Aisling's Diary

Chapter 4

Monday 10 October (continued)

4:35p.m.

Just remembered that Mum is the very woman who told me fairies and Father Christmas were real. I learnt at a very young age not to rely too much on that woman’s grasp of the truth. Maybe Irish Dance, Irish style will be terrible.

Rory was really making me laugh in the garden though with his new moves. Honestly, that boy met Lupe Fiasco ONCE in New York and you’d think he had actually been on tour with him for several years the way he talks about it. All the kids in the neighbourhood were watching him. ‘Excuse me, I’m the dancer’ I wanted to shout but I kept a dignified silence, like Nicola from Girls Aloud does when everyone’s going on about how good-looking the Girls are. But I would like to point out that I was the one who spent hours in Amelia’s bedroom looking at YouTube break-dancing videos and copying them move by move. But I don’t like to scream and shout about my talents. For example, if I had been made class captain today, like Rory, I would not have found it necessary to tell everyone, including all my family, cousins, people I’ve only known two days and even to announce it on my Bebo page. How gauche (new word – think it means common, heard Aunty Stella calling some of the women on the estate gauche).

PS Eavanne and Sorcha are gauche.

 6:30p.m.

There I was patiently trying to explain all about my day to Mum and Dad over fish-fingers, when Dad gets up halfway through to take a call on his mobile. Then he actually went off to go and fix someone’s immersion heater, and I’d only got halfway through number 3 on my list. Umm, hello?? Daughter’s happiness important to you at all? He would never do that in Boston – he’s really changed since we got to Dublin – there’s like Boston Dad and then there’s Dublin Dad and they’re as different as chalk and cheese. I should perhaps start another list of all the ways he’s changed since the move.

Mum says I should remember that at least I’ve got Irish Dance class tomorrow, which I’m actually really excited about. I can’t wait to meet the teacher and see all the differences between Irish Dance Boston style and Irish Dance – well, Irish style. Lol. Tomorrow’s another day and it’s bound to be better than today.

Tuesday 11 October 

Tuesday should in fact be renamed Disasterday. DIS. AS. TER. Umm. Day.

It started OK. I was so pleased to get to dance class, and the teacher, Mrs Kennedy, seemed OK, a little bit strict maybe but even so she gave me a cool introduction and then the moment I’d been waiting for –she asked me to dance for the class.

I walked up to the front of the class and looked around the room and got my first really good look at the other kids. They were all about 10. There was just ONE other girl about my age. Oh well, I thought, maybe some of the others are away or maybe they’re just very small for their age. Anyway I was pretty desperate to get back into dancing and it’s very unusual for me to turn down the chance to dance. So I pulled up socks and took centre stage (or dance hall). I have to say I think I danced pretty well and people seemed to like it, but then Mrs Kennedy just went off like some kind of mental rocket. Her eyes started flashing and her eyelashes kept opening and shutting really, really fast. She started going on about winning competitions and how dancing like that was not how you won competitions. Yeah? Well what about the crate of trophies that are probably stuck in Timbuktu right now that say otherwise, hey? What do they say?

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