Firstly, I would like to say that I am not Irish. Consequently, any mistakes with the language that have been made are GoogleTranslates fault. Honest! XD. Also, I've read up on the school system, so hopefully I've got that right!

And...LENT IS OVER! Happy Easter! I so did not bounce downstairs this morning going: "UPDATE TIIIIIIIIIME!" *Coughs* Okay, I may have done...XD

Thank you so, so much to everyone who reviewed! It really, really makes my day to get an email saying that I've got another review! Not that I jump around the room going "Whooooo!" or anything...much XD. Anyway, I really, really appreciate people who take time to review, and I just wanted to tell you how amazing you all are! Thank you!

xxx

3

I feel my neck prickle and know I'm being watched. Turning, I meet the eyes of the elderly shop keeper, who's giving me a suspicious look over his newspaper. I sigh; they all know. Word gets around here.

They caught Kevin. He'd thrown a brick through the front window of the house to give us a chance to get away. And we did. But the man recognised him. The police were round the next day. The suspected that he had an accomplice, but they couldn't prove it, and he was adamant that he was working alone. Everyone knew it was me, they just didn't have the proof; my fingerprints weren't on any records and the owner hadn't seen me. He's been in a young offenders unit for almost six months now. We still write; and he's getting out soon. I'm glad about that; I miss him. He was probably my only true friend. I place the chocolate bar I was examining back down on the shelf and head towards the door, eager to escape the old man's wary gaze. The bell rings as I step out onto the street and start to make my way along the grey concrete pavement towards school.

St Patricks Secondary (Mixed) is a grey, 1970's style building, and an eyesore amongst the older, more traditional buildings of Dublin. I join the ranks of unenthusiastic, green clad teenagers filing towards the metal gates and head towards the double doors; the front entrance of the building, preparing myself for yet another day of monotonic lectures and uncontrollable classes. Today is Tuesday; I check my timetable as I walk down the bustling corridors towards my locker and discover that I have double History first and second periods followed by Irish Language, Art and Music. I brighten slightly; I enjoy pretty much all of these subjects, even if I'm not amazing at Irish. The teacher, however, makes up for my failings; she knows that all the other kids have been studying the language since they were around four or five, and that I began late, especially as it took me a while to settle down in school.

I yank open the door of my locker, pulling out my bulging History folder and the thick, musty textbook, and stuffing them into my bag, before making my way towards my form room. I slide in at the back, pulling out my sketchpad and beginning to draw. I'm one of the first there, so I have 15 minutes of sketching whilst the room fills up and the teacher enters. It finishes too soon. Mrs O'Doherty enters, her expression suggesting that there is a particularly bad small underneath her nose, as per usual. She places her books on the desk and surveys the chatting, giggling class, who immediately fall silent. She is, most probably, the only teacher in the entire school who inspires enough fear to have that effect, which is quite funny considering that this four foot twelve, stick like lady with severe bun of iron grey hair, who is dwarfed by many of the girl pupils, let alone the boys, has a greater effect than the most burly of teachers. I hastily shove my sketch book in my bag.

"Maidin mhaith leanaí." She says in Gaelic, her eagle eyes surveying us.

"Maidin mhaith Bean O'Doherty." we reply, many stuffing phones or other banned items hastily into blazer pockets.

She sniffs and begins to take the register.

"Seamus Boyle?"

"Here Mrs O'Doherty."

She ticks his name.

"Kaitlin Brady?"

"Here Mrs O'Doherty."

I grin at Kaitlin, and she grins back. She's probably the closest thing I have to a best friend, apart from Kevin, and she's completely bonkers; she had wild blonde curls which almost seem to bubble from her head, and bright, mischievous green eyes which are nearly always bright with suppressed laughter. She's forever dreaming up wild schemes and complex plots, which, more often than not, land her- and me- in trouble.

"Aislinn Brennan?"

"Here Mrs O'Doherty."

I'm next to Kaitlin in the register, which is both a blessing and a curse, as we consequently sit together in almost every class. It's a blessing because it means I'm always with a friend. It's a curse because whenever she gets in trouble, so do I. In her words: "If I'm going down, you're coming with me."

Still, she's a laugh.

Eventually registration's over, and Kaitlin and I meander off to History.

"We've got that Blitz woman coming in today." Kaitlin says, helping herself to my lunch.

"Oi!"

"What? I haven't had any breakfast!"

"Well you can't have my lunch!"

She gives me puppy dog eyes. "Pleeeeeeeeease Ash? You know how much you love me...pretty pretty please? With a cherry on top."

"...Let me think about it." I pause for a second. "Thought about it and my answer is no. Now gimmie."

"Never! You will never take you lunch alive!"

I raise an eyebrow. "So what, now you're holding my lunch to ransom?"

"Yes."

"Do not make me have to resort to violence Kate."

She pouts. I attack.

"Noooooooo!"

Her shrill squeals fill the corridor as I tickle her without mercy. I manage to reclaim the lunch box finally, and secure it safely in my school bag. Kaitlin begins to sulk.

"Oh lighten up you wet blanket! It was cheese and tomato anyway."

"Yugh!" Kaitlin pulls a faced. She can't stand anything watery in sandwiches. She says it makes them soggy.

I grin, before realising the corridor is pretty empty. "Kate..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you get the feeling we're late for History?"