Aisling's Diary

Chapter 5

Tuesday 11 October (continued)

5:15p.m.

I can’t believe the way they dance at Mrs Kennedy’s dance class. There was this girl Anya and she looked like–well, quite frankly she looked like someone had staple-gunned a plank of wood to either side of her body and made her dance in a very narrow corridor. I don’t know what kinda dancing it was, but it sure ain’t Irish Dancing Boston style.

Then this really sweet guy from my class followed me out of the class and started telling me how much he liked my dancing. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings but he didn’t really make it very easy to chat. He just stood there for soooooooooo long without saying anything. In the end it was so embarrassing I had to look away. Typical, the first person to try to be friends and I had to kinda be a bit rude. I’m going to go in the library for a bit before walking home. 

5:23p.m.

I feel really sad like one of Rory’s old soccer balls – all deflated. I started to think, what am I going to do if I can’t do Irish Dance? I’ve done it since I was four, I’ve always done it. I want to MSN Amelia about it, but I don’t think she’ll really understand and besides when I want to speak to her, she’s in class. Charlestown High, Boston, Amelia and Lauren feel a long, long way away right now. I feel really left out of things in Boston but it’s not like I’ve got anything going here. This isn’t how I thought it would be, at all. Hopefully things will get much better from now on –I mean it’s not like they can get much worse, is it? 

6:06p.m.

Well yes it can. OMG. OMG. Things got MUCH, MUCH worse. I was walking home but I couldn’t stop thinking about what my Irish Dance teacher –or Killer Kennedy (as I now think of her) –had said. Then I walked up to the house. I had my key out ready, put the key in the lock no problem, but it wouldn’t turn. I kept trying to turn it and it was locked shut. I was desperate to get in the house and kept trying to turn the key. Was pretty panicky at this point and pretty red-faced, so started shouting ‘MUM’ through the letterbox and banging on the door pretty loudly. Eventually, after what seemed about ten years, I could see someone behind the glass of the door, and I remember thinking, ‘Oh, Rory’s a lot taller than he was this morning’.

But THEN the door opens and there’s Murphy. Murphy No Second Name. Standing in front of me, while I stand there open-mouthed, red-faced, sweaty hair, saying nothing. I’D ONLY GONE AND GOT THE WRONG HOUSE. No wonder the key wouldn’t work – I was trying to get into the house next door to mine. I was trying to get into Murphy’s house. I have a question for myself: when did I become such a total clown? I could join a circus on recent performance.

Luckily, I had this brilliant idea of making a fantastic recovery by just mumbling something and then running away as fast as I could without saying anything. Maybe he didn’t really notice, or maybe he didn’t really see who it was. Who am I kidding? I thought I heard him laughing as I ran away. What kind of man laughs at someone at the lowest ebb of their young life? I will never ever forgive him. Never.

One other thing I did notice while dangling from the lock is he is much more cute than I noticed on the first day. My powers of perception must be extremely good to have noticed that under such stressful conditions. Maybe I should be a spy! 

6:32p.m.

Wonder if Murphy’s on Bebo – might have a quick look – just for research purposes – what is it they say? – know thy enemy. If I knew more about him it would be easy to feel superior to him and never forgive him. 

8:30p.m.

Just spent a quick two hours on Murphy’s Bebo site getting evidence. I could have done another half an hour but Rory paid me five euros to get off Dad’s computer. So I have news. Guess what? Murphy (Murphy is actually his second name so that’s one mystery completely solved) – anyway MURPHY is a dancer, an urban street dancer. We love so many of the same things. It was like SNAP – I love Step Up 2more than Step Up, like him, and then SNAP–I love Lupe Fiasco. We have loads in common. His Bebo says he’s got this crew and they do all these dance things where they all meet up in really unusual places and bust some moves. Sounds loads of fun but well, it’s not very Irish . . . is it? What’s the point of being a break dancer in Dublin? That’s got to be a tough call. He certainly is a curious character, my next-door neighbour.

However, this information changes everything. Oh yes, Mr Murphy, the tables have turned now. Next time I see him I will be quite happy to impart to him my knowledge of the Boston Urban Dance scene as frequented by yours truly at many a Boston underage club. I bet he’d love to see Amelia’s snake. Hey maybe she can put it on YouTube and I can show him. When he hears all about my knowledge about his subject he’ll forget all about ‘that door incident’ and see me for the sophisticate I really am.

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