Page 11 of Finding Him
“Hello, Claire Bear. Miss me?”
JJ Biggs suddenly materializes, shoving his way into the tiny gap between Claire and me. I have to scoot over so fast I almost fall off the bench.
“Mmm,” Claire says, her eyes lighting up despite her clear efforts to make her face look annoyed. “I don't believe I did.”
“Go back to your own table Jonathan Jarlath, you’re crowding the new girl,” Niamh says, flicking one of her potato chip crumbs off her fingers at him.
Sothat’swhat the J’s stand for. Bit of a mouthful, if you ask me.
Jonathan Jarlath looks around as if the concept of being unwanted has never been upon him. “Crowding? Never. Molly loves me. Don’t you, Yank?”
“I barely kn—”
“In any case, I must be off anyway, and not because you said so, Niamhy-noo. Duty calls.” JJ stands up, plants a lightning-fast kiss on Claire’s cheek—which she turns a bright, matchingpink for—and swaggers back to the table of the lighthouse and the storm.
I let Claire giggle herself out before asking the question I’ve been wanting to ask all morning. “So... is he like... your boyfriend?"
Claire chokes on her water, which causes Marissa and Niamh to burst into hysterics, and Rory to smile softly.
“Oh god, no!” Claire splutters, wiping her chin. “No, no, no. JJ is... ugh. He’s my brother’s best friend. He lives next door and we grew up together. He’s just a pest.”
“A pest she wants to shift,” Marissa whispers loudly.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Claire chants, covering her ears and bowing her head.
The other girls laugh, and I feel a little bad for bringing up the topic if it embarrasses her. I used to hate when girls at my lunch table would bring up guys I supposedly ‘liked’ in school—especially if I didn’t like them at all.
“Sorry,” I say genuinely.
“It’s complicated,” Claire huffs, finally looking up. “The point is, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Yet,” Niamh adds.
I feel like a fly on a windscreen, watching this tightly-knit web of relationships spin around me. I glance at Rory, who doesn’t look upset or anything, just quiet and watching the other’s talk. I wonder if she’s new or something too, and feels similar to me.
“They’ve been in love since Claire was in the womb,” Marissa gushes. “He used to pick her flowers every day in primary school, and has always called her “Claire-Bear—”
“Come on,” Claire protests. “He has a nickname for everyone! He calls you Missy, and Niamh is Niamhy-Noo, and Rory’s is Roraborealis—”
“But he didn’t haveweddingswith us in his treehouse,” Niamh interrupts, and even Rory laughs. “Or kiss us in spin-the-bottle on Marissa’s twelfth birthday.”
Claire groans, clearly realizes she’s fighting a losing battle.
I glance back toward the boys' table. The blonde guy is still watching us/me. Claire notices my gaze. She turns around, sees him, and gives a bright, enthusiastic wave.
He lifts his hand, giving a small wave back.
“You know him?” I ask. At least maybe I can know his name. I don’t know why I feel the need to have it, I just do.
And sidenote, it would make more sense he was staring at Claire, someone he knows, rather than me, someone he met once, barely met, and probably doesn’t remember.
“You’re not in some sort of love triangle, are you? Is that why you’re being so defensive?”
Claire turns back to me, her brown eyes wide and warm.
“Oh, no, ew,” she laughs. “That’s just Niall. He’s my brother.”
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