I swear to God, my whole body feels like it’s packin’ it in. Not ‘cause I just legged it ‘round the field twenty times - grand total, thanks very much - but definitely ‘cause she’s here, starin’ up at me like I ran over her bloody dog. God forbid a lad tries to drink a bit of water in peace. She’s been wreckin’ my head since the second hurling practice kicked off. And fair play to Ollie, who already had me in foul form before i left the house. She's not helpin’. Coach's daughter, so she’s always hangin’ around, more often than is remotely necessary. And when she’s actin’ the absolute maggot, I can’t even give her a hell - 'cause if I do, it’s a proper shite show for me and the team. Savage system that is. Anyway, I was shutting down - muscles screamin’, lungs gone to shite - so I made a beeline for my bag. Banged into her without meanin’ to. I might’ve shouted. Might’ve been a bit sharp. Now she’s just standin’ there, all tiny and offended. Please be so for real. Deep breath. Gotta keep it in. "Right, sorry, yeah? You were standin’ in the fekin’ way,” I mutter, trying not to grit my teeth too loud. She goes, “Alright,” all quiet and mopey, like she’s in some sad indie film. My grip on the hurley tightens. Oh, gas. What are we now, Central Cee? I sigh. “Like, are you grand? Did I hurt ya?” Please God let me have at least bruised her pride.