Something About You

Isla's POV - September, 2008

On the first day of Year Four, Isla throws up in the girls' bathrooms.

She thought she would be okay today—she'd had the whole summer to get the fuck over Colm McAnderson and yet here she is, two months later, hunched over the musty, disgusting toilet in the girls' bathrooms at school, crying as the last bit of her breakfast works its way back up her throat. She feels disgusting, desperate to brush her teeth, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, and all she wants to do is go home, curl up in bed, and stop existing. It must be some kind of a human rights violation, she thinks as she shakily stands up and brushes off her knees, to make her sit through geography class when she's this depressed.

After washing them thoroughly, and then washing them again, Isla cups her hands under the faucet and rinses out her mouth. She splashes her face with cold water, combs her fingers through her hair, and takes ten deep breaths while staring at herself in the mirror. She hates how she looks, all red, puffy cheeks and breakouts across her forehead. It's no wonder, she tells herself, that Colm preferred Célia over her. Anyone with working eyes and a brain would.

In the hallways Isla clutches her books close to her chest, positive that everyone is staring at her as she walks past them. She chooses a seat in the front row of every class, like she always does, but she's convinced she can feel it there too: everyone's eyes boring into the back of her head. She's hot and itchy, shaky all over, and she feels utterly, wholly alone.

Isla knows it's stupid to let boys dictate how she feels about herself—her sister has told her that nothing short of a million times—but it feels impossible, now, in a world where football star Colm McAnderson rules everything, not to be defined by him. By what he did to her. By what his actions say she's worth.

She keeps her head down all morning, taking more intense notes in class than she ever has before—which is really a feat, when she thinks about it. She makes it to lunch in one piece and when Siobhan Foley (who'd been too busy snogging Deo fucking Devine, of all people, that night to notice Colm and Célia sucking face across the garden and warn her about it) asks if she'd like to sit with her at lunch out on the pitches, Isla doesn't let herself consider the fact that it's probably pity. She just says yes.

And it's kind of fine, really. Or, less terrible than she anticipated it to be. Isla'd forgotten just how funny Siobhan can be, and when Una Moran offers Isla the bag of crisps she's not going to finish, and Isla feels like she can breathe properly for the first time all day.

Somehow, that's all it takes.

It feels like it's been ages, and, honestly, it has—after she walked into her back garden in the middle of a party to find her boyfriend snogging her French exchange student, Isla practically disappeared from society, of her own volition. She hid in her room all summer, too humiliated to do much more than tell Colm it was over and then cry herself to sleep, and she's pleasantly surprised, now, to find that she hasn't completely forgotten how to interact with other people. If anything, Isla thinks, this feels good—like something she could see herself wanting to do again.

It's midway through the crisps, while she and Siobhan are crowding over Una's phone and giggling at a video of her baby sister, that Isla feels someone staring at her.

She's acutely aware of the fact that Colm is sitting behind her with his mates, but Isla looks up anyway, glancing around the pitch quickly, just to see if people are laughing at her. She's imagining humiliation: maybe Colm snogging someone new behind her, or classmates retelling the worst moment of her life so far, and laughing as they do.

Instead, she locks eyes with Niall Horan.

He's bleached his hair again over the summer, Isla notices, and he's gotten a little taller, too, since the last time she saw him. He looks tired and a little tan and it suits him, she realizes—he looks really, really good.

Unexpectedly, Isla feels herself heating up, a feeling that starts in her belly and works its way up to her cheeks before she can suppress it or look away. Something tightens in her chest and she raises her hand in a gentle wave, hoping Niall hasn't realized just how long they've been staring at each other for. Niall waves back and Isla can't help the nervous giggle that works its way up out of her throat and, fuck, she's humiliated, her skin burning red, her stomach threatening to expel her food for the second time today. She should never have thought she was ready for something like this again.

In a rush, Isla drops her hand, flashes Niall what she hopes is an apologetic smile, and turns back to Una and Siobhan.

They hadn't even noticed she looked away.

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