Right, here's a new chapter, pre-edited and updated with the help of my extremely pedantic editor. Thanks a whole hell of a lot, Green.

Chapter 6- Joe Gilman

The first blow came from nowhere- a fist lashed out and struck Joseph Gilman on the back of the neck, sending the boy sprawling to the floor of the school corridor.

After that, it was a flurry of fists, feet, and thrown objects, all accompanied by a cacophony of insults and profanity. Joe curled up to protect his face and groin, like his father had taught him to do if he was attacked.

His father- actually, his father was precisely the problem. It had been bad enough being the son of a police captain in his old school back in New York, but when his father had brought them to Virginia and had been promoted to Commissioner, the mutters had become full-out curses, and angry glares had morphed into blows. The abuse continued for what felt like forever, until a thickly accented voice shouted, "Enough!"

Joe looked up hesitantly, and saw Alex O'Malley, flanked by two of his cousins, Eric and Peadar. Despite standing at 5'6" and being thin to the point of emaciation, Alex was an imposing figure, and was regarded by most at the school with a mixture of respect and fear.

"McCarthy!" Alex snapped, walking up to the ringleader of Joe's abusers. He was a football player who was a good seven inches taller and 90 pounds heavier than O'Malley was. Nevertheless, McCarthy stepped back warily.

"McCarthy, whit the Hell d'ye think yer doin'?"

"Um, O'Malley, we were just, uh…"

"Actually, Oi know damn well whit ye were doin, ye goddamn waste'f oxygen! Yer makin' a goddamn scene in the middle'f a corridor, beatin' the shit out'f a man who's ne'er so much as stepped on yer goddamn toes!"

"Alex, his father's the-"

"Oi know who his father is!" O'Malley thundered. "D'ye know who my father is, McCarthy? 'Cause tha' should be a bit more'f a concern fer ye, ye worthless sack o' horseshit!"

McCarthy paled. Alex's father, Dennis O'Malley, was the head coach of the football team. However, McCarthy's fear seemed unreasonable compared to the unlikely chance of his being cut from the football team. Back in New York, that wasn't cause to step back almost a foot and swallow audibly.

"Now all o' ye listen up!" Alex roared at the crowd. "Oi don' wanna see or hear abirt any more o' this bullshit, got't? Joseph Gilman's nawr ta be touched! Oi don' give a flyin' fuck if ye loike him, but if he has any more trouble, ye'nd Oi are gonna be havin' words, d'Oi make m'self clear?" He turned to his cousin. "Eric!"

Without a word, the boxer lashed out with his right fist, hitting McCarthy squarely in the nose, and the huge boy went down.

"Clear off!" Alex ordered the crowd. It hurried to obey, watched as they were by Peadar O'Malley's angry glare. When they were gone, the Irish boy bent down. "Kin ye stand?" Now that everyone had left, his voice was significantly less angry.

"Yeah…" Joe climbed to his feet, wincing. "Thanks for helping me out…"

"Aye, no problem. McCarthy ain't fit ta lick yer boots, there's no reason ye should have ta put up wi' his goddam bullshit." He held out his hand. "Ye need anythin, or'f anyone troies pullin' this shit again, ye lemme know, hear?"

Joe took the proffered appendage. "Yeah, sure thing…"

It seemed he had gained an extremely profane guardian angel.

o.o.o.o

That same day, at lunch, Joe was putting his books back into his locker when he felt a tap at his shoulder. He flinched and turned around, then saw a boy who stood at about 5'5".

"You're to come with me," he said dispassionately, and then walked off. Joe followed him, mostly out of curiosity, and the boy led him to a spot where three lunch tables were all pushed together. There were about 20 people crowded around them, and Joe knew by now that there would likely be some sort of violence before too long.

"Go on, sit," the boy said, taking a seat at the edge of the closer bench. The others shifted aside to give him room. Joe looked around and walked over a seat next to Alex O'Malley, who was sitting at the center of the cluster.

"Ah, Gilman, come set here by me!" Alex said jovially. After Joe had taken his seat, Alex went on "Welcome t'our little oisland! Everyone!" When Alex spoke, everyone paid close attention , conversation dying off quickly. "This's Joe Gilman. He's gonna be part'f our family from now on, an' Oi expect he'll be treated as such. Got't, y'intolerable bastards?" He made a sweeping gesture with his left hand that encompassed all the people at the three tables. "This's me family, Joe- m'brother Jason, m'sister Tara, m'cousins Peadar, Killian, Lorcán, Fionn, Ellie, Pilip, Cathal, Sorely, Eric, Clár, an' Agnes an' Charlie MacLeod. Then, there's Matt Powell an' the spawn'f the Sasanach- Mark, Anne, Bernard, an' Ben Kirkland." Ben was the boy who had brought Joe to the table, and he glared at Alex when he made the jibe about being a 'Sasanach.' Joe suddenly remembered where he had heard the term before.

Trying to make sense of the whole situation, Joe asked, "Sasanach, that's an Irish word, right?"

Anne Kirkland glared at him evilly. "D'I look like a feckin' Irishman to you?"

"Uh…"

Peadar O'Malley grinned lopsidedly. "Please, ye should be so damn lucky."

"Shut your goddam mouth, we owned your arses for centuries."

"Aye, an' all't took was mass murder, starvation, an' genocoide," said one of the boys Alex had introduced. He was small, but his eyes were blazing. Joe thought his name was Cathal, or maybe Sorely.

"At least we had the balls to do it," Anne snapped.

"So," Eric said savagely, "Ye think whit Cromwell did took balls?"

The name had an effect on the whole group- Peadar flinched heavily, Agnes MacLeod paled, and even Anne faltered for a moment, her glare softening. She plowed on, however. "Yeah, actually. Who else would've been mad enough ta fight you lot?"

"That wasn' war, tha' was bloody slaughter!"

"And how is sneaking around blowing people war, huh?"

Eric's jaw tightened and his fist clenched, and Joe thought he was going to beat the life out of the smaller girl next to him.

The attack, however, came from Charlie MacLeod. He threw the sandwich that had previously been lying half-eaten in front of Matt Powell, and the beefy projectile struck Anne in the side of the head.

The girl turned and spat in rage, "MacLeod, yeh feckin' Scots bastard, Ah'm gonna tear out yer bloody vocal chords and use 'em as me brother's damn guitar strings!"

"Come on, then!" Charlie shot back.

Joe was feeling very overwhelmed by the sudden escalation of events, as well as the apparently old history between the others. There were six people separating Anne from Charlie, but the girl got up, walked calmly over to the Scots boy, and began beating him about the head and shoulders with her lunch bag.

Joe looked at Alex, assuming that the older boy would do something to stop the fight, but he was disappointed. Alex simply roared with laughter, making no effort to prevent Anne's attempted murder of Charlie, while the boy attempted to ward her off with his lunch bag. In fact, most of the tables' occupants were laughing. Only Bernard Kirkland seemed to have any desire for his sister to stop, but he was clearly reluctant to get involved. Joe looked around for a teacher to stop the violence, but there were none in the vicinity.

Soon, though, Charlie had fallen off of the bench, protecting his face with his arms as Anne spat abuse and hit him repeatedly. It was clear that she was no longer exercising any restraint, and Alex seemed to have had enough.

"Cathal, Killian, pull her off!" he ordered. The two boys hastened to rescue their cousin from the foaming-mouthed girl, but she elbowed Killian in the solar plexus, and barely missed Cathal with a sideswipe from her clenched fist. Joe was surprised that Cathal was trying to restrain her. He was a good two years or so younger than Anne, and not a whole lot bigger.

Cathal swore and hissed, "Fiabhras Dubh ghlacann tú!" He reached into one of the pockets of the black overcoat that all O'Malley men seemed to wear copies of, regardless of the summer heat. From it, he drew out what appeared to be a piece of black plastic. Its innocent appearance vanished, however, when he pressed a catch on it, and a gleaming steel blade shot out. "Oy, Cathal!" Alex shouted. "Put tha' damn thing away!" He stood, and everyone became very quiet. Even Anne stopped attacking Charlie and looked at Cathal warily.

Cathal spat something Joe couldn't understand, and Alex replied, "Oi don' give a damn, Cathal. Put't away, now."

The boy obeyed, though he was visibly reluctant. This seemed to surprise everyone, except for Alex, who wore a self-assured smile.

"Lessee… Eric, Pilip, Fionn, Gilman, an'… Kirkland," he said, indicating Bernard with the last name, "come wi' me." He turned and walked away, clearly accustomed to his instructions' being obeyed without question.

The others he had indicated did follow, as if it were an ingrained instinct. Fionn, the only girl of Alex's selected, nudged Joe as she passed him. He got to his feet and followed. When they were a ways way from the others, Alex asked, "Gilman, how old're ye?"

"17, why…?"

"Roight. An' Kirkland, yer 16?"

"Yeah," Bernard said, appearing to understand Alex's motives without being told.

"Hm…" Alex pulled out his phone and tossed it to Pilip. "Call in an' excuse Kirkland. Use 'is father's voice."

Pilip nodded and dialed a number. When a faint "Hello?" came through, he spoke, sounding like a man from a well-off region of England.

"Hello, this is Arthur Kirkland. I'm afraid I have to have my son Bernard excused from the school for the rest of the day; he has a doctor's appointment."

"Alright, Mr. Kirkland, we'll have a pass sent to him. Will you be picking him up?"

"No, the doctor's not far from the school, he can walk."

"Alright, Mr. Kirkland."

"Thank you. Goodbye." Pilip hung up and returned Alex's phone.

"What's going on, Alex?" Joe asked.

Eric smiled for the first time Joe had seen, and he spoke before Alex did, drawing an annoyed glare from the other boy. "If yer 17 or 18, ye kin soign yerself outta school. Kirkland's 16, so he needs a parent, or someone who sounds loike a parent, ter call th'office an' let him out."

"Yeah, but why?"

Alex shrugged. "'Cause Oi'm bored, an' Bernard's the on'y Kirkland Oi kin stand bein' around fer more'n a few minutes."

"Don't ye have Economics wi' Mark?" Fionn asked.

"Aye. Yer point?"

"So, that lasts an hour. How do you do that every day if you can't stand to spend more than a few minutes with him?"

"I meant, why are we signing out of school?" Joe asked before Alex could respond, running out of patience.

Alex shrugged again. "Why not? This place kin kiss me stanky-"

"Alex!" Fionn said sharply.

"Sorry, Mam's from Chicago," Alex said, shifting topics seamlessly. "Anyways, let's go. Gilman, ye go first, then after foive minutes Eric, then Pilip after foive more, then Fionn, then me. Kirkland, ye'll hafta wait 'til the note comes." With that, he grinned and waved Joe away, not seeming to realize that he was suggesting went against everything Joe had been told for the last 17 years. "Let's move out!"