About a Boy

Disclaimer: Neither Edward nor Suburbia belong to me. Neither does Kim. Neither does anything you might recognize. Everything else, including the lovely and talented Irish punk Shae O'Connor, belongs to ME! ME! YOU CAN'T HAVE MY SHAE, TIM BURTON, AND I CAN BORROW YOUR EDWARD! NANANANANANA!!! Wait. . .stop. . .Tim, I love you! (You get the point, right?) Also, if you see any inaccuracies in the description of anything, just review and tell me. . .I haven't seen the film since I was thirteen.

Chapter Two: Of Accents and Imbeciles

Shae arrived home out of breath and disheveled. He burst into the back door, and into the kitchen. Colleen, his brother's fiancée, started as he entered. She was standing at the sink, washing dishes. "Shae O'Connor, what the HELL do you think you're doing, running around like that? Are you trying to give me a heart-attack? And where have you been all day?"

"Around." He shrugged, opening the fridge.

"Have you had anything to eat?" she inquired. Shae shook his head. "I'd make you a sandwich, but we've run out of cold cuts."

"S'okay. I'll go down to the ice cream parlour and have somethin' there."

"Wait. Is that. . .is that blood on your cheek?"

He scrubbed a hand over the scratch on his face. He assumed Edward had given it to him accidentally while covering him with a blanket the previous night. "It's nothin'."

"What happened?"

"Don't know." Shae snatched up an apple. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he took the first bite, and his stomach growled at the cold juice running down his throat. "Probably fell." They both grinned, as he did have an undeniable propensity to trip over things, even though he was usually well coordinated. "So where's Rory?"

"Your brother's gone out of town for a few days. He'll be back Monday."

"Where's it he's gone?"

"The city, to do some business." Colleen ruffled Shae's hair. "I didn't hear you come in last night. I was worried."

"Got back late, went out early."

"So did you spend all day alone, or did you have some friends?"

"I was alone." He replied through a mouthful of apple.

"Oh. Why don't you ever hang out with anyone?"

"Why should anyone want tae hang out with a foreign gothic freak? 'Speically one who doesn't do anything like them."

"I'm sure there are kids who. . ."

"Coll, it's useless. I don't play American sport, I don't get good grades, I don't like films, I don't get high anymore, and I only drink socially."

"You DRINK?!"

"Well, not anymore. Damn Yanks and your '21 and over' laws." He snarled.

"What about girls?" Colleen rinsed off the last plate and dried her hands. "You're tall, black-haired, blue-eyed, and you've got an irresistible accent. You've even got that bad-boy look I used to go crazy over when I was your age."

"I don't know. Girls. . .don't seem interested."

"Are you interested in girls?"

Shae chuckled dryly. "Yeh, I am."

"Well, maybe you're just hiding in corners—using your nationality and black nail polish as something to excuse you from making an effort." Shae frowned. He'd had this discussion with Rory before.

"I've tried, Coll. I won't wear bloody chinos and polo shirts just tae fit in." he pitched his apple core into the trash bin. "I'm goin' out again."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Out." He rose and left the house. It was warm enough outside for him to remove his jacket and wear it slung over his shoulder. As he sauntered down the block, he grinned at the silly pastel paradise surrounding him. Who'd have thought, from the rainy docks of Rosslare Harbour, that Shae O'Connor would ever live in Suburbia? Well, sometimes he preferred Ireland, but right now, with the sun just coming down from its summit, and a subtle breeze kissing his face, Shae was quite satisfied with the little town, even if it was filled primarily with self-absorbed, petty-minded people. Picking up the pace, he headed for the ice cream parlour.

It was filled with happy, chattering young people discussing school politics over banana splits and hot fudge sundaes. Shae ordered an Oreo parfait and, as all the tables were taken, he leaned against a wall to eat his ice cream, avoiding eye contact, though he knew he was being watched.

"Hey you!" the raucous shout made him glance up. "Yeah, you, Scottish boy!" he followed the voice to a blond, brown-eyed boy about his age sitting in a booth with his girlfriend and a couple of buddies. "Come here!"

Shae raised a brow and headed over to the booth. "What can I do f'r ye, gentleman?" he emphasized his accent, making all three other boys smirk.

"Grab a chair, Scottish," the blond one said. Shae recognized him vaguely, as one of the more popular jocks in his school.

"Why?"

"My girl here says it annoys her when ya stand, so sit yer Scot butt down."

"Wouldn't want to upset her." Sneered one of the other boys.

"No," Shae said quietly, a dangerous smile flirting about the edges of his lips. "No, we wouldn't." he winked at the girl, who blushed subtly, and turned away from him. He snagged a chair with his boot, and brought it round to the table, settling warily in it.

"So what's your name, Scottish?" the blond asked.

"First of all, I'm not Scottish, I'm Irish. And what's YOUR name?" the blond looked startled.

"You don't know who I am?"

"'Fraid not."

"Well. . .you're foreign. I'm Billy Page, and these are my baseball teammates, George and Donald."

"Shae O'Connor." He nodded. "Pleased tae meet yeh. And your girlfriend, does she not talk, like?"

The doe-eyed brunette smiled. "I'm Holly Laurence."

The name was obviously supposed to mean something, but Shae didn't follow high school politics, and only grated out another "nice to meet you," as he finished the last few spoonfuls of his parfait.

"So why are you in Suburbia?" inquired Billy, obviously the alpha of this little pack.

"Well, m'brother moved here, to marry Colleen Edgering, an' since me parents kicked th' bucket, he's got all th' money. So I figured it was a good idea tae move with him."

"Your parents are dead?" Holly asked.

"F'r a while now."

"I'm sorry." She said quietly.

"Don't be. It wasn't you what stabbed 'em forty times, it was me uncle." The three boys turned green, and Holly made a horrified face.

"D. . .did they. . .did they catch him?"

"Oh, aye they caught him all right. Th' bastard pled insanity." Shae laughed, and rose. "Well, mates, it's been fun chattin' an' all, but I've got no more use for yeh. Cheers."

"Where ya goin'?" Billy called after him.

"Yeah, how come you ain't socializin'?" taunted Donald.

"Don't have much'v a reason to. Sides, askin' questions about a man's dead kin's no way ta start up scintillatin' conversation." Shae's grin now reached from ear to ear.

"You gonna make a scene in fronta Holly?" demanded Billy.

"I'm jus' gettin' up cause I'm done with m' food. It's a free country, innit?" as he wheeled out of the parlour, he dumped the plastic parfait cup into a trash disposal. He hadn't gotten three steps whe he heard the sound of running feet behind him.

The first punch was thrown without warning, but these boys were used to chucking baseballs about, and Shae heard it from a mile away, sidestepped gracefully, and turned to face Billy, George, and Donald, who formed a loose circle round him.

"What're you lads doin' out here, when there are plenty o' pretty girls to chat up in there?"

"NO ONE walks out on me'n Holly." Growled Billy, in some attempt at intimidation.

"I took my leave quite well, I think. Did ye expect me tae talk yeh home?" still playing coy, Shae watched as George began creeping his hand into his pocket. A gun? A knife? Pepper spray? "Look, lads, if yeh want tae fight, I'm afraid you've got the wrong man, like. Obviously you're just lookin' f'r an excuse tae look tough, and I don't want tae ruin that for ya. Th' fact that ye've threatened me in itself is impressive enough, don't ya agree? So why don't we all go our merry ways, unbruised, like, an' I'll not have tae make the lot'v ya look as though you've been through a meat grinder."

Perhaps if it hadn't been for that last meat grinder comment, all three jocks might have indeed left him alone, but you must understand, Shae had testosterone just as well, in abundance, and couldn't resist the urge to taunt back. Billy, as the alpha, attacked first, swinging wildly. Shae ducked and dealt a solid blow to Billy's exposed solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. Then both George and Donald came at him at once, not quite comprehending what had just happened. Shae suppressed the adrenal urge to lose all finesse, and caught Donald's fist while weaving around George's. He slammed the heel of his hand into Donald's chest, and, as he stumbled backward, turning pale and clutching his heart, Shae caught George by the throat.

"What has it got in its pocketses?" he snarled. A small crowd had formed, and Holly was helping Billy up. Shae plunged his hand into Billy's pocket and came out with a small gold pocket watch.

"T. . .take it! J. . .just leave us alone!"

"I don't want your damned watch." Shae dropped him, jammed the watch into the other boy's shaking hand, and backed away. "Now, you're going tae apologize to me f'r startin' sucha ruckus, bruisin' me knuckles, like, on trash like you three. Then you're gonna apologize to th' ice cream shop owner, f'r makin' a scene. Then y'r gonna apologize tae everyone 'ere, f'r upsettin' 'em so with y'r display of bigotry. Ye got me?"

"Y. . .yes."

"I'm gonna do the same, on'y I don't have tae apologize f'r any bloody bigotry." With a final snarl, Shae turned to the crowd. "I am sorry, f'r makin' a scene, but I s'pose when ye get date offers from THREE lads, th' best thing for it is tae walk away an' find a pretty girl. Awfully sorry I didn't do that tonight."

Everyone laughed, but uneasily, and Shae didn't fault them that. He didn't want to stay much longer, but he did skulk enough to be sure all three jocks apologized as he'd dictated. It didn't feel good, the intimidation—never had, but Shae knew that he was making enemies when he'd sat down at the table and winked at Holly. He'd expected more of a discouraging frown or lap rather than a blush. Well, American boys didn't like you chatting up their women any more than Irish ones. After buying himself a package of gum as a consolation prize, Shae hurried back home, took a brief shower, and, carefully avoiding Colleen, cleaned his torn knuckles with iodine, and put a bandage over them.

It was still early, and, as he didn't feel much like skulking about, Shae grabbed another apple and headed over to Mrs. Kim's house.