FLASHMOB
Tuesday 15 November
Murphy and his mates were in the IT room today looking at their video site. Apparently it’s not going very well.They’ve only got 609 votes (and 12of those are from me and the FITZSIMON clan under various aliases). Rory has about four different email accounts. Why? I just don’t know. He actually charged me two euros for two votes. Is nothing sacred?
Wednesday 16 November
3:37p.m.
OMG. Kennedy has actually locked me out of dance class. Oooh, I tell you, that woman is a witch. A horrible, shouty, mean, pointy-nosed, competition-obsessed, knee-slapping and now door-locking WITCH. I was only fiveminutes late and that was only because I had to findMurphy to tell him I didn’t need a ride home. I saw her walking across to the dance room, Murphy actually waved at her, lol, and only got a scowl back.
And now, two minutes later I got to class and she’d locked the door. I gave her my Aisling Hard Stare through the windows of the door but I had to go on tiptoe, which I think made it lose some of its impact. Even so, she didn’t so much as look in my direction–much too busy shouting and ruining everybody’s lives.
3:40p.m.
Now, I’m gonna miss going through the routines for team selection. And Kennedy needs to decide who to put into the competition team because the preliminaries are just over a week away. Oh yes, the road towards the big old Irish Dance world championship begins. This is so typical.
3:56p.m.
I was telling Ali and Siobhan about KK and I saw them do that raised eyebrows thing about me being late.Apparently I am a little bit late now and then, so I had to promise on my Irish honour not to be late any more. It’s never my fault – I always just seem to be in one place doing one thing when I’m supposed to be in another place doing something different.
These are the changes in my life I’m going to make. All changes to come into effect immediately:
1. Practise for my Irish Dancing and get on to the competition team.
2. Be on time. Have no tolerance for lateness and those who indulge in it.
3. Do not let Killer Kennedy bother me. Rise above it all.
4. Stop taking a walk round the garden to try to see intoMurphy’s bedroom.
8:00p.m.
Ali’s just left. Him and Rory have been working on this ‘HoudinAli’ routine in which Rory puts Ali into a straitjacket wrapped in rope and then locks Ali into a shed. Everyone then counts down from 50 to see if he can escape. Rory has been helping him out – Ali wanted Rory to set fire to the shed to ‘increase the stakes’ but Dad came leaping out into the garden and took the matches off Rory just in case.
Ali’s desperate for the chance to show off ‘HoudinAli’ at a party. We thought after our incredible success of Saturday we’d be booked solid for months. But guess what? Our next kids’ party booking is for … wait for it … six weeks’ time. What? Apparently all the moms of Dublin start planning their parties up to a year in advance. Are these people insane? Have they not ever heard of TGI Fridays? Ali’s furious. He stomped off and all the ties from his straitjacket kept bashing into things as he walked through the house. We all sat in silence fora bit and then Rory started laughing and then I started laughing and then Siobhan said I wonder how many issues of Pulse will be out before we do our next party, and then I didn’t feel so much like laughing again.
10:00p.m.
I know Murphy isn’t home yet. Maybe he is a degenerate. What on earth can he be doing until this time of night?
11:00p.m.
Murphy home – I can turn off my shuffle and go to sleep. This is what it must be like to be the parent of a degenerate teenager.
11:05p.m.
Quite hard to sleep knowing Murphy is a mere five meters away from me. Perhaps I can borrow Dad’s drill from the shed and drill a hole through the wall. I bet I could getaway with it. No one ever expects that sort of behaviour from sixteen-year-old girls. If I was a forty-year-old bloke I’d have to go to prison but I could probably just grin at the police and say I was just worried about my neighbour getting home because he rides a motorbike so I drilled a hole in the wall so I could check. I’d probably get a medal or something for being so caring. Ha ha. ARGGHH. Just thought, that would mean that he could see me with my mouth open, dribbling while asleep. Yeuch. OMG if I drilled through I’d have to wear mascara all the time even in bed, like my Aunty Jo ‘in case there’s a fire’. No no no no no. No drill. Forget it.
Why do I even care, it’s not like we’re even going out.We’re just mates. Are we mates? You can’t really go outwith someone if they’re not going out with you, can you?Unless you’re Eavanne, that is. Freak alert.
I’m going to go to sleep thinking about Phil Donnelly, maybe I can re-like him instead. Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t re-like Phil O Donnelly. What’s to ‘re-like’? That’s not even a thing. The truth is ... well, the truth is I like Murphy – and probably more than just as a friend. And in fact now I actually write it down, I realize I want to really get to know him. Oh no. This is going to be complicated. I don’t know what he thinks about me. That, my‘friends’, is the ten million dollar question.
11.10p.m.
OK, it’s late, but let’s look at the evidence. Lists always make things better.
1. He gives me rides on his bike.
2. He apologized for his friends (welcome friend Dec, and one knucklehead JP).
3. He’s definitely not going out with Eavanne (although she says they are).
Evidence against:
1. He hasn’t asked me out or kissed me.
2. He’s never spent any time with me that wasn’t about the dancing.
3. He still hangs round with Evil Eavanne.
In conclusion I have to conclude that I have absolutely NO IDEA what he thinks of me. That was one of the most pointless lists I have ever written.
Friday 18 November
There has been no further evidence either way in the great Does He or Doesn’t He Want to Go Out with Mescientific experiment. I have no further evidence to present, m’lud. I did however walk into a big ‘discussion’ between the parents tonight. It was obvious they were talking about Uncle Conor, because they always are these days and anyway then they stopped as soon as I came in. Mum said, oh we were just talking about… and I said, what a big ass Uncle Conor is? And they both really laughed. Mom told me off for swearing but, as I told her, I could have said a lot worse. I could have said what a ‘bum-headed, fat-faced twerpington Stanley gittings the third’ he is, which wouldn’t actually be swearing but would be a lot worse. However, as usual I didn’t remember that particular insult that Amelia and I developed for exactly this kind of situation over the summer holidays. I should perhaps have that tattooed up my arm like Angelina Jolie to remind myself. Although by the time I’d had it tattooed I’d probably remember it, like that quote from Romeo and Juliet I wrote on my arm for the English test. Totally pointless. However, good idea for revising: write everything you need to know all over your body in eyeliner pencil and then you remember it. Hmm – already thinking this is a terrible idea. BYE.
Saturday 19 November
Guess what? The ninth birthday party to end all birthday parties that my cousin Shane was having has been postponed. Guess what number two? Party Kins (our main rival) has double booked. Aunty Stell threatened them with all sorts but because the other booking is for one of U2’s little darlings’ parties they won’t budge. They say Aunty Stella never sent an email to confirm. I wonder if she’ll think the obvious: Parties-to-Go!
11:08a.m.
How obtuse is Aunty Stell? She called Mum in a right state saying, ‘Shane’s birthday is ruined’ and ‘she’ll never be able to find anyone as good at such short notice’. I’m sorry, Aunty Stell, I love you and all but ... DUH.
When Mum put the phone down, I said maybe they could use Parties-to-Go. But then I felt a bit uncomfortable, like working for the other side. Dad, however, thought it would be great, I think he’s really proud of me.
Anyway so Mum said she would call Aunty Stella to see if she wants a bit of the Parties-to-Go Magic. Ha. I made a joke without even realizing it.
9:00p.m.
Dad’s record collection turned up today. Would it be really mean of me to think that I wish that it hadn’t?
11:00p.m.
All right. Enough already. It really is the dirgiest music in the world. Would it kill him to play a little bit of Girls Aloud now and then?
Sunday 20 November
I didn’t see or hear M all day today. Murphy, where are you? Are you thinking of me?
Hours spent on the internet looking at Murphy dancing: four.
I think that shows brilliant self-control.
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