Totally Unexplainable Crap!
One more bizarre scenario and Erin Quinn swore she'd open up her own bloody X-File to solve the case! Fox Mulder and Dana Scully could go lick seven shades of shite for all she cared!
Fuck aliens! Who needs 'em!
Because this—this right here—this was the really hard core unexplainable crap!
"Yer lookin' well."
"So are you."
Although he'd initally frozen in surprise, David Donnelly's hands had quickly slipped up her back and tangled in her hair. Her lips were pressed firmly against his, doing whatever the hell Erin had long since assumed lips were meant to do when kissing a fit lad like him.
She'd wanted this! Of course she had! For years, Erin had been obsessed with the idea of finally FINALLY lobbing the gob on David Donnelly.
(Frankly, who hadn't been!)
David was cool. No, he was cooler than cool. He was one of the coolest fellas to ever walk the streets of Derry in a Christian Brothers Uniform.
What with his pierced ear, carton of real actual cigarettes and punk rock gig posters, David Donnelly was set to be Derry's next Feargal Sharkey. Everyone who was anyone knew that!
...and he was kissing little ol' her!
Erin tried her damnedest to feel triumphant, to ignore the dull achy tug in her chest that told her she was doing the wrong thing.
Instead, she tried to focus on how completely savage it would feel to finally tell Michelle she'd gotten the shift.
Erin wasn't thinking of shiny green eyes, dopey grins and English accents!
No, she damn well wasn't! She couldn't be! Becuase Derry Girls couldn't fancy other Derry Girls. (Even honorary ones!) No one could be dealin' with that!
Kissing David Donnelly was supposed to have been absolutely class. It should have been the cracker-est kiss that ever was!
But it just wasn't...
Squirming awkwardly, Erin tried not to dwell too much on not really having a single solid idea (not a baldies!) what she was supposed to do doing . She tried not to think too much about the awkward position she was standing in, or the burn of alcohol she could feel in the back of her throat.
Or where the actual feck was she supposed to put her hands!
Christ, how had no one mentioned that to her before!
Poor David had scarcely known what had hit him when Erin's lips had unexpectedly slammed into his. He didn't seem to mind too much though, responding in kind.
Even in spite of her efforts, it wasn't exactly the romantic moment Erin has imagined. Turns out all those Richard Curtis films she'd spent years watching (and pretending to be way too intellectual for!) had turned out to be a right load of balls!
No butterflies, heart fluttering or foot popping for her...or was there?
Suddenly, the door of the pub opened, not with a clatter or anything but clearly by someone who had been taking care not to startle whoever was at the other side. Erin found herself stumbling backwards, disentangling herself from David at rocket speed and wobbling in the ridiculously high block heels that she'd borrowed from her Aunt Sarah.
Feck's sake!
"Are you okay, Erin? Clare told me that y—Oh sorry!"
As per her usual luck, that was the moment when all the stupid feckin' warm and fuzzy feelings decided it was due time to kick in. Eyeing James over David's shoulder, Erin tried to screw up her nose in irritation but couldn't quite manage it.
Her chest tightened at the oddly crestfallen look on her friend's face.
James wore his heart quite openly on his sleeve. She almost envied that. Stupid lovable dose!
Was it disappointment she saw in his eyes? Or just hurt?...Erin wasn't so sure she wanted to know. She didn't want to hurt James. No way!
Erin shifted guiltily from foot to foot, totally unable to look either of the boys straight in the eye. Her stomach turned quesily, either from the dodgy vodka Michelle had sourced or the pure embarrassment that flooded her cheeks.
True, Erin had fancied David Donnelly for much longer than she'd care to mention, but there was no way in hell she would have approached him so cock-suredly if she hadn't already fallen so completely, stupidly and inconviently in love with her dorky English friend.
Erin wasn't entirely sure when it had happened...that was the really truly unexplainable crap!
She'd fallen for James in bits and pieces, one bit at a time. Wee things, slightly less wee things; all of them piling up ever so slowly until there was no more turning back. Every time Erin looked at James—sharing a side eye amidst one of Clare's cack attacks, Orla's more random observations or Michelle dirtier quips—it felt as though another little piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.
But she couldn't be in love him...he was one of them, a Derry Girl good and proper now.
That was the way things were meant to be, eh?
Erin would like to see Mulder and Scully solve that one...