The streets of Derry were alive with their usual gritty charm, a cacophony of laughter, shouts, and the occasional clatter of a beer can rolling down the pavement. Graffiti splashed across the walls told stories of rebellion and romance, while the air carried the irresistible scent of vinegar and grease from the local chip shop. Outside its flickering neon sign, the Derry Girls—Erin, Orla, Clare, Michelle, and their reluctant English sidekick, James—were huddled in a tight circle, their school uniforms rumpled and their hands clutching paper cones of steaming fries.
“Swear to God, if I have to hear one more word about Miss Taylor’s new boyfriend, I’m gonna vom all over her whiteboard,” Erin declared, popping a fry into her mouth with dramatic flair. Her sharp green eyes scanned the group for agreement, her auburn hair catching the fading light.
“Ach, Erin, you’re just jealous ‘cause he’s got a motorbike and you’re stuck with yer da’s rusty bicycle,” Michelle shot back, her dark curls bouncing as she cackled. She elbowed Clare, who was trying to eat her chips with some semblance of dignity. “What d’ya reckon, Clare? Think Erin’s gonna steal him away with her... what’s it called? Feminine wiles?”
Clare snorted, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Feminine wiles? Erin couldn’t charm a potato. She’d probably lecture him on the Troubles ‘til he ran for the border.”
“Oi, I’m right here, ye wee gobshite!” Erin snapped, flicking a fry at Clare, who dodged it with a smirk.
Orla, meanwhile, was staring into space, her dreamy expression untouched by the banter. “D’ye think chips taste better in heaven?” she mused, tilting her head as if the answer might fall from the sky.
James, the odd one out with his posh English accent and perpetually nervous demeanor, sighed. “Can we not talk about heaven or motorbikes or... anything weird for five minutes?” He adjusted his too-tight blazer, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
But something was off. Erin’s sharp gaze darted past James to the street, where clusters of lads—usually full of swagger and snide remarks—were lingering nearby. Normally, they’d be tossing insults at James, calling him a “wee English prick” or worse. Today, though, their stares were... different. Appreciative, even. One of them, a lanky fella with a dodgy mullet, licked his lips as he eyed James up and down.
“Hold the feckin’ phone,” Michelle barked, her voice cutting through the chatter. She pointed a greasy finger at the lads, her grin wide and wicked. “Are those eejits checkin’ out our James? Have I gone blind, or is Derry suddenly a gay utopia?”
James’ face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “W-what? No! They’re not— I mean, I’m not— Can you lot just shut up for once?” he stammered, nearly dropping his chips.
“Oh, come off it, James!” Michelle crowed, slinging an arm around his shoulders and giving him a rough shake. “Look at ye, all flustered. Didn’t know ye had it in ye to be Derry’s most eligible bachelor. What’s yer secret, eh? Is it the skinny jeans? ‘Cause I’m tellin’ ya, they’re doin’ wonders for yer arse.”
“Michelle!” James squeaked, trying to wriggle free, but she held him firm, her laughter echoing down the street.
Erin, still processing, wiped vinegar off her chin and grinned. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she’s right. They’re proper gawkin’ at ye, James. What’s goin’ on? Did ye spray yerself with some kinda lad-magnet cologne?”
“I’m not— I don’t even— I’m straight, alright?!” James protested, his voice cracking under the pressure.
Clare rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with amusement. “Sure, James, whatever ye say. But I’m tellin’ ya, with that floppy hair and yer wee femboy charm, ye’ve got half the town ready to propose.”
“Femboy charm?!” James yelped, looking like he might combust.
Orla blinked slowly, her head tilting again. “Maybe it’s aliens. Y’know, messin’ with their brains. Makin’ ‘em fancy James instead o’ fightin’ him. I saw it on a documentary once. Or maybe it was a dream. Hard to tell.”
Clare shot her a withering look. “Orla, for the love of God, will ye stop with the alien shite? There’s gotta be a logical explanation for this. Maybe it’s... I dunno, a prank or somethin’.”
Before anyone could respond, a shadow loomed over them. Daithi O’Connor, the local tough with a reputation for starting fights just to pass the time, sauntered over with his crew of equally menacing lads. Normally, this would mean trouble—especially for James. But today, Daithi’s usual sneer was replaced by a sly, almost playful smirk. He stopped right in front of James, hands in his pockets, and gave him a slow once-over.
“Well, well, if it isn’t wee James,” Daithi drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Lookin’ like a proper cutie today, aren’t ye? What’s yer secret, lad?”
Erin choked on her chips, coughing violently as Michelle let out a howl of laughter so loud it drew stares from across the street. “Jesus Christ on a bike, Daithi, what the actual feck?!” Michelle gasped between guffaws. “Did someone slip ye a love potion? Or did ye just wake up this mornin’ and decide to flirt with the English fella?”
Daithi shrugged, unbothered, his eyes still on James. “Just callin’ it as I see it, Michelle. Boy’s got a certain... somethin’.”
James, now resembling a human stoplight, tried to shrink behind Erin, who promptly shoved him back out with a wicked grin. “Oh no ye don’t, Romeo. Own yer new fan club. Go on, give Daithi a wee smile.”
“I hate you all,” James muttered, his hands covering his face as more lads joined in, tossing compliments like confetti.
“Nice jeans, mate, proper tight!” one called.
“Ye’ve got legs for days, so ye do!” another added with a whistle.
Clare crossed her arms, trying to maintain her skeptical front, but even she couldn’t hide her smirk. “Right, this is gettin’ ridiculous. There’s no way this is normal. What’s next, Father Peter givin’ James a blessin’ for his cheekbones?”
Michelle clapped her hands, eyes gleaming with mischief. “That’s it, we’re investigatin’ this shite. Somethin’s up, and I’m not restin’ ‘til I know what turned Derry’s hardest bastards into a pack o’ simpin’ eejits. To the pub, girls—and James, yer comin’ with us. Yer our bait now.”
“Bait?!” James squeaked, but Michelle was already dragging him down the street, the others following with varying degrees of amusement.
As they trudged along, they passed Father Peter himself, the town’s supposed pillar of morality, standing outside the church. His usually stern face softened as he caught sight of James, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Ah, young James,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Such... delicate features. A blessin’, truly.”
Orla clapped her hands in delight, her eyes wide. “It’s a miracle! A proper holy miracle! Saint James of Derry, that’s what we’ll call him!”
Erin rounded on her, exasperated. “Orla, will ye stop bein’ a total eejit for five seconds? This isn’t a miracle, it’s a bloody nightmare! For James, anyway.”
They reached the local pub, its grimy windows barely concealing the raucous noise within. Michelle, never one for subtlety, pressed her face to the glass, her jaw dropping. “Holy shite, get a load o’ this! They’ve got a feckin’ photo of James pinned to the dartboard, and they’re all fawnin’ over it like it’s the Mona Lisa!”
Erin peered over her shoulder, her own eyes widening. “Ye’ve gotta be kiddin’ me. They’re... they’re toasting to him. What in God’s name is happenin’?”
Clare shook her head, muttering, “This is beyond logic. Beyond reason. I’m out of theories.”
Michelle, grinning like a Cheshire cat, kicked the door open with a dramatic flair. “Right, ye bunch o’ weirdos, what’s the craic with our James here? Spill it, or I’ll start swingin’!” She dragged James in behind her, holding him up like a trophy as the room full of burly men turned their heads, their faces lighting up.
“Ah, there he is, the man o’ the hour!” one roared, raising his pint.
“Ye’ve got the face of an angel, so ye do!” another slurred, stumbling forward for a closer look.
James looked like he might faint, while the girls hovered in the doorway, torn between hysterics and utter bewilderment. Michelle clapped him on the back, her laughter ringing out over the chaos. “Buck up, lad. Looks like Derry’s got a new king, and it ain’t goin’ away anytime soon.”
As the men swarmed James with compliments, Erin leaned against the doorframe, shaking her head. “This is gonna be a long, weird day, isn’t it?”
Michelle smirked, her eyes glinting with determination. “Oh, ye’ve no idea, Erin. No feckin’ idea.”
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