is my baby getting dolled up for tonight?”

“Your baby is contemplating sneaking a clonazepam into your sister’s drink,” she grumbled. “Maybe that would slow her down.”

“Claire’s being hyper?”

“Hyper is putting it mildly, Hugh.”

“Is she bouncing?”

“Like Tigger.”

“Oh shit,” I chuckled. “Well, don’t let her anywhere near you with a razor. I walked in on her trying to shave her legs in the bathroom sink the other day and it was a bloodbath.”

“No fear of that, because she’s too invested in breaking my will one pedicured toe at a time,” she replied in a dry tone. “So you better be clearheaded enough to appreciate it.”

“Are you wearing your anklet?”

“Always.”

“Are you doing to dance with me?”

“Never.”

I laughed down the line. “I better get back to the lads.”

“If you must,” she replied, sighing dramatically. “Meanwhile, I’ll be sure to protect myself from your sister’s penchant for hair removal.”

“You do that,” I chuckled. “See you tonight.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, Hugh.”

Hanging up the call, I returned to the lads, only to find Gibs and Kav fighting like an old married couple.

“They caged me in a cell for two weeks, Johnny!” he declared, hands flailing wildly. “Like a fucking lab rat. So excuse me for not giving two shits about the groundskeeper’s precious petunias.”

“Would you give it a bleeding rest?” Kav shot back as walked down the footpath toward the school’s exit. “You’re like a broken record, Gibs.”

“And we weren’t caged in a cell,” Feely chimed in, adding his two cents. “We were sitting our junior cert, lad.”

“No, you weren’t caged in a cell to do your exams,” Gibs corrected with a bite to his tone. “Meanwhile, I was in a special little room all by my lonesome, with a man, who I can only describe as the reincarnation of Smithers, to write down my answers, and that freaky fucking guidance counselor Miss Moore chaperoning.” His gray eyes widened right along with his outrage. “And she’s pregnant , Patrick. You know how stressed pregnant bellies make me get.”

“I do, Gibs, and I’m sorry you were forced into proximity with one,” Feely replied, giving our friend a supportive clap on the back.

“But the whole separate-room gig was for your benefit,” I filled in.

“Exactly,” Kav agreed. “The scribe was there to help with your dyslexia, lad.”

“True, and Smithers the scribe did write all the answers,” Gibs agreed in a thoughtful tone before grinning deviously. “Hm. Looks like I know who’s getting the blame when the results come back in September and my mam has a conniption fit over me failing.”

“Don’t be hasty, Gibs,” Feely offered. “You might surprise yourself.”

“Lad,” Gibs snorted. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen the look on Smithers’s face when I told him what to write.” A hearty chuckle escaped him. “The poor bastard was begging me with his eyes to stop talking.”

The rest of us laughed at that before I asked, “All right, lads, whose house are we getting ready at?”

“Yours,” Gibs and Feely said in union.

Meanwhile, Johnny’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Getting ready for what?”

“Tonight’s disco in town.”

“And before you even start the bullshit I can’t, I have training tomorrow protests, just know that you are coming,” Gibsie interjected. “It’s happening, Cap, get with the program.”

“Because I can’t ,” Kav urged. “I do have training tomorrow.”

“Then clear your schedule,” Gibs replied, draping an arm over his shoulder. “Because tonight, you’re out with the lads.”